He raised his left hand, and two men on white Valorian steeds rode forth from the deck of the frigate, drawing their horses to a halt on either side of Blackthorn when they reached the crowd. Both men wore the armor of Britannian knights, the shield of one bearing the crest of the Order of the Silver Serpent. They dismounted, took their places by Blackthorn's side, and gasps arose from the crowd when they removed their helms. The Lady staggered back as if a blade had pierced her heart. She had not foreseen this.

The knight on Blackthorn's left addressed the lady, his tone surprisingly cordial for the accusation he leveled. "Thy son murdered the advisors of Bordermarch while attacking the rightful Regent of Britannia. To defend thy son is to defend a traitor. So sayeth I, Sir Simon of Bordermarch, loyal servant to Britannia's King."

The other knight, the one who bore the shield with the serpent, spoke. "Like thy son, I, too, have disagreed with our Regent more often than not, but that gives me no right to commit treason or murder. Good men of Serpent's Hold died in Jhelom the day Councilor Windemere betrayed us. I hope that their deaths are the last in this conflict. So sayeth I, Lord Malone of Serpent's Hold, loyal servant to Brtiannia's King."

"As I assured thee, Lady Windemere," said Blackthorn, "action shall be taken, but not by me. With the permission of the Great Council, who felt that I might not act with thy best interests in mind, I have temporarily conceded my authority over New Magincia to Sir Simon of Bordermarch and Lord Malone of Serpent's Hold, both of whom suffered losses when my company was attacked. It is with them that thou must now contend. I will play no part in this." He bowed before the Lady. "Fare thee well."

Gulls cried mournfully overhead while Blackthorn returned to the frigate, certain that one way or another, he would be retracing his steps back to shore by nightfall. The sycophants of the Windemere family would gladly defy Blackthorn, but as for Sir Simon and Lord Malone, the most renowned knights in Britannia—that was another matter. Terms would be reached, conditions that he, Malone, and Simon had agreed upon last night. If not—

No blades will be drawn. So he hoped. Still, a voice suspiciously like Whitelock's reminded him that he had brought the men still on board the ship for a reason. Blackthorn would see his childhood friend, Shaana, this night, and if that meant burning New Magincia to the ground and bathing the ashes with the blood of traitors, then so be it.

"Thy men have been released, my Lord," reported Lord Malone as dusk settled slowly over the coastline. "And thou mayest visit the knight, Shaana, whenever thou dost wish. She can be found at The Humble Palate."

Blackthorn nodded, but did not show his relief. The two knights had just entered the cabin moments ago. An hour more, the fires of dusk would have bloomed with the burning of New Magincia. "Is she well?" Blackthorn asked.

"She is still weak, my Lord," answered Sir Simon, "and will be unable to travel for at least another few days." The spry knight allowed himself to smile. "But there is no doubt she will survive, my Lord."

Again, Blackthorn merely nodded though his heart swelled with joy. He returned the quill pen he had been twirling in his fingertips to its well, which rested in a velvet box, and as he did so, a vision flashed before him, of Lord British entrusting him with something. He blinked, confused, and covered his hesitation by sorting the parchments that littered the desk. "And Lady Windemere, what of her? Her ships left earlier in the afternoon. Is she no longer here?"

It might have been a chuckle that escaped Malone's throat. "She departed when she realized the folks of New Magincia would not see things her way, my Lord," he said. "She returns to her family's keep. And even before we left Britain, I was receiving reports that most of Windemere's ships were sailing toward the fortress."