The rebel leader was a young man, not nearly as tall or muscular as her father, hardly formidable except for the fanatical expression on his face and the fierce fire that seemed to glow in the depths of his hazel eyes.

"He calls himself Dark," Jorani said. "Mo one knows who his family might be, though from the looks of him I'd say he comes from the lands north of Pine."

"What will happen to him?" Ilsabet asked.

"What do you suggest?" Jorani asked in turn.

"Lady Lorena would undoubtedly think we should wed him to Marishka."

"Undoubtedly, but to do that we'd need his real name, which he refuses to give, probably because he has a wife already," Jorani replied.

"Father will want to behead him."

"What would you do?"

She had the young man's interest now. He stared at her, an insolent expression on his face, as if to say that nothing done to him could ever deter others from his cause. Looking directly at him, she answered boldly, "I would take the men who served him and burn them at the stake. Let the sight of their agony be the last thing he sees before we take out his eyes. Let the pain of that same fire be the last thing his hands feel before they are scarred so terribly that he will never be able to lift a sword against us again. Then send him back to his people, an example of the justice and the mercy of Baron Janosk Obour."

The guards eyed her with respect.

Baron Janosk had come out of his tent to welcome his daughter just in time to hear her speech, and to see the reaction of the guards to it. He walked up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "At nightfall it will be done as my child commands," he said, then led Ilsabet to the shade and comfort of his tent.