"By your leave, my father, I cannot agree," Magnus said. Rod stared, a morsel of meat halfway to his mouth on the tip of his knife. "Agree? What's there to agree about? The Duke of Loguire is building up his army! That's a matter of fact, not opinion!"

"Aye." Geoffrey laid down his spoon, scowling at his brother. "Dost say the King's agent lie? Then hie thee to the South thyself and witness with thine own eyes!"

"I do not doubt the report," Magnus said. "I cannot agree that 'tis a threat."

Rod frowned. "Why?" He ignored the alarm and warning plea in his wife's eyes and pressed on. "You know Duke Anselm fronted as the figurehead in a rebellion twenty-five years ago. Frankly, I think his brother was a fool to let him inherit when their father died, even if Tuan is king."

"Surely that was for Their Majesties to decide, not thyself."

"Unfortunately, yes-and I think my worries are proving true. Anselm's planning to rebel again."

"That," Magnus said, "is opinion-and 'tis there that I cannot agree."

"Why, thou great loon!" Geoffrey erupted. "Dost think he gathers soldiers only to play with them?"

"Frankly," Magnus said, "yes. And thou, younger brother, art ill-equipped to judge the workings of a man's mind."

"Save in matters of war!"

"But not in matters of play," brother Gregory pointed out. "In that, I think Magnus hath insight in a fashion-for this Duke Anselm hath ever sought to make his daydreams gain substance by warping the real world into their semblance, hath he not?"

It still unnerved Rod to hear such perceptive comments coming from one so young, even though Gregory had crossed the border into adolescence, being thirteen. He tried to think up something to say that would take the sting out of his son's precociousness, but he wasn't having much luck.