The wizard peered into the misty east. He did not reply, though he could have admonished the King about romanticizing his one-time friend, or about listening too closely to the guilt he bore.

The King mused, "We never had proof that Ethrian died."

The wizard was proud that he had no scales over his eyes, yet he did have his blind spots. The man Bragi had slain, and whose wife the wizard had later married, had been his son. Sometimes that fact got in the way.

Bragi shifted ground. "Was there anything else?"

"Anything else?"

"Your claim to be preoccupied was unconvincing."

Varthlokkur shifted his attention from the distance to the man. His basilisk eyes crinkled. "You grow bolder with age. I recall a younger Bragi shaking at the mere mention of my name."

"He didn't realize that even the mighty are vulnerable. He hadn't seen the dread ones in their moments of weakness."

Varthlokkur chuckled. "Well said. Don't take the notion too much to heart, though. The Tervola won't give you a decade to find the chinks in their armor."

Bragi stood. "I'll try this conversation when you're feeling more pellucid. Maybe you'll deal some straight answers."

Varthlokkur faced the east. His eyes lost focus. "We will speak later, then," he said.

Bragi frowned, not understanding. The wizard had changed languages. He shrugged, left the man to his mysteries.

The road called Lieneke Lane drew its name from the civil war which brought mercenary captain Bragi Ragnarson into Kavelin. Ragnarson had destroyed then Queen Fiana's enemies. A key victory had occurred near the town of Lieneke.

The road meandered amongst the homes of the wealthy. A lone, rain-soaked rider pursued it westward. A park appeared at his right hand. To his left the homes grew larger and wealthier. He glanced at one. The survivors of the King's family by his first marriage lived there, neither in penury nor in ostentation nor fame. The horseman averted his face. He left the lane just a few houses beyond the King's.