“Odd,” said Ynghilda, “I wasn't expecting anyone.”
“My apologies, Ma'am, but they say that they are here to see Lady Eastgrove,” the guard said nervously.
“Well, for the Lord and Lady's sake, man, don't leave them standing out in the cold! Send them in!” she commanded.
The two women stood as the party was ushered into the hall. There were several men and women, all dressed in the fashion of prosperous tradesmen and women. At the head of their party strode a slight, elderly dwarf. Reaching Deandra he bowed deeply to her.
“Lady Eastgrove, I am Biphur, son of Ouwen, at your service.”
Deandra glanced at Ynghilda, whose shrug signaled that she was as much in the dark as the younger woman.
Deandra returned his bow and said, “I am most pleased to meet you, Biphur son of Ouwen.”
Straightening, the elder dwarf said, “If it is not too great an imposition on M'lady's time, perhaps you would care to look over some of our plans? The rest of the party has gone on to the work-site. Given the season we had thought it best to get started as quickly as possible.”
“Rest of the party?” she said, baffled, “Plans? Work site? I am quite at a loss for what you are talking about.”
The Biphur looked at her with surprise.
“Why, for your estate, M'lady! Surely…” he cut himself off, a look of dawning comprehension crossing his face. Then he surprised them by swearing softly and exclaiming, “Oh that brat! He didn't tