"I ordered him to await my arrival," Blackthorn said, harshly. "Regent or not, with Lord British's absence, I am Britannia's military commander, and that includes Captain Geoffrey and the Royal Guard." He leaned forward, hands firmly planted on the table, and peered at each councilor in turn, words slow and deliberate. "Captain Geoffrey defied his superior. The fact that the Council gave him permission to do so does not justify the indiscretion."

The silver-haired councilor would not be intimidated. "The Captain was well aware of his insubordination, but he believed his disobedience a worthy sacrifice if it meant searching for Lord British." He threw his arms wide. "Art thou seriously suggesting that we should not have recognized his honorable action? I can think of no greater injustice."

Blackthorn was about to respond, but it was Hassad who spoke. "The matter will be settled later, gentlemen." Hassad's eyes could not see, but somehow he managed to deliver a penetrating stare to both Blackthorn and the Councilor. "There are more important issues at stake. Our monarch is missing, and we must decide what is to be done."

"Stories of his absence have begun to spread," said Fiona. "The crew with whom I sailed whispered that daemons had slain their King. A ranger here in Britain spoke of seeing His Majesty's ghost amongst the trees of Spiritwood."

Felespar snorted. "Rumors, nothing more."

"Perhaps," Annon, the Councilor of Britain, said, "but rumors breed uncertainty and with uncertainty comes fear, both of which plague our realm more so than ever before. The final wasting of the northeast, the sudden surge of maelstroms within our shipping lanes." Windemere scowled at this. His family had stayed true to its roots, and now more or less controlled the seas: This time, ironically, by protecting all the known sea routes from rogue ships and pirates. Not a port could be visited without encountering Windemere's ships; if anything, Windemere's fleet constituted Britannia's navy. 'Twas said that even the great serpents and squids of the sea fled before the sight of one of Windemere's ships. But there was nothing even a navy could do against maelstroms, especially ones that appeared at random.

Annon continued listing Britannia's woes. "And with the increase of bandit and troll attacks along the roads, merchants are less willing to travel, and less willing to trade. The shopkeepers and farmers here in Britain have suffered. As a result, so have the laborers. Everyone is facing hard times. I have seen men turn on each other in the streets, witnessed children robbing beggars." He sighed gravely. "If such problems have arisen here—in our realm's center of trade—then I can only imagine what hardships lie elsewhere. There is much to be concerned about."

"Britannia is in a fragile state," agreed Fiona, "and many believe the loss of its monarch could be the final blow."

Windemere spoke forcefully. "And what dost thou believe? That we cannot survive without a monarch? Absurd! Britannia has not been a monarchy in decades, not since the founding of the Great Council."

Felespar chuckled. "If that is so, then tell me, Windemere, who is it that the lords and ladies of our land swear their fealty to? The Crown or the Council? We may not be a monarchy in the traditional sense, but sense means little in the game of power. As for the rule of Britannia: Folks speak of their king, not their councilors, and they will seek a new king when the old is lost."

"This, they already do." Blackthorn turned in surprise at the voice of Sindar, the Councilor of Trinsic, who studied them through heavy eyelids. "The fighters of Jhelom and the paladins of my own city have talked of positioning Lord Malone of Serpent's Hold as the successor to the throne."

"Lord Malone, yes." Goeth bobbed his head as if in agreement, but Blackthorn could not be certain whether the gesture—or even the words—had been a conscious effort. "Much support there is for him." The aged Council's shoulders twitched.