The Skyrider of Renegade Point

By Erik Christensen

If you’re going to chase an army, you’d better bring a few friends—and some dragons.

William Whitehall is in trouble. His barony is failing, his income has dried up, and he’s been saddled with the care of the dragon queen’s sickly offspring. At only twenty-one, he has already gone from hero to zero.

After a gang of renegade soldiers robs a local nobleman, William jumps at the chance to exact justice and earn a reward.

Borne on the wings of their dragon allies, he and his friends chase their elusive foe across land and sea, following a wake of escalating crimes, until it becomes clear that what he thought was a simple theft is actually something far more sinister. Now William must decide what’s more important: protecting his friends from danger, or preventing the fall of the kingdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erik Christensen
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463328958

Book preview

Chapter 1

William Whitehall clung to his mare’s neck as they thundered along the forest paths. His heart pounding with both excitement and anger, he kept his head low to avoid low branches as they whipped past. As they rounded a corner, he spotted his quarry: a small rider on a chestnut bay, cloak flapping behind like a flag in a storm. As they made another turn, the other rider pulled out of sight.

He urged his mare to even greater speed, trusting her to avoid the many obstacles in their path and not crash into a tree or toss him off her back. Soon, they emerged from the dark confines of the woods into bright open pastures, and he demanded even more from her. The other rider was still several lengths ahead.

William’s mare gained steadily as they sprinted across the open fields, but lost ground on every jump over a fence or hedge. The other rider was skilled.

Finally, a large, open field gave William the chance he needed. His mare surged forward, free to find her top speed, heedless of the clumps of dirt flying from the hooves of their adversary. They were just in reach when the other rider swerved in front of them, slowing William’s mare, then leaped effortlessly over a tall hedge.

His momentum lost, William dared not jump. He found an opening and cantered through to the other side, where he found the other rider waiting for him.

You cheated! said William.

Jack Doran, dark, short, and slender, grinned back at him. I created an advantage for myself, he replied. You left me no choice, since you stuck me with the slower horse.

You started early, said William. And then you blocked me before the last jump. Just once, I’d like to have a fair contest with you.

Jack pointed at the hunting bag strapped to William’s saddle-bag. You already won a fair contest. Five ducks to my zero.

And you lost seven of my arrows.

Don’t tell Rachel, or I’ll never hear the end of it, said Jack. How did you get so good at hunting?

William shrugged, his anger dissipating. I hunt almost every day. It’s either that, or I don’t eat. And you know what my appetite is like now that I’m living the country life.

Jack stared back at him with an incredulous look. You’re the baron of Whitehall Manor, and you can’t afford to buy meat? Are things really that bad?

We’re going through some tough times, said William as he looked away. Late winter is always difficult. Anyway, let’s get to the mill. I want to show you something.

They rode the short distance side by side, arriving moments later at the base of a gentle slope. Busy place, said Jack as he gazed at the small crowd.

William grumbled. I hate winter, he said.

Jack frowned a little. When did you become such a wimp? This is the mildest winter in years.

William sighed as he shook his head. Not the weather…them, he said, pointing at the throng winding their way up the path ahead. I never spent much time on farms in winter, but I know people don’t wander about doing nothing. I know for a fact there’s plenty of work to be done.

The boot’s on the other foot now, isn’t it? asked Jack with a smirk. Before you became Lord William it didn’t matter how hard farmers worked. But now you’re a baron, and all you see is who’s busy and who’s not.

William turned slowly, his eyes betraying the sting of Jack’s comment. Now hang on a second. I did plenty of harvest work myself—more than you did, that’s for sure—so I know the summer is busier. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do. Look at the place…broken fences, unfurrowed fields, even messy yards. The quiet time before planting is the perfect opportunity to tend to those chores.

Relax, Will. I’m pulling your leg. You’re right, though. I don’t see this kind of lazing about around Rebel Falls, but maybe sheep farms are different. What’s everyone staring at, anyway?

William grinned. That’s what I wanted to show you. Come on. William led the way up the path, while the crowd parted before him, some bowing, others wishing him good morning. He waved back, hiding his displeasure at their idleness with a smile, and continued until they reached a tall wooden structure.

I’ve seen your mill before, said Jack as he slid off his horse. What’s the big deal?

Look, said William, pointing to a large object dangling from a window halfway up the structure.

What on Esper is that? asked Jack, his eyes wide.

The millstone, said William, his face beaming with pride.

Jack stared in amazement. King’s giant bunions…how big is it?

Oh, about eight hundred pounds.

Jack turned to William, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Eight hundred…do you realize that’s the—

The biggest millstone in Azuria. Yep. And only two or three bigger on all of Esper.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. Now that’s a risky venture. Are you sure there’s a market for it?

Ruskin says he’s certain. Plenty of baronies have no mills of their own, even the older ones. With a big stone like this, and a steady stream with a good dam to power it, we can service everyone within miles. And when we finish the canal, farmers can ship their flour to Marshland, or even Faywater Port.

Jack peered again toward the mill. Where is Ruskin, anyway? Shouldn’t he be bossing the gang?

William shrugged. He’s probably inside the mill, although it’s anyone’s guess whether it’s him or the millwright who’s running things.

Jack pointed at the dangling millstone. I’m not sure anyone is. Should it be bouncing around so much?

William swore under his breath as the stone swung, banging against the mill as it spun. Framed in timber, mere contact with the wall wouldn’t damage it—in fact, the opposite was more likely—but his knuckles turned white as he clenched his riding gloves. I hope he remembers how much gold we spent on that.

Jack snickered. I remember when you were anxious over coppers. My, how your life has changed.

It’s not exactly an improvement, snapped William.

If you say so, said Jack with a shrug. I’d rather be rich and worried than poor and worried.

I’m hardly rich. I just have bigger expenses and bigger worries. Like—oh, for crying out loud… As the men above pulled the ropes, the wooden frame caught itself on a wooden beam jutting from the mill. No one warned them of the snag, and the men continued to pull while William held his breath.

Jack’s eyes widened with concern. Shouldn’t you tell Ruskin?

A sharp crack rang out from the frame as the men pulled harder. A piece of timber flew off, exposing the stone’s gray surface. No time, said William. He shouted to the crowd near the mill. Get out of the way! Move, move! He ran toward them, waving his arms to urge them to safety. Above him, the frame cracked again, and screams filled the air. William looked up in time to see the stone break free, fall in silence, and land with a terrible crash on the front steps of the mill.

The steps propelled the stone toward a crowd of dumbfounded children. William dispersed them as best he could, but there were too many to move at once. As the stone bore down on them, one child remained, but as he reached for the lad, someone pushed him from behind, sending him hurtling toward the side of the path. He hit his head on a sharp rock, and for a moment his ears rang and his vision went dark. As his head cleared, he rolled over to find Jack on top of him.

Are you crazy? asked Jack. You could have gotten yourself killed!

William pushed Jack away, jumped to his feet, and began searching frantically. What happened to that boy? he asked. The stone was headed right for him!

Jack grabbed his arm and whirled him around. You idiot! It wasn’t headed for him—it was about to hit you. You could have been flattened.

William spotted the boy on the ground, groaning and clutching his leg. He ran to him, ignoring Jack. Did the stone hit you? he asked.

Yes, m’Lord, said the boy through gritted teeth. It scraped my leg bad. What happened to your head?

William gently pulled the boy’s hands away and looked. The stone had torn away not only the boy’s threadbare pant leg, but plenty of skin as well, leaving a bloody wound in its place. William suppressed a shudder and reached into his coat pocket, finding a clean silk handkerchief. My head is fine—I just bumped it on something, he said. He locked eyes with the boy and smiled. Let’s take care of your leg. This will sting a bit, but I have to cover the wound to keep it clean. Can you be brave while I do that?

Tears welled up in the boy’s frightened eyes as he nodded. He barely flinched as William tied the silk cloth around his leg and secured it with two more. His demeanor changed as he watched, his fear turning to curiosity. Are you a healer too? he asked. That wasn’t in the books.

William smiled as he tied the last makeshift bandage. A good friend taught me. She was in those books too, and she’s the best doctor I ever met. One time, after wolves attacked us, she cut my leg open and removed this. He reached under his shirt and pulled out a necklace.

The boy’s eyes bugged out. Is that the wolf’s tooth?

