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been singing it at New Year’s Firstday, oh, since I was able to talk, I guess I do.”
    Shendan just crossed her arms as she led the way into an enormous hall built between the huge fireplaces from before there were the magical Fire Sticks. “So let’s hear it.”
    Inda glanced around, hiding his surprise. This castle was obviously far older than his own home, yet all the joins in the stone had been smoothed with plaster, and the paintings of stylized eagles, of riders and old legends on the walls were fresh. It really did look like a castle for kings—but then it was really the first Savarend Montredavan-An who had conquered Iasca Leror, despite all the songs about Bederian Montrei-Hauc and his prowess. He had made the peace, formed the kingdom, and then lost the throne by a knife in the night, right in this very castle.
    This family had produced the first real Marlovan king, and now were exiles on their own lands. Old history seemed suddenly immediate, and he wondered what Shendan was going to say next. He suspected he would not find out until he answered as she wanted, so he chanted in Marlovan, the words sounding to him, as always, like the galloping of a horse:
    Maralo Venn of ancient day, riding Hesea Plain
Wide as the wind’s home, free as the eagle.
Led by three warlords wielding the sun:
Montrei-Hauc the mountain-gift,
Montrei-Vayir plains masters,
Montredavan-An, lords of the forests.
Allies and equals, before they were kings
    Shendan echoed in a derisive singsong, “ ‘Allies and equals, before they were kings.’ How many lies in that line?”
    Inda knew plenty of girls, but not one was anything like this Shendan. “Not lies,” he stated. “Poetic embellishments. That’s what my mother calls ’em.”
    Shendan cast him a sideways look, full of inward laughter. “I should have known you’d be familiar with such things. Your mother grew up here, after all, and I’m glad she taught you. I’ll bet a horse you even know the dates in Sartoran time.”
    Marlovan history was sung, and time was measured by great deeds, not years. But Inda said, “Your ancestor made a treaty by marriage with the Cassadas family in 3682, when he took over Iasca Leror.” After which they changed their name to Cassad, and became as Marlovan as the rest of us.
    “And do you know when Anderle Montrei-Vayir had my ancestor, as you call him, assassinated?”
    “3718,” Inda said, feeling uncomfortable—as if it had happened last week, and not almost two hundred years ago.
    “Well, lies or poetry, it sounds good, doesn’t it? All right, then. Skip away to ‘riding the ranges’—”
    Inda chanted,
    Riding the ranges, valiant and venturous,
Marlovan war kings defended the holdings
Great Vayir strongholds, from the high throne.
Yet treaties beholden, deeds of famed prowess
Bound Jarls and King at year’s Convocation.
War drums and danger through all four seasons
Brought fire and feud by—
    The old words, sung over and over since Inda was small, suddenly took on different meaning now that he was standing in the stronghold of the Montredavan-Ans so vilified in the song.
    Shendan’s mouth curved in her soundless laugh, then she continued:
    —gold-greed and fame-fire
Burned a hunger never to assuage.
Bones broken like spear-shafts,
Shields piled in towers,
Such was the vision of the Montredavan-An king.
    Fame-fire—the craving for never-ending renown—that was the way the words translated, but until now Inda had never thought about what they really meant. His face heated under Shendan’s trenchant gaze. What came next were the triumphant verses about how the new Jarls swore allegiance to the new Montrei-Vayir king, who pledged peace and plenty. He said, “So the old songs lie, is that it?”
    Shen snorted. “Didn’t it ever seem silly to you that all the dogs yapping at Anderle Montrei-Vayir’s heels added ‘Vayir,’ which means ‘plains,’ onto their family names, just when they left riding the