When it was over, the living back where they belonged-or some place else-and the dead buried, I thought again of the day it all began. I wanted to keep Yurt the charming, bucolic, little out-of-the-way kingdom it was, but I had also wished for a little excitement.

A wizard should know better than to wish for something. Sometimes wishes come true.

As Royal Wizard, arrayed in midnight blue velvet, I was supposed to give an air of deep wisdom to the court proceedings. But I no longer had the slightest idea what that day’s case was about.

My king, however, seemed to have an excellent grasp of the details. I leaned against the wall and watched him. King Haimeric bent forward on the throne, pulling his ermine-trimmed cloak tighter around his thin shoulders as the late afternoon breeze came in the open doors and windows of the great hall.

He settled his spectacles more firmly on his nose and looked at the people before him with shrewd eyes. “So even though he struck you, he didn’t try to deny that you had a right to bring your cows into the field?”

“Of course he didn’t deny it!” “I only struck him when he started beating me with his stick!” “Don’t listen to him! You can’t believe someone who’d dig up a grave!” “Listen to his lies!” “Look at my leg, the bruises are there yet!” “His wife was the worst, and she knew she could thump me all she wanted, because I wouldn’t hit a woman!” “Anyone can tell you I cleared every stump out of that field with my own hands!”

Two dozen men and women, all from a village located five miles away, stood in front of the throne. I still hadn’t sorted out which were the claimants, which members of their families, and which the character witnesses they had brought along. A young woman with straight flaxen hair was crying openly. Over to one side, apart from the rest, a man with very broad shoulders was moodily examining the tiles of the fireplace as though trying to dissociate himself from the whole quarrel.