Yep. Nasty thing was rotting two or three inches under my skin, poisoning my blood. She cut my leg open, found the tooth, removed it, and stitched me closed well enough to walk just minutes later.

Are you going to cut my leg open? the boy asked, the fear evident in his eyes.

William laughed. No, you’ll be fine if you keep the wound clean and covered. Oh, here’s Ruskin.

A middle-aged man with a trimmed iron-gray beard ran up to William. Apologies, Lord William, he said in a grave voice. The frame got stuck and the men didn’t think to stop pulling. We’re about to go look for the stone now.

Hello Ruskin. Never mind the stone for now. Find out if anyone else is hurt, then let’s get this fellow to the manor.

The boy shook his head with fear. Oh, I can’t go there! Mama and Papa said never go to the manor.

Ruskin peered at William’s face. It looks like you were hurt too, sir. Your forehead’s been sliced wide open.

William touched his forehead and grinned at the blood on his fingers. So I have. We can thank Jack for that.

Oh sure, said Jack, rolling his eyes. Blame me for the forehead, but don’t bother thanking me for saving the rest of you.

I’ll thank you later, said William. But first, help me get…what’s your name?

Rico, said the boy.

Let’s find Rico a nice bed upstairs. He should stay off his feet for a while.

Ruskin’s impatience showed through his deference. Lord William, you really should get your own wound tended to. The young lad can rest at home as well as anywhere.

William was about to answer but was distracted by a woman’s scream. Rico! What happened to you? A young woman hurried to Rico and cradled him in her arms.

We had a little accident with the millstone, and it scraped his leg as it rolled past him, said William.

The woman turned as though seeing him for the first time and gasped. Pardon, m’Lord. I didn’t realize Rico was causing you trouble. I’ll take him home right away.

Now, don’t hurry. Rico didn’t do anything wrong, said William. He gave a sidelong glance at Ruskin. In fact, we should have cleared the area before lifting an eight-hundred-pound rock thirty feet in the air.

Lesson learned, my lord, said Ruskin. Perhaps we should let Rico’s mother take him home now.

Nonsense, said William. He’ll be comfortable at the manor until his leg is healed.

Rico’s mother stared at him as though in shock. Oh, we couldn’t impose, m’Lord. Rico, get up, we’ve taken quite enough of the lord’s time. Rico winced as his mother lifted him, and the two rushed away as quickly as the boy’s injured leg would allow.

William turned to Ruskin. Why wouldn’t they want him to rest on a comfortable bed?

Ruskin shrugged, but Jack spoke up. If you were injured, where would you rather be—in your old house in your old bed, or in Earl Bradford’s manor?

Well, when you put it that way—

Lord William, sir? Two girls looked up at William, the younger one hiding behind the older. Both had dirty yellow hair and faded, ragged dresses, and too little cover for the damp cold.

What do you need, girls? asked Ruskin. Lord William is busy right now.

Hang on Ruskin, they might be injured, said William. Are you hurt, girls?

The older one, about nine years old, shook her head. She turned to the younger one. Tell him, she said.

You tell him! insisted the younger one, her missing front teeth whistling as she spoke.

The older one sighed. My sister is scared to tell you, she said.

So are you, said the younger one, unwilling to be singled out. Besides, I wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Fine, said the older one with another sigh. She turned again to William. Will we get in trouble if we tell you bad news, m’Lord?

William chuckled. I promise I won’t get mad if you tell me the truth. And I have a pretty good idea—

The big rock busted into a hundred pieces! yelled the younger sister, who then hid behind her sister.

It wasn’t a hundred pieces, the older one scolded. It was only about twenty.

A hundred just means a lot, complained the younger. It’s not even a real number.

William groaned and shared a disappointed look with Ruskin before answering the girls. A hundred is a real number, but twenty isn’t any better.

What happened to your head? asked the small one as she pointed at William’s wounded forehead.

Ruskin waved the girls away. Run along now. You’ve given his lordship the news, so off with you.

William frowned at Ruskin as the girls scurried away in fear. Why did you have to speak to them that way? I’ve never known you to be rude to children before. They were brave to tell me the news, and now next time they might be too scared.

