At that very moment, in the heart of the Kingdom, King Hanya Rendell, a man whose grip on his throne had become a significant source of discomfort of late, was deep in thought.

For weeks, he had been wrestling with a question that seemed to have no easy answer. When had the unquestioned stability of his reign - a position he had occupied for the best part of twenty years - begun to crumble? How was he in a position where an entire section of the Kingdom was in open rebellion, whilst whispers against the effectiveness of his rule—not loud but deep—dominated the corridors of the Capital?

It was a puzzle with no clear solution, no single foolish decision, and no individual to blame. Thus, his self-doubt consumed him.

A few years ago, Rendell had heard tale of a particular amphibian that could be placed in a bowl of water which, if heated slowly enough, would allow itself to be boiled to death without making any effort to escape.

It was an example that he was coming to fear might turn out to be his own fate.

"Is anything wrong, Your Majesty?"

Rendell chose to ignore the tall, thin man standing to his right. His Chancellor would benefit from a little experience in humility. He had been far too proactive of late. The King was unsure of the course of events that had led Lord Borlean to rise to such prominence in his Court. However, he suspected that no little part of his current predicament could be attributed to this influential noble.

No, that was too easy an escape route. Borlean certainly had considerable resources to bring to bear in some of the Kingdom's decisions of late, but Rendell was not going to let himself off so lightly.

From birth, the King had access to a range of Skills that would have left even the wealthiest Noble family awestruck. Whilst he had found this to be wonderful at the time, he now wondered if the easy availability of such power had stunted his growth in other, more important ways.

Not for him, the gradual, careful accumulation of experience which would, in turn, give him a healthy respect for his Skills and the wisdom to use them wisely. No, his father - the late King - had encouraged his son to explore the full range of his inherited gifts as soon as possible and, truth be told, without much oversight.

Had Rendell been hungry, he had the appropriate mental Skill to compel a servant to bring him whatever he wished. Should he want to go boating on a particularly stormy day, why he had the requisite Skill to blow those clouds away. And if he ever found himself being opposed in his will, in whatever small way, why, he certainly had the capacity to remove that obstacle in a variety of exotic ways.

Looking back, he could well see why his father - when he realised the colossal error he had made in spoiling his only son and heir - had been so keen to introduce him to a young man who, even all those years ago, was already lauded as the Pendragon.

It would have been hard for Rendell to maintain his course of wanton self-indulgence whilst in the presence of a being who, quite literally, the gods spoke in hushed tones about.

Gallant Stonehand - and the King was careful to keep this memory in the past and not allow the current, horrific situation with that old man to dominate his thinking - had once described Eliud Vila as one of the "holy terrors of the world." To most in the Kingdom, though, he was known as the Duskstrider.

But to Rendell, he had just been his friend, El.

After his father's death, and as the young King grew into his new role, that extraordinary man had been the only one with the bravery to call Rendell out on his misbehaviour and - perhaps more pertinently, now he came to think of it - the strength to back that up.

"You are doing an awful lot of sighing, Your Majesty."

Rendell again gave no sign that he had heard his Chancellor and was gratified when he perceived a little snort of frustration from his right. Well, that was all to the good. Someone had become rather too free with the rightness of his opinions of late.

Settling back into his throne, the King's thoughts returned to El and the last - rather unexpected - time they had met. It had been nearly a month back when, quite unceremoniously, the Duskstrider had torn him free from the safety of his palace and pulled him into the woods just below his bed chamber window.

This was not just an act of insane stupidity - the punishment for such a casting was instant death - but also one that reinforced to Rendell the truth of Eliud's immense power. It never ceased to amaze the King that when scholars discussed the Pendragon's unlimited mana pool, they - literally - meant just that. There was no end to the magical resources that Eliud could bring to bear on any given situation. And that, apparently, included shattering hundreds of years of impregnable wards in order to, in his words, 'have a little chat' with the King.

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If Rendell has been powerful as a Prince, it was to nothing to his strength as the King. With the passing of his father, he had Skills which many at Court would regard as godly. However, even he had found himself quailing in the presence of his former friend and the strange little group he had gathered around him.

Rendell recognised Josul, of course, and felt that familiar shudder of sorrow that he had been responsible for the death of that dog's siblings. That sorrow was hardly helped by the huge dog leaping with joy upon him and licking his face in a very unregal manner.

Eliud's other two companions, a young woman clutching a bow and the kitten sitting on her shoulder, were unknown to him. However, his discombobulation with the situation was hardly improved by his clear belief that the cat said, 'Oh, Eliud,' as the King was manifested into the group's presence.

