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along the trade routes, the garrison here allowed some leeway when it came to personal pleasures, just so long as things were kept under some control.
    The captain’s quarters were the typically spartan ones Nermesa generally associated with Gundermen. An Aquilonian would have had more personal effects and even a few decorative touches. The furnishings in Dante’s quarters consisted of the flat, utilitarian bed that had likely been used by his past few predecessors, a single, tiny table set next to the bed, and two well-worn oak chairs with high, rectangular backs. The captain’s cloak and a few weapons hung on wooden pegs on the far wall, and a rounded, black chest at the foot of the bed likely held the rest of his garments and other effects.
    A lone brass oil lamp with a rounded bottom hung by an iron chain from the flat ceiling. Atop the table sat a half-burned candle and the only truly personal item other than weaponry and clothes that Nermesa could see. A tiny iron icon sat next to the candle. When the knight stepped forward and inspected it, he saw that it was of the ancient god of Gunderland, Bori, a figure once widely worshipped before Aquilonia had taken control and Mitra had become the dominant deity. The figurine showed Bori in his incarnation as a squat, muscular warrior with a thick beard and a helm with a noseguard. In the right hand, he held a short pike pointed upward and, in the left, a rounded shield with a spike thrusting out of the center. Like any good Gunderman, his hair was carved into a tail. Nermesa thought that the god’s expression seemed brooding, as if Bori waited for something.
    While Mitra was the accepted god in Gunderland, Nermesa knew that many of Dante’s people still quietly honored Bori. Morannus had, on occasion, used the northern deity’s name in oaths, and some of the other Gundermen with whom the Aquilonian had served had worn the occasional small talisman. Nermesa supposed that the northerners were hedging their bets—if one god could not see them through their lives, then surely two would make the odds better.
    After showing Nermesa to his quarters, Dante had gone on to bunk with his second-in-command. It still surprised Nermesa somewhat that an Aquilonian was not in charge—that being the accepted rule—but from what he had so far seen of his host, the Gunderman captain was every bit as efficient, if not more so, than many of the knight’s own countrymen. Of course, considering that Aquilonia was itself ruled by a man from a race even the Gundermen considered barbarians, Nermesa supposed that he should not have been so startled. Under King Conan, men were promoted more for their abilities than their bloodlines.
    The ride had been a long one, and even while dining with Captain Dante, it had taken Bolontes’ son some effort not to look as if he was nodding off. It was not at all surprising, then, that Nermesa drifted off to sleep mere seconds after stripping off his travel garb and lying down on the bed.
    His dreams were jumbled, consisting of brief images of himself with Telaria mixed with his various duties as an officer of the Black Dragons and a newly minted baron. Visions of what Nermesa imagined Poitain to be like also intruded . . . olive groves with dark-haired, beckoning women and stern, plate-armored knights on horseback were but a few.
    But, despite the depths of his slumber, something caused the Aquilonian suddenly to stir. The room was as dark as pitch, the only light of any sort filtering in through the one tightly shuttered window near the doorway. Without any movement that might reveal that he was now awake, Nermesa surveyed the one side of the captain’s quarters through slitted eyes. He saw nothing, but sensed that not all was as it should be.
    One hand already lay under the feather pillow Captain Dante had left, but it did not immediately slide to the dagger that Nermesa had long learned to keep handy there. Instead, it went to the small pouch that the