“Are you going to try it with me? Or doyou only take pleasure in attacking thosewho cannot defend themselves?" Damenheard the hardness in his own voice. Heheld his ground. Around them, the towerroom was empty. He had sent everyoneelse out. "I remember the last time youwere like this. You blundered so badlyyou gave your uncle the excuse heneeded to have you stripped of yourlands.”

“If you bind your men to you with deception, how can you ever trust them? You have qualities they will come to admire. Why not let them grow to trust you naturally, and in that way--' 'There isn't time,' said Laurent. The words pushed themselves with sheer force out of whatever wordless state Laurent had been shocked into. 'There isn't time,' Laurent said again. 'I have two weeks until we reach the border. Don't pretend that I can woo these men with hard work and a winning smile in that time. I am not the green colt my uncle pretends. I fought at Marlas and I fought at Sanpelier. I am not here for niceties. I don't intend to see the men I lead cut down because they will not obey orders, or because they cannot hold a line. I intend to survive, I intend to beat my uncle, and I will fight with every weapon that I have.”

“You broke a man today. Doesn't that affect you at all? These are lives, not pieces in a chess game with your uncle.' 'You're wrong. We are on my uncle's board and these men are all his pieces.' 'Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are.”

“Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he'd shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white.'It's all right,' said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore's, or like a doe's. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention.'Good,' said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen's thigh under the table.Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up.'Excuse me a moment,' Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise.'I made your pet jump,' said Nicaise, smugly.Not sounding at all displeased: 'Yes, you did.''Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work.''I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.''If I win, you wear it,' said Nicaise.Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it toward Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves.Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.”

“The embroidery came later, in the retelling, as the story was told again and again by the men, taking on its own character as it passed over camp.The Prince had ridden out, with only one soldier. Deep in the mountains, he had chased down the rats responsible for these killings. Had ripped them out of their hiding holes and fought them, thirty to one, at least. Had brought them back thrashed, lashed and subdued. That was their Prince for you, a twisty, vicious fiend who you should never, ever cross, unless you wanted your gullet handed to you on a platter. Why, he once rode a horse to death just to beat Torveld of Patras to the mark.In the men's eyes the feat was reflected as the wild, impossible thing it was--their Prince vanishing for two days, then appearing out of the night with a sackful of prisoners thrown over his shoulder, tossing them at the feet of his troop and saying: You wanted them? Here they are.”

“You fight them, his father had said. You don't trust them. His father had been right. And his father had been ready. Rabatians were cowards and deceivers, they should have scattered when their duplicitous attack met the full force of the Akielon army. But for some reason they hadn't fallen at the first sign of a real fight, they had stood firm, and shown metal, and, for hour upon hour, they had fought, until the Akielon lines had begun to slip and falter.And their general wasn't the king, it was the twenty-five year old prince, holding the field. Father, I can take him, he'd said.Then go, his father had said, and bringus back victory.”

“Father, I can beat him, he'd said, andhe'd ridden out and returned to a hero'swelcome, to have his armour stripped byservants, to have his father greet himwith pride. He remembered that night,all those nights, the galvanising power ofhis father's expansionist victories, theapprobation, as success flowed fromsuccess. He had not thought about theway it had played out on the other sideof the field. When this game began, Iwas younger.”