I suppose I was a little shorter than I needed to be, said Ruskin. But we really can’t avoid dealing with this. And at the risk of repeating myself, you have a wound that needs tending.

It can wait, said William. What are we going to do about the millstone?

Jack cut in. Will, whether you like it or not, we’re going home and having Mrs. Gracey fix that gash in your head before what’s left of your brain leaks out. You heard what those girls said. Twenty pieces or a hundred, your millstone is gone. Forget about it.

William glared at him for a moment before turning to Ruskin. Is it really gone?

Ruskin shrugged and tried to smile. I’ll ask the millwright to look at it. Not a conversation I’m looking forward to—he cussed something fierce when the thing fell. If there’s a way to save it, I’ll make him tell me, but in the meantime, listen to your friend and get your head bandaged. I’ll meet you back at the manor when I know more.

William sighed. Come on, Jack. Let’s get the horses.

Chapter 2

They rode south along the millstream, William in a grumpy silence, the misty rain causing the blood from his wound to run into his eyes. They passed a little wooden bridge that led west to Marshland Crossing, just wide enough for a carriage or a couple of horses, but they turned east instead and took a path that soon turned into a wide gravel boulevard. When they passed the hedges, the manor itself came into view, and William did his best to ignore it, enormous as it was. He grumbled at the thought of how much gold Ruskin had talked him into spending, arguing that a lord, especially a new one, needed a large house to impress visitors. But what good was a status symbol when he couldn’t afford to feed those same visitors?

You need a stable hand, said Jack as they rode round to the stable. What would people say if they knew the great William Whitehall brushed his own horse?

William shrugged as they turned the last corner. That the last thing I want to be is a normal baron.

Jack grinned at William’s sour expression. No one will ever mistake you for a normal anything, I promise you.

William dismounted and led his mare into her stall. What would I pay a stable hand with anyway? I can barely pay for the staff I have already, and Ruskin’s been insisting I hire a butler since the house was built. He removed the saddle and bridle and ran the brush down the horse’s black coat as Jack did the same with his mount. How many staff does your dad have? he asked.

Jack scratched his chin as he pondered. A couple dozen, I think. Maybe thirty. An earl’s house is different though. You could manage with ten or twelve probably. A couple more if you expand your garden.

They left the stable and headed around the side of the manor. What on Esper do I need twelve people for? asked William.

Entertaining visiting dignitaries, for one thing.

I don’t get visiting dignitaries, said William with a wry smile.

Oh, what am I, then? asked Jack with a look of mock hurt. The son of an earl is used to a certain standard of care, you know. Besides, not every visitor will brush their own horse, or dine exclusively on duck for seven nights in a row. What happened to all your money, anyway? We all made a small fortune from the dragon trade before it dwindled.

William nodded at the manor. This monstrosity for one. The upper floor has twelve bedrooms. I didn’t even want an upper floor! But Ruskin insisted, and I gave in. He said I needed a dining hall, servants’ quarters, a kitchen big enough to feed the entire Marshland Guard, and who knows what else. I probably haven’t even seen all the rooms yet, and I’ve lived here for three years.

Jack chuckled. Well, since you have that kitchen, let’s make use of it and get your forehead cleaned before it gets infected. Though, to be honest, it doesn’t look as bad as I thought it did. It’s not even bleeding anymore.

They walked through the double door entrance, their boots echoing in the giant foyer as William winced, reminded of how much the exotic wood paneling had cost him. A servants’ hallway took them into the kitchen, where a heavy-set middle-aged woman greeted William with a mixture of surprise and concern. Lord William, what happened to your beautiful head? The blood is practically pouring out…oh, sit there while I get a bowl of water and a cloth. We’ll need to clean it and see how bad it is. Jack Doran, is this your doing? Whatever would your doctor friend, the dark girl, what would she say if you let the wound set like this? Oh, what would have happened had I not been here, I shudder to think. She scurried away to get what she needed before either William or Jack could respond.

I think Mrs. Gracey is in love with you, said Jack with a grin.

Maybe that’s why she blames you for this injury and not me, retorted William. Which suits me fine, as I get into enough trouble with her as it is.

Where did you find her, anyway? asked Jack. I thought you didn’t want any staff.

