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carried to excess as a result of the Tilboran massacre of Ryntaran peasants outside of Bluodyn the previous spring, there is little question that Hengyst wished to remove all threats, real or perceived, along the border with Tilbor before he embarked on his decade-long war of consolidation against Tela that eventually, if uneasily and in a fashion that required considerable martial prowess on the part of his descendants, both son and grandson, in maintaining stability, resulted in the foundation of the larger state of Telaryn, and laid the crumbling foundation of governance later undermined and superseded with great effect by the Yaran warlords of the Montagne province, whose ascension to power and the Lordship of Telaryn, while not necessarily acclaimed, especially given their fire and passion, reputedly bestowed on them because they inhabited a land where the mountains still spewed fire, was most obviously accepted with relief by the majority of the populace …
    Quaeryt blotted his forehead, not necessarily from the heat. Still, he’d found no other comparatively voluminous history of Tilbor in the library, nor one so handsomely bound. It had to be written by the third son of a wealthy High Holder … or the fourth or fifth.
    He kept reading for another three glasses, before he returned to his small cubby on the second floor of the house. There he imaged a hole in the false wall he’d imaged into place in the nook that held his bed pallet, removed the strongbox and unlocked it, placed the tome inside, and then locked and replaced the strongbox. After imaging away the hole in the wall, he descended to the main floor, from where he made his way out into another sweltering day and down the hill to Vinara, one of the tavernas he frequented when he wanted neither to spend many coppers nor to risk severe indigestion.
    He nodded politely to the civic patroller he passed. The patroller barely nodded in return.
    While some cafés and tavernas closed from second glass to fourth glass, especially in summer, Vinara was not one of them, perhaps because it was located in an old thick-walled dwelling that had a small fountain in its shaded courtyard. Or it might have been that Celina and her husband simply saw an opportunity. Either way, Quaeryt was glad the taverna was one of those that fit his habits.
    He had no more than stepped into the dimness of the front entry when Celina appeared, flashing a coquettish smile for all that her figure was definitely excessively matronly. “There is a small table by the fountain, scholar.” Her Tellan was that of old Solis, softer and recalling a vanished time.
    â€œI would like that.” He returned the smile. “And you will serve me?”
    â€œWho else would dare with all your words and improper behavior?” The proprietress did not quite flounce out into the courtyard, where she pointed to the circular table so close to the fountain that one edge held a sheen of dampness.
    â€œThank you, gracious mistress.” Quaeryt grinned.
    â€œWould that you would ever be that fortunate.” Her tone was severe, but there was a glint in her eyes.
    â€œA man can dream…”
    â€œA man’s dreams are often a maiden’s nightmares.”
    â€œI’m far kinder than that.” He paused. “Is the cucumber sauce fresh?”
    â€œLess than a glass ago, scholar.”
    â€œThen I’ll have the lamb flatbread with it and the mild rice fries.”
    â€œAnd the pale lager?”
    â€œThat, too.”
    Celina hurried off, and Quaeryt followed her steps for a moment. Sitting in the shade by the courtyard fountain was the most comfortable he’d felt in days. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting with Bhayar again, and especially not to what likely awaited him in Tilbora, but unless the weather was truly unseasonal, the voyage to Nacliano would be more pleasant than sweltering through the summer in Solis—or riding along