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child of such a union who must rule. Still, kings love. The merry eyes, the lovely face, the murmuring voice, the graceful neck, the musical laugh—kings are no more proof against all these than other mortals.” He had closed the locket from which the exquisitely painted miniature of the sweet-faced young woman had looked out with startlingly lifelike presence. “So that a king’s love and a king’s marriage may be two different things, and a king’s children two different breeds.” He put the locket in his tunic, Sigrieth did, and turned his face away, for the moment, from the child on his oaken knee. Then he said: “Perhaps as well that she died in giving birth to you; I mean, as well for the Kingdom of Boorn. For she was of common, not royal, blood, and the people would ne’er have accepted her here. That being so, well might I have given up my throne to go and live with her in some peasant’s hut, had it come to that…” His hand had stroked Helmut’s shoulders. “You are what she left me, and enough; and you shall be a king’s son in everything but inheritance. No difference shall I make between you and Gustav in my affection save this: that Gustav is firstborn and true son of a true marriage and by that accident must have the kingdom. Only if he dies do you succeed. But a finer legacy is yours, for you have her laugh.” Then he had dumped Helmut off his lap. “Now, up: to Vincio. This morning must you learn to draw bow to full nock…”
    Lying on the tower bed, Helmut used his one hand to knuckle at his burning eyes, thinking that neither would he see his father nor draw bow again, that he was alone and far from home, bereft of family and all he had loved. And yet, Sandivar had said he would go back. But Sandivar must jest. For he was just past twelve in years; and no child could return to Boorn and take it back from Albrecht of Wolfsheim, whatever an old man should talk of Rage, Vengeance, Death, and Destruction. Aye, Sandivar was mad, and he would never see Boorn and the great palace of Marmorburg again.
    Thinking such bitter thoughts, he lay staring at the smoke-blackened stones above until the torches guttered and died; and only then did he sleep.
     
    Morning erased all gloom. When Helmut flung open the tower door, a cool sea wind kissed his face, and the sun poured out gold to the poor marshes as it rose. White birds circled and flapped against the sky, and the tang of salt and strange, distant places was enough to make blood tingle in its channels. He stood, naked, and stretched high his hand and stump, letting the dawn wind blow over him. And in that moment, he knew that it would be impossible to keep his promise and stay here on the island. Silently, and yet as if they shouted, the marshes in all their vastness called to him to come.
    He went inside, donned kirtle and sword belt. There he hesitated. Sandivar’s presence seemed all around, rebuking. But through the doorway came again that stirring smell of salt and distance; Helmut sighed and hurried back out into morning light.
    Full of resolve, he went to the small dugout in which he had been set adrift on the Jaal. Sandivar used it with some frequency now and had cut a long pole, which was shipped under the single thwart. His heart pounding, everything but the lust for adventure pushed from his mind by the spell of morning, Helmut worked the craft afloat, splashed through the mud, jumped in; then, with only the one hand, he unshipped the pole.
    It took some doing. He had watched Sandivar often enough, but he’d little experience himself in poling a boat. He floundered and rocked around the shallows by the island as he practised. By holding the pole with his left hand and pushing against it as well with his right forearm, he found that he could control the boat tolerably well. Surely it would do no harm simply to circle the island; that much exercise he needed, was entitled to, and since the tower could be seen for miles, there was no danger