Duke Rhowyn of Navarre stood with his head bowed, crowned in rose coloured light where the morning sun was refracting through a stained glass window set high in the chapel's frescoed wall. Don Matteo had been laid to rest alongside Rhowyn's beloved Alejandro. Sebastian and Isolde lay, together for eternity, in the transept's matching twin opposite. Waiting near the altar was the newly appointed Marshall, Don Eduardo Des Montoya.

Don Eduardo was the brother of Rhowyn's wife, Lady Caitlyn Louisa. The bond of friendship had been slow to take root between the two men, but the years had seen it grow, season by season, until their respect for one another was buttressed by true affection.

Your Grace?

Rhowyn turned. Yes, I know. it is time. You have a long ride ahead of you.

The Petroans would be expecting Navarre's forces to join theirs five days hence, beyond the Fern river. From there the two armies would skirt the foothills of the Mountains Of Ghorme and advance together into the flat grasslands of the plains.

Without the support of Navarre horse the Petroan heavy infantry could be separated and surrounded by the plains tribes on their sturdy ponies and decimated by arrows, weakening the squared shield walls until they collapsed, and their long spears were next to useless.

I'm tempted to come with you, said Rhowyn. Felix has gone unpunished for too long. But you understand why I can't, don't you? Matteo's son played with mine own boys when they were children. That we might meet in battle would be...

Eduardo nodded to show that he understood.

Rhowyn's two sons were staying at Kaldiz for the same reason.

Does he know, do you think? Eduardo asked Rhowyn.

That my sister gave birth to his bastard child? I doubt it. Nor does he deserve to know. I'm just thankful the boy wasn't tainted with the albino's evil seed.

Felix Ulveus avoided the Al Den Gir warriors with their stench of sour mare's milk as much as was possible, preferring to pass his orders on through the horned men he'd chosen to lead the raiding parties that brought back slaves from settlements all along the border of Petros to be sold on the auction blocks of Qin Xa. A pretty boy could bring a small fortune in the east. The few who survived castration and the long sea voyage were prized by the Qin as exotic bed warmers. There was less demand for girls and women, so the Gir usually kept them as saddle wives and future breeders.

Human sacrifices were custom among the plains tribes. Young females in their moon blood would be buried up to their necks and left to die of thirst or exposure, thus ensuring the fertility of mares and women alike.

The boys of a rival tribe who were unlucky enough to be taken captive were pinned to tree trunks by arrows through their hands and feet, while still alive, so any pregnant women would give their husbands sons.

The Snow Bear didn't encourage it, but nor had he tried to put an end to it. He doubted he could. And besides, it served his purpose well enough. His enemies feared him. How was that not a good thing?

King Robin walked with the wizard Aldhyrwoode in the walled garden at Castellayne where the hundreds of white rose-bushes planted all around the pink granite memorial to Robin's mother were in full bloom. The wizard's hair and beard were silver, and he'd begun to lean more and more on his staff, but his back was still straight and a young man's eyes looked out from under caterpillar brows.

He liked to say he was still a spring lamb, though few lambs could number their years at three and fully five score.

At eight and three score, Robin had more grandchildren than grey hairs in his beard, and the face beneath it was as smooth and flush cheeked as his youngest grandson's. A youth of six and ten, Prince Aldhyn was so much like Robin in so many ways that people often remarked on it. Something the boy's mother, Princess Marisanne, was thankful for.

This trouble with Felix, Aldhyrwoode said to Robin. I think you should stay well clear of it. Rhowyn has the right idea.

Rhowyn has Eduardo to lead his army, said Robin. Who is there here but me?

Why not send Sir Wulfram?

Because the captain of the castle guard needs to be here, to guard the castle.

From what? An invasion of field mice? There hasn't been any unrest in the kingdom since the uprising of the clans. And Roger's son Sir Rufus holds the north. Even Felix's mother Queen Freya wants no part of it.

For all his faults, said Robin, Felix is still her son. She would save him if she could. I promised to return him to her, alive. The only way I can keep that promise is if I'm there.

And what if something happens to you? Asked Aldhyrwoode.

Then, said Robin, Marisanne will be queen until Aldhyn comes of age.

Not Rhowyn?

It was Rhowyn who suggested it. He says he can't be both a duke and a king. He's happy in Navarre. His son Rafael will follow after him. The Dons have agreed to it.

Felix is Matteo's son, said Aldhywoode. He has as much right to claim the thorned crown as Rafael.

True, said Robin. But who in their right mind would nominate him?

The wizard wasn't so sure. Stranger things had happened. It would be better, he thought to himself, if Felix Ulveus could somehow be removed as an option altogether.

The years saw Prince Aldhyn seated on the throne of Rhealmyrr, and Rhowyn's oldest son, Rafael, wear the crown of thorns of Navarre. With his brother Alejandro as his Marshall.

The roads between Castellayne and Kaldiz were seldom empty with all the comings and goings. There were fetes, and feasts, and tourneys.

But with each passing season, Robin became more and more withdrawn. And Aldhyrwoode began to worry.

Robin and Aldhyrwoode walked into the enchanted glade together.

There was no sign of the nymph, Annaed.

Or the giant woodsman who guarded the sacred pool.

It was a hot day, and the long walk had tired Robin. He sat with his back against the trunk of a flowering hawthorn, the sweat on his brow cooling in the welcome shade.

I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, he thought to himself. Just for a moment.

Awaking some time later, he couldn’t help thinking his boots had shrunk.

They definitely looked smaller.

And not just his boots, but the feet inside them!

Wake up! He told himself. You’re dreaming!

He shook his head to clear it.

The hand he used to wipe the sleep from his eyes looked different somehow.

He held it up in front of his face. Then the other.

They were a child’s hands!

What illusion is this? He wondered aloud.

He crouched beside the sacred pool, about to splash water on his face in the hope of banishing this strange, fevered, dream and...

He saw his reflection gazing back at him.

It was a child’s face!

My sweet Robin Redbreast, said a voice he knew instantly.

It was the maiden.

Annaed! Robin exclaimed.

Did I startle you? I’m sorry.

No, said Robin. Yes. We were playing, weren’t we? I don’t remember falling asleep, but I... Where is the old man? Asked Robin, looking around the glade. He was here. I’m sure he was. He had a long white beard and... He walked with a staff but... I don’t see him now.

The greybeard will visit us again, said Annaed. Do not fret.

She stood before him. The most beautiful vision he had ever seen. Her long flaxen hair woven with wildflowers. A chain of tiny white daisies graced one slender wrist. Twists of green ivy were tied around her ankles. Her skin was pale, and smooth, and as perfect as the finest porcelain from far Cathay. A land the prince had only heard of. Though he couldn’t think where. Or from whom. Her lips were a rosebud. Her blue eyes sparkled like starlight.

For sooth, he said. Tell me, blithe spirit, are you real or faerie?

The maiden smiled. I am as real as you are, she said.

I had a dream, said Robin. My father died and I was the king. I married a princess from a far away land... There was a great battle...

The maiden silenced him with a kiss and stroked his hair.

Come and lay with me, she said. The clover is sweet and the bees will not trouble us.

There was the rustle of fallen leaves and the giant woodsman came out of the forest.

Hello! He called. The young master has returned to us, I see. Look who else I found!

He was holding a green leather halter. A butternut-grey pony trotted along behind. The pony saw Robin and whinnied, tossing its shaggy head.

And what of the wizard Aldhyrwoode?

You might ask for him at The Drowned Duck.