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lay far to the west, a long sea voyage around the lands of the Spearthrower's empire. A dangerous journey not to be undertaken lightly, thanks to the depredations of the warlord's imperial Pirate Fleet.
    The King rose, giving the signal for all to do likewise.
    "Ladies, now you have seen my son, let us reconvene this time tomorrow, giving you a chance to recover from your arduous voyage."
    The ambassadors bowed again, this time a shade lower as fitting for a monarch.
    "Ramil, come with me." Lagan beckoned his son to follow him into the retiring room behind the king's dais.
    Perplexed, Ramil trailed after his father. Lagan dismissed the servants, threw a log on the fire, and sat down in an armchair with a grunt of contentment. Compared to the White Stone Chamber, it was a comfortable room, much like an old slipper after the pinch of formal footwear. Ramil felt more at ease in his muddy clothes and slumped in his favorite chair.
    "Wine? Kava?" Lagan offered his son a drink from a tray set ready on a low table. Ramil accepted a cup of the dark, bitter kava that had been his mother's preference.
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    "Sorry about that," Ramil said awkwardly, gesturing to himself and then into the hall. "The messenger made it sound as if I had to come at once."
    "A wise king never hurries without knowing to what he goes," said Lagan, quoting from the Book of Monarchs, one of Ramil's least favorite texts from his days in the schoolroom.
    "Yes, but the wise son jumps when his father whistles," Ramil countered.
    Lagan laughed. "How true. Never mind all that now: I have something very serious to discuss with you."
    "Would it have to do with the ambassadors, by any chance?"
    Lagan nodded and sipped his wine. "You won't have failed to notice that Holt has been regarding us with less than friendly eyes of late."
    Ramil nodded. The coast had been raided by so-called pirates--really privateers working for the warlord of Holt, Fergox Spearthrower. There had been several skirmishes along the border between Gerfalian troops and men from Holt's latest conquest, Brigard. War had not yet been declared but it was already being fought.
    "The Blue Crescent Islands have also had their fair share of attention from the warlord. In our different ways, we represent the next logical conquests for Holt."
    "But that'll never happen," Ramil objected. "Gerfalians will never let Spearthrower invade. We'll fight his armies street by street, field by field--"
    Lagan held up his hand. "I know, Ram, I know. But I also know that the Brigardians had a brave army, as
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    well equipped and trained as ours. They did not give in easily, but yet they fell."
    "They were starved into submission. Fergox cut them off by sea--that's what broke them."
    Lagan sipped his wine. "I'm glad to see you've been paying attention at council. I will never again say that your glazed look is because you are daydreaming. But you are right. Fergox exerts his power by both land and sea. We might be able to match him with our armies, but we will never be the equal of the Pirate Fleet. That's why we need an alliance with the Blue Crescent."
    Ramil nodded. It made perfect sense. The Crescent navy was famed
    throughout the known world for its strength as a fighting force. Used mainly to defend the waters of the Sapphire Ocean, the four Crown Princesses could call on at least a thousand ships with highly skilled crews who also trained as land-based fighters. These marines were a remarkably versatile force, even more surprising in Ramil's view because half of them were female. Women did not train for combat in Gerfal. But the Islands were a long way away and though Gerfal and the Blue Crescent were not enemies, neither were they exactly friends. Their cultures were worlds apart.
    "So how are we going to make this alliance? I can see we will benefit from their navy. What do they get from us?"
    "Initially, raw materials and promise of military support in the event they are attacked. We do not know
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    which country