Checking his ire before it bloomed fully, he tried an-other tack. "The military situation is grave. The Felk are nearing the borders of my city. We do not have sufficient numbers to hope to oppose them. We ask, I promise, with die deepest esteem for this good state of Sook, for aid in countering this threat. The armies of the Felk, as you must know, are formidable. It is no great stretch to imagine that once they have finished with my people, they may turn toward yours."

There, Bryck thought with some satisfaction. Make it personal for them. Let them see that their own throats are exposed.

Again the response wasn't what he expected. The bald minister—perhaps the leader after all—said, "We're very aware of the menace of the Felk, make no mistake. Our scouts are desperately monitoring their movements." He waved a fistful of papers, scrawled with text and slapdash maps. "We are presently trying to see to our own defenses."

Ah, that was it, Bryck finally decided. They can spare no troops. Too concerned about their own safety. It was an attitude that, once more, he couldn't rightly fault.

Still, it was disappointing, if not outright irritating. His journey here had been worthless. Drawing himself stiffly erect, he dipped into an exaggeratedly courtly bow, ready to deliver a mocking apology on behalf of the unworthy people of Udelph who had sent him, a lowly rider, to unfairly disturb this august ministry in its momentous defensive preparations.

Before he could deliver this speech, however, the chief minister said, "Rest assured, we have nothing but sympathy for your tragedy. Our offer of asylum is sincere."

"My thanks," Bryck pronounced. "But I must decline your generous proposal. Your fair state of Sook is too over-whelming in its grandeur to quarter one so common as myself" Yes, he was laying it on a bit thick, but there was no insult so fine as one couched in immaculate tact. "And so I make my farewell."