William gave a half-smile before he answered. I didn’t. She just showed up here one day and started cooking for me. I assumed Ruskin had hired her, but he denies it.

Mrs. Gracey returned, bowl of water in hand, cloths and towels draped over her shoulder. The scrapes you boys get into, she said as she dabbed a wet cloth on William’s forehead. I don’t like the sort of horse racing Mr. Doran baits you into. He certainly seems to have an awful lot of free time for an earl’s son. I’ve known all along something like this would happen, and it’s mere luck I was here and—

Mrs. Gracey, as I’ve mentioned before, Jack is visiting me for a couple of months before he goes out exploring. And it’s lucky he is, because he saved my life today. Well, at the very least he probably saved me from greater injury.

Probably? asked Jack.

Mrs. Gracey stopped her fussing and stared at him. What? Then how did you cut your head?

The millstone fell when the men were hoisting it, and it came barreling toward us. I was trying to move the children and didn’t realize how close it was. Jack pushed me to safety, and I hit my head as I fell.

Mrs. Gracey resumed cleaning the wound. Well, that’s a lucky thing, then. Though I dare say Mr. Doran could have been more careful about it.

Jack rolled his eyes and shook his head, and William barely stopped himself from laughing. He reached up and gently pushed her hands away. That will be fine, Mrs. Gracey. I think I hear Ruskin arriving.

Very well. Your head looks much better now that I’ve had a chance to mend it. See? It’s not even bleeding anymore. As for that Mr. Ruskin fellow, he could stand to be a mite less hard on you as well.

William stood and handed her the hunting sack. Thank you, I’ll let him know. In the meantime, could you prepare these ducks for our supper?

Mrs. Gracey took the bag with a resigned sigh. How you can eat so much duck is beyond me. I’ll rustle up some potatoes and greens to go with it. Perhaps I could visit one of the farmers and spend a few coppers—

Just find something in the garden, said William as he and Jack left for the dining hall.

Ruskin was already waiting, seated next to the head of the table. William noted the large picture of himself hanging above the seat of honor and quickly looked away. It wasn’t as though he hated it—Melissa had painted it, and considered it her best work, for good reason. She had depicted William in the defense of Rebel Falls, moments before Kaleb Antony’s men charged them, and the scene was so lifelike that William sometimes half expected Ray Findlay, Antony’s right-hand man, to leap out of the frame and attack. Out of habit, his eyes sought the other end of the hall where his sword and shield hung, the same ones he wielded in the painting. The sword gleamed in the lamplight as brightly as the day the Elder Dragon gave it to him, but the shield still bore the marks of battle. They reminded him of better days when his purpose was plain and his role clear.

He took the head seat and faced Ruskin with a sense of foreboding. How bad is it? he asked.

Ruskin let out a long sigh. The stone is done for, my lord. The millwright was angry almost beyond speaking, but he pulled himself together long enough to curse me out for costing him a day’s work. I reminded him he was being paid regardless, but I think the loss of the stone offended him more than the wasted work.

You can’t repair it? asked Jack as he sat on William’s other side.

Ruskin shook his head, his face grim. The millwright says no, which is no more than I expected. I’ve replaced stones for mere cracks, and this one is in pieces. It’s back to the quarry, I’m afraid.

William drummed his fingers on the table as he pondered the situation. What I don’t understand, Ruskin, is why so many people stood around watching instead of helping. Every time I visit the mill, or the orchard, or the farms, I find people loitering, doing nothing, or worse, causing trouble. If they have nothing to do, why couldn’t they help?

Believe me, Lord William, more help wasn’t what we needed. If the men hadn’t been pulling so hard, the frame never would have broken. More pulling would have done the same, only faster.

Jack gave Ruskin a questioning look. Couldn’t someone have watched from outside and shouted a warning? Better yet, you could have had a couple of men on the ground with ropes of their own to pull the stone clear.

Ruskin nodded and dropped his head a little. In hindsight, that’s an excellent suggestion, Mr. Doran, and we’ll do it that way next time. But this was the first time any of us have been involved in anything quite this size. Blind ambition got the better of me, but we’ll avoid the same mistakes next time.

