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Quade. And the savage glee on his rough-hewn features was that of a man who would rather spill blood than make love.
    “Aye,” Malcolm concurred, pausing to swig a mouthful of wine from the goatskin flask he had pulled from his saddle. “Xusia is mighty indeed.”
    “I think perhaps too mighty,” Cromwell replied ominously. “We have awakened a sleeping tiger . . . and who knows when a tiger will decide to devour its keeper?”
    “When do we destroy him?” Malcolm asked, shuddering at the prospect of having to face the disquieting presence of the sorcerer again.
    “I ordered him brought here but a while ago.”
    General Quade was disturbed. Destroy Xusia? Perhaps the most powerful weapon a general could ever hope to have? “We’re going to kill the sorcerer now? But what of future battles with Richard’s soldiers?”
    Cromwell looked impatiently at Quade. “There will be no more battles. Richard is finished. We have destroyed his army.”
    Quade was still reluctant to lose the sorcerer. As an ally Xusia was invaluable. “But the commoners are fiercely loyal to Richard! They will rally to his aid!”
    “Stop opposing me, Quade! We can deal with the rabble without the aid of an unpredictable wizard. And now is the ideal time to be rid of him. He is weak from the exercise of magic he has performed today. When I saw him last he looked like a vampire bat perishing from lack of blood.”
    “Our king is right, Quade. If we wait and his powers are restored, we might never be rid of him, and he might use his sorcery against us.”
    The sound of clanging chains, breastplates, swinging swords and mail distracted them. When they turned toward their tied steeds, they saw ten of Cromwell’s Black Klaw warriors approaching, pushing a man in leg irons and shackles in front of them. Cromwell instantly recognized the prisoner to be Richard. Not even the swelling bruises and smears of blood on his face could conceal those noble but detested features. Cromwell puffed up and flushed with the heat of victory.
    “Richard! What a surprise!”
    The mockery in his voice amused Quade and Malcolm while lifting Richard’s drooping head defiantly.
    The Klaws tossed the captured king at Cromwell’s feet.
    “How did you manage this?” Cromwell ecstatically addressed the Klaws.
    The senior officer stepped forward, pointing to Richard. “He and a handful of knights were trying to free our prisoners. We killed the knights when they resisted and thought we had better bring the king to you, sire.”
    Cromwell beamed approval. “And well you did. Now leave us.”
    The Klaws walked away, heading for the sea of tents behind them.
    Cromwell now stared disdainfully at the bedraggled and defeated king, who lay in a heap before his feet. “A king risking his neck for his lowly scum,” he jeered. “How noble!”
    Richard glared at his tormentor. If only he had his sword and was alone with the tyrant! “If you mean to kill me, devil, do it now and be done with it!”
    Cromwell crouched beside Richard and looked close into his face. Daggers gleamed in the eyes of both men. “Order your subjects to lay down their arms,” Cromwell baited, “and proclaim me king! Do that, Richard, and you and your family go free!”
    Before Cromwell realized what Richard was about, the shackled king took aim and spat into Cromwell’s face.
    “Dog!” Cromwell bellowed, wiping the mess off his chin and lashing the back of his hand across Richard’s face.
    The slap stung terribly but it was worth it to see Richard humiliated before his men. “Free my hands, you son of a dog-faced jackal, and I’ll varnish the ground with your brains!”
    Still on his knees, his face inches away from Richard’s, Cromwell dropped all pretense at civility and sneered. “At this moment, Richard, my agents are preparing to murder your family! Only by your agreeing to what I say can save them! The right words from you and—”
    Before Cromwell finished the sentence, Richard