„But four days ago she received a proposal of marriage from the man. She thought it over, then came to me for advice.

„Gentlemen, the gods have smiled on the family at last. They've handed us a golden opportunity. Our cousin's suitor is Bragi Ragnarson, Marshall of Kavelin, who commanded the allied armies during the Great Eastern Wars." Dead silence held the room for half a minute. The Colonel didn't even breath. Ragnarson. Blood enemy of the Greyfells for a generation. Responsible for the assassination of one Duke and the bloody abortion of half a dozen family projects. Probably the man most hated by everyone in the room, saving himself. He was just a soldier. He didn't hate anyone.

He began to sense the shape of the shadow and didn't like it. It was in the tradition of Greyfells schemes.

The six all started talking at once. The Duke held up a hand. „Please?" He waited. Then, „Gentlemen, if that news isn't enough to excite you, consider this. Those fools down there are going to make him King. They couldn't find anybody else willing to take the crown. Do you see? This is an opportunity not only to avenge ourselves on an ancient enemy, it's a chance to steal the crown of the richest and most strategically placed of the Lesser Kingdoms. A chance for us to move our base out of Itaskia entirely and free ourselves of the miserable nuisance of a perpetually inimi­ cal Crown. A chance to seize the most important counter in the conflict between east and west. A chance to recoup the greatness we've lost."

The Duke's excitement communicated itself to the men at the sides of the table. The Colonel was less intrigued. Here was more Greyfells dirty work, and he had a feeling he would be asked to carry part of the load. Why else was he here?