Next time… said William, his voice trailing off as he stared down the length of the table. Twelve seats on either side, it seemed ridiculously large to him. Not once had all its seats been filled at the same time, and he suspected many had never even been sat in. He turned to Ruskin with a glare. How on Esper will there be a next time? You know my finances better than I do, but I know even without looking at the books how close to the edge we are. Can you tell me, as we sit here in this overgrown mansion that cost who knows how much gold, how we can possibly raise the money to buy another eight-hundred-pound millstone?

Ruskin cleared his throat and stared at the table. Jack looked back and forth between William and Ruskin and asked, Are things really so bad?

Let’s see what Ruskin has to say, said William through tight lips as he continued to stare at him.

Ruskin finally looked up. How much can I say in front of your friend, my lord?

Jack is my best friend, and has my best interests in mind. Everything he knows, he learned from his father, who’s both an earl and a retired successful trader. Jack knows more about money than anyone else I’ve met. I want his input on this.

Very well, said Ruskin. I’ve been your barony agent since shortly after you were promoted to the nobility. I, too, have your best interests in mind, and to that end I’ve done what I can to ensure your long-term financial success. As I made plain when we met, my strategy involves a measure of risk, as well as short-term sacrifice. While you may regret some of our past expenditures now, I trust you’ll come to see their value in the long run. This plan has worked for three barons before you, and it will work for you too.

William slammed his fist on the table. Did your plan involve smashing the millstone to pieces?

Will, don’t be an ass, said Jack with an angry look of his own. He didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident.

William took a deep breath as his frown softened. I apologize, Ruskin. I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you, but the fact is that we are well beyond simple risk, and into something more dire.

I take full responsibility for what happened, said Ruskin. Mr. Doran is correct that the stone’s demise was not part of the plan, but I can’t escape blame for it. I failed to take proper precautions, and that led to unnecessary expense. If you want my resignation, you’ll have it without argument.

I don’t want you to quit, Ruskin, said William with a sigh as he rubbed his tired eyes. Duke Vincent recommended you, and he wouldn’t do so without good reason. Tell me what the next step is. Do we have enough gold to pay for another stone?

Ruskin shook his head slowly. Not even close, sir. We’ll have to borrow.

William sat back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. How had it come to this? In four short years he had gone from having more money than he could spend to not knowing how he would pay his expenses. Do we at least have enough for the taxes this spring?

Without the income from the mill, it’ll be tight. But as long as we avoid bad luck—

William snorted. When was the last time that happened?

Oh, come on, Will, said Jack. You must have something, some kind of resource you can draw from. You’re a baron, for crying out loud. Not to mention famous.

How does being famous help me? asked William. Whoever wrote those stupid books is getting rich, but not me. The fig trees we paid so much for still haven’t borne any fruit. Luckily, Ruskin convinced me to splurge on mature apple and pear trees, because otherwise we would have had no fruit whatsoever. Still, the rest of the orchard produced half of what it did last year, so we have just enough cider for our own use, and barely enough dried fruit to last the winter. Our excess grain has already been sold, minus what we need for seed, and for well below market value because we couldn’t get it milled in time. I can’t afford to sell off livestock, because we keep losing too many newborns, and no one knows why. About the only thing that did well last year was the apiary—another good suggestion of Ruskin’s—but the hives are dormant until spring. So, if you have any other ideas, I’m listening, because I’m fresh out of my own.

What about cheese? asked Jack. Aren’t your dairy cows doing well?

They are, but those belong to the farmers. They’ve all paid their rent for the year, aside from the ones I gave deferrals to.

Jack’s jaw dropped. Deferrals? Why on Esper would you do that?

Ruskin cleared his throat. I suggested it. A few farmers invested in long-term crops themselves, and in exchange for future dividends, we’ve given them a break on their first five years’ rent.

Jack threw up his hands. Well, no wonder you’re in this pickle. How could you agree to that, Will? No barony can afford to give up rent income. Your taxes are based on your expected income.

I know, said William. But I was still earning plenty of gold from my share of the dragon trade when we made that decision. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it dried up faster than I expected. That’s why we need the mill income.

You’ve dug yourself quite the hole, said Jack. Ruskin is right—you need to borrow and get your mill working. I’d ask my dad if he’s willing, but—

No, I can’t do that, said William. I already owe him for the lumber we used to build this place, and the slower dragon trade has affected him too.

