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sword-skewed education did not allow him to identify by name. The Pudarian escort nodded to his on-duty companions, then addressed Colbey and Santagithi. “One moment, please, sirs.” Raising one folded tent flap, he disappeared inside. The canvas flopped back into place behind him.
    Thoughts wafted to Colbey from the nearest sentry. Bored, he explored them, finding the man unusually alert and restless for a soldier on a routine watch. Curious, Colbey probed, discovering an awe that bordered on fear; he, it seemed, was the source of the sentry’s discomfort. The Renshai suppressed a smile of amusement. He held a neutral stance, defensible, yet in no way coiled or threatening, hoping to put the man at ease.
    The mind-reading ability had come to Colbey eleven years past. Shortly after the Western Wizard had informed him that the tribe of Renshai had been massacred five years earlier, a madness had descended upon Colbey. It had taken the form of driving obsessions, voices in his head, and glimpses into the past and future. One by one, he had crushed the intruders and the seeds of insanity they represented, systematically destroying them with the same competence and control he used on the battlefield. At first, he had believed that the madness itself caused him to accidentally catch stray thoughts of people around him, ideas that he later discovered he had read verbatim. Since every voice had disappeared, he realized that each winning war had honed his mind in the same way every battle enhanced his skills. Now, he was just beginning to explore the possibilities of a mental tactic that went far beyond the philosophy and mind over body mastery he had learned since infancy.
    The guards stood in stony silence. The one Colbey had studied shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. Santagithi stood with his head raised, his gaze following the sweep of stars across the heavens.
    Shortly, the tent flap jiggled, then folded aside. The Pudarian who had escorted Colbey and Santagithi peeked through the opening. “General Colbey, Prince Verrall will see you now.” He gave Santagithi an apologeticglance. “Sir, he asked for the general alone. He would be happy to meet with you later if you feel the need.”
    Colbey glanced at Santagithi. The Western general’s expression did not change, but Colbey sensed discomfort in his companion’s demeanor. Though he had no reason to think the prince meant him any harm, the decision to meet after dark and Santagithi’s casual insistence on accompanying Colbey made him careful. He trusted Santagithi’s instincts.
    Inexperienced in affairs of state, Colbey chose his words cautiously and kept his tone respectful. “Please thank his grace for seeing me.” Since the prince had called for him, Colbey guessed his gratitude was unnecessary, but it helped him lead into his request. “Please also inform him that Santagithi has come along as my . . . as my . . .” The idea of Colbey needing a bodyguard seemed ludicrous. Unable to think of a better word, Colbey found an equally absurd one. “. . . my retinue. Anything the prince can say in my presence, he can say in front of Santagithi.”
    The Pudarian stared, as if waiting for Colbey to admit he was joking.
    Colbey made an exaggerated gesture of dismissal. “Go on. Tell him.”
    Reluctantly, the Pudarian retreated.
    Colbey glanced at Santagithi, hoping he had not offended the general. Though they had become fast friends, they had only known one another since the war. And, where Colbey’s title was wholly military, Santagithi was leader of a country as well. “Sorry about the retinue thing,” Colbey whispered.
    A tight-lipped smile ruined Santagithi’s otherwise somber expression. He spoke as softly, “You must think much of my abilities to consider me an entire retinue.”
    Colbey suppressed a chuckle. In his attempt to sound as respectful as possible, he had not realized he had used the plural.
    The Pudarian’s head again appeared