The ensuing conversation was brief, to the point, and—to the King's mind—rather instructive.

However, that was for another day.

Back in the present, Rendell was aware that his treatment of Borlean was approaching the rude. As remedy, he stood and beckoned for his Chancellor to follow him. A number of guards—none whose Class was less evolved than a Sentinel—fell into formation behind them as they left the throne room and walked upwards towards the battlements.

If Rendell's hope was that the impromptu excursion up several flights of stone steps might tire his older companion out, he was to be disappointed. Even as he quickly refreshed his own Stamina with , he felt the Chancellor do something . . . similar with a power of his own. It might have made the King feel less uncertain around Borlean if he had been able to pin down the source of that man's power. Or even the range of Skills at his disposal. However, it - as with the man's Class - seemed stubbornly resistant to being uncovered.

"What do you see, Chancellor?"

Borlean blinked slowly, gazing out over the wide expanse of the Capital. There was, thought Rendell, something reptilian in the way he did that. A languid calm to the way his eyes roved this way and that.

'Predatory' was the word, Rendell realised. Then wondered how he had not noticed it before.

"I see a people on the precipice of greatness, Your Majesty." Borlean turned and smiled at the King. "And the man to lead them over the edge."

Before his recent conversation with Eliud, Rendell would have taken those words at face value, assuming the slight awkwardness was due to the lord's unfamiliarity with the language of his adopted home.

Now, however . . .

"Precipice? Edge? You make it sound like the Kingdom is about to fall off a cliff, Lord Borlean."

The tall man laughed humourlessly, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips as he did so. "My apologies, Your Majesty. Even after all these years, I still occasionally misspeak."

The King nodded in acceptance even as he registered that the Chancellor had triggered some sort of Skill as he spoke. Rendell could not quite identify the shape of it—it certainly was not one with which he was familiar—but it seemed to be, ever so subtly, encouraging trust towards the speaker.

Now, that was interesting. If Eliud had flirted with execution by stealing the King from his rooms for an impromptu conversation, then seeking to manipulate Rendell's emotions through Skill use was just as heinous a crime.

He wondered how long his Chancellor had been playing that little game - and whether he would have noticed if El had not put that thought in his head.

"Do you know what I see, Chancellor?" Borlean gave a little shake of his head in response. "A people divided. A City riven by faction. I see a way of life that will not survive a civil war."

"If you are worried about the West, Your Majesty . . . "

"Of course I am worried about the West!" Rendell has not intended to lose his temper. He wondered whether Borlean's emotional manipulation was responsible for that, too. Surreptitiously, he triggered , the strongest of his mental defences. His father had boasted it had trebled his Willpower when he had called upon it. Rendell had not noted any such improvement, but it was undeniable it made it easier to resist whatever Borlean was doing.

He was running it far more than ever since that nighttime meeting.

He was thus in control when continuing. "I have already lost a Knight of the Road, a Great General and a quarter of our military strength to that part of the world. I would not waste any more resources unless I have to."

"And as I have suggested, Your Majesty, any attempt to negotiate with the Trellecs will simply start the race for those in the North and the East to begin their own rebellious causes. You cannot show weakness to these people."

It felt like an old argument, which, in truth, it was. Rendell had sought to resist the sending of Gallant Stonehand into the West when news of Swinford's resistance filtered back, but Borelean's voice had prevailed on the Small Council. That had been before Rendell had spoken to El, though. The King wondered if he would have held firmer had that decision been made more recently.

"I do not see it as a weakness. I fear what is coming to the West."

Borlean smiled, and Rendell was suddenly truck that he had far more teeth than he should have, but then that impression faded, and he was, once more, looking at an entirely unremarkable face.

"The West is due a reckoning, Your Majesty. I do not know the circumstances that lured the Lady Darkhelm to their cause nor how General Souit was overcome at the walls of Swinford. Nor, in truth, do I much care. The Blades of Ruin will lay waste to whatever coalition of traitors these Trellecs can pull together. And the world will see what occurs to those who seek to thwart your will. A little pain today will result in stability for a generation."

"Stability," Rendell said flatly.

He turned away from his Chancellor and looked out over the Capital, hoping that the shadows he felt falling over his homeland were more in his mind than in truth.

"The gods are abroad," El had told him and then, in the same breath, asked him to locate a missing child.

At the time, Rendell had not seen the danger in helping out his old friend and had freely used his Skills to point the Duskstrider in the direction of that which he sought.

But if the gods were truly involved in the business of the Kingdom . . .

Shaking his head, Rendell leaned out over the edge of the battlement, trying to shake free the sound of rolling dice from his mind.

With unblinking eyes, Borlean watched him.