“What about commonsense?” replied Elymas. “What if the Gibbor has sent him to weaken our city with lies.”

            “The war is over,” remarked Fulcruchen.

            “A treaty has been signed. That is all.”

            The crowd began to murmur. Baltic, ever the rabble rouser, shouted, “Don’t forget the war!”

            The crowd picked up the sound. “War! War! War!” elevating to a deafening pitch. The scrape of swords was heard.

            “Enough!” The King shouted, and rose to his feet. His face turned parchment with the effort but held steady. “One more utterance and I will haul out the stocks. At random.” He breathed deeply before continuing. “Long before many of you were born, and while you were tending garden,” he nodded his head toward Elymas, “I was a man fighting in the foothills of High North. My enemy was deadly but honest, a man whose kills were clean and didn’t involve torture. I doubt that the Gibbor has stooped to a dirty trick or sent another to do it for him.”

            Oren opened his blood-speckled vest. “Save for my hunting knife, Majesty, I come unarmed.”

            “Anonymous as well,” remarked Elymas. “Clearly, you’re a Whitehair, but are you the deadly warrior as well?”

            “You just said I was!” shouted Oren.