I’m glad you understand. He’ll still want to help though. Maybe he can ask his old trading partners to invest in a bond.

That’s a dangerous idea, said Ruskin. It’s your decision, Lord William, but I don’t recommend it. Once word gets around that you’re having money troubles, the vultures will start circling. Before you know it, you’ll have a run of bad luck like you’ve never seen. Rival barons will try to make you default on your taxes and lose the barony to one of their sons. They’ll plant agents to cause problems like damaged crops, sick livestock—

Dropped millstones? asked Jack.

William and Ruskin looked at each other in shock. King’s beard… whispered Ruskin. I don’t know how I didn’t think of it before.

You think someone has sent agents against me? asked William. But why?

You’re a target, Will, said Jack. You weren’t raised on a barony, and you never met your mother’s family, so you don’t know how vicious these rivalries can get. Whoever it is knew you would be too naive to expect it.

So who was it? Earl Bradford? Another baron?

That’s less important right now than identifying the agent—or agents, said Ruskin. Once we uncover them, we’ll learn who’s behind it. But for now, we need to focus on getting a new millstone. Could your stepfather lend you the money?

William sighed. My mother would object, but even if she didn’t, Lord Kevin’s barony isn’t big enough to make him wealthy. They have a comfortable life, and that’s about it.

What about Cairns? asked Jack. He rakes it in at poker games.

Not that kind of money, said William with a shake of his head. Besides, he has expensive habits.

Wine? asked Ruskin. Women?

Worse, said William. Rare books.

You could ask Tom Reid, said Jack.

William locked eyes with Jack and shook his head slowly. Not a chance.

Well, I can’t think of anyone else, said Jack. There are plenty of wealthy people in Marshland and Rebel Falls, but you aren’t friendly with them. You need more friends, Will, the kind who can help you in situations like this.

I like the friends I have already, snapped William. And I don’t choose my friends based on whether they can lend me money. If I did, what kind of friend would I be?

Acquaintances, then, said Jack. The more people you know, the more options you have.

Fine, but that doesn’t help me now. Any other ideas, Ruskin?

Just one, said Ruskin, barely looking up. But you won’t like it.

I don’t like much of anything right now, but as Jack says, I don’t have many options.

Ruskin looked down at the table and hesitated. With an effort, he raised his eyes and met William’s gaze. You could sell the sword.

William jumped to his feet and began pacing. That’s not happening. Don’t ever suggest it again. I’ll give up the barony before I do that. I don’t care how much gold it would fetch, it’s not for sale.

Ruskin let out another deep sigh. There’s only one option left, then.

William crossed his arms and stopped pacing, staring into nothing. Eventually he nodded, as though to himself. Fine. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.

Chapter 3

The shadows were already lengthening as William and Ruskin rode up the path to Administration Hill. The gravel crunched under their horses’ feet, breaking the cold afternoon silence. At the top of the hill, William stopped a moment and gazed at the white stone of the Library reflecting what little light penetrated the mist. There was no time to visit Cairns today.

A left turn took them past the meeting hall where William had been denied his childhood dream of being selected to the Guard. How far away those days seemed. And yet, here he was, five years later, about to face the same man who had sealed his fate then—and could do so again now.

They rounded a corner to find a low, wide mansion, its ornate decorations out of place among the more austere office buildings surrounding it. They slid off their horses, Ruskin taking the reins of both mounts to tie them to the hitching rail while William stretched out the kinks of a long ride. Wordlessly, they climbed the stone steps, and Ruskin reached for the huge door knocker.

Wait, said William. My head—is the gash still showing? I don’t want to look like a clumsy fool in front of him.

Ruskin peered at him in the dim light and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It’s barely visible, my lord. I don’t think I’ve seen a wound heal so quickly before. Shall I knock?

William nodded his assent. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal a gaunt man of about sixty in a clerk’s office robes. Yes? he said.

Lord William Whitehall, to see Earl Bradford, announced Ruskin.

The clerk gazed at William with a critical focus. You’re the lad who dropped an apple on the floor on Selection Day.

William stared back at the man, uncertain how to answer. His face burned at the unjust accusation—someone else had left the apple core by his feet—but he was here to ask for a favor. Now