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Pilet Ra’Karro, emissary of the Most Holy and Divine Emperor of Perran. I bring you greetings … and a message of peace.”
    Rina’s eyes shot to her father.
    The Duke stood slowly. His bow to the ambassador was barely more than a nod.
    “Peace?” The Duke’s eyebrow rose, questioning. “Am I mistaken, or did I not spy an army on my front doorstep?”
    The ambassador smiled, spread his hands. He teetered on the edge of simpering without tumbling over, a miracle of diplomacy. “But, naturally, the Most Divine Emperor realizes how this must appear. Events progress as they must. The change of power is inevitable, but the Most Holy and Divine Emperor has blessed Klaar with the great distinction of being at the forefront of this shift in power. We wish only to gift the people of Helva with our divine rule.”
    Rina frowned. Well, that’s nerve .
    “The duchy of Klaar has neither the authority nor the inclination to acknowledge any such shift,” her father said. “I cannot accept your … gift.”
    The ambassador shook his head slowly, dramatically. “That is a pity. We invite Klaar to willingly accept its place in the new order. However …” Here the ambassador smiled thinly. “… We understand that some force might be necessary to bring rebellious territories into line.”
    Rina’s father returned the smile. “And so we come to it. Unless your generals are fools, they must know they can’t come across the Long Bridge. Nobody wants a siege that could certainly drag on longer than a year if both sides are stubborn enough, and, my dear ambassador, I assure you the people of Klaar are as stubborn as they come. So what do you really want? Begin your negotiations.”
    The ambassador’s thin smile didn’t waver. “No negotiations. Simply an offer. Open the gates and let us take control peacefully. Many lives will be spared.”
    A long, tense moment as the Duke held the ambassador’s stare. Rina studied her father’s face. Could almost read his mind. Was he missing something? The Duke considered all of the potential subtleties before answering.
    “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” the Duke said. “We refuse your offer, obviously. To be blunt, I’m not sure what you hoped to accomplish by coming here today.”
    The ambassador nodded slightly, reaching into a billowy sleeve and coming out with a fan that he spread open with a flick of a wrist, the bright red material a sudden signal to the men behind him.
    The soldiers and the standard bearer ran forward, drawing swords.
    Rina stood, eyes shooting wide. She heard her mother gasp.
    General Zarrik was first to react. “Guards!” He drew the short, broad sword at his waist.
    The audience chamber doors flew open, and the twenty men on the other side rushed in amid the clamor of thudding boots and clanking armor and swords flashing from sheaths. They crashed into the handful of Perranese soldiers. Screams and death and the harsh ring of metal on metal.
    “Treachery!” Rina’s father flew down the dais, drawing his rapier and aiming a long sweeping stroke at the Perranese ambassador.
    The ambassador flinched back, but not quickly enough, the tip of Duke’s blade slicing neatly across his throat. Hot red blood spurted for from the ambassador’s jugular. His hands went to stanch the flow as he stumbled back, the blood seeping between his fingers, his red fan fluttering to the ground like a wounded sparrow.
    Rina’s gaze shifted from the dying ambassador to the clash of men in the audience chamber.
    The Perranese soldiers whirled and danced among her father’s men, swords striking, pulling back to block an attack, striking again. The movements were so fast, Rina almost couldn’t follow them. The Klaarian soldiers fell. Others moved in to take their places, and they fell too, clutching at fatal, bloody wounds. The Perranese warriors were too good. Judging from the little combat Rina had seen, only Kork handled a sword better.
    Where the hell is the big savage?