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would be within a week after my birthday.”
                  “Did he say anything about...you know?”
                  “Father said that Lord Oran said he would send a messenger tomorrow.  The roads should be clear by now in the mountains.”
                  “That is good news, is it not?”
                  “Yes,” Katelyn said unconvincingly.  A message leaving tomorrow meant it would take at the very least ten days to get there and for him to return.  That was about the earliest assessment, but if snow was still in the foothills or on the roads it could take longer. Maybe as much as a week each way.  Her birthday was two weeks away.
                  The blond princess took in her sister’s ambiguous mood.  “Let’s take a walk in the garden.  We could both use some fresh air and it is a beautiful day.”
                  “All right.”  Katelyn smiled weakly.
     
                  Stemis Sundarrion, High King of Summerhall, Lord of the Sun Plain, and leader of the Midian Alliance sat casually in his cushioned chair behind his paper laden desk.   Lord Oran of Tyelin stood before him wearing his habitual black and silver.  Oran was slightly above average in height.  His face was narrow and his dark, short cut hair and beard were meticulously maintained.   Besides them the King’s study contained a few chairs and several book-filled shelves along the walls.  
                  “You don’t think they would really start a war over this?” Oran was saying.  “Just because of some perceived threat of a power shift?” 
                  “No, I do not,” Stemis replied.  He put a hand to the paunch of his belly.  His eyes narrowed on his round face.  “It could fracture us though, and that is the last thing we need right now.”
                  Any sign of an objection left Oran’s face.  “Do you mean the unrest in the East?  Did Gelarus tell you anything?”
                  Stemis nodded.  “He says trouble is coming.  That this time it will be no simple war.”  At least once every generation there was unrest in the East and many times it had led to war with the Midians.  But what Gelarus hinted at was something much more serious.  “He said he needed to confer with someone from Herrinhall.”  Of course he never gave a name.  The man couldn’t even trust his own King with that much.  But am I his King?  He wondered.  As far as he could remember Gelarus had never sworn loyalty to him.
                  Oran looked stunned; as well he might since Gelarus never needed such a thing before.  “How bad will it be?”
                  “I do not know, but he was worried.”  They were both silent as they considered the implications of having a wizard who was worried.
                  Oran broke the silence after several minutes.  “We don’t have two years to consider, do we?”
                  “No,” Stemis shook his large head.  They had much less than that, but Oran could not know how much.
                  “If there is fighting the other kingdoms will support you,” Oran put in confidently.  “Only the Voltians would use such a flimsy excuse not to fight.”
                  Stemis had considered that and believed it as well.  The problem was that Gelarus was worried.  That is what it came down to for him.  It was a bad sign and any disunity was a call for worry.  Perhaps Oran was right; perhaps he should not worry about it.  “Maybe you are right,” he told his oldest friend and most trusted adviser.  “Surely the Creator would not let the Alliance fail.”
     
                  His horse crested the last hill and he looked across the wide valley formed by the Greenriver.  Summerhall, the City of the Sun, was situated on an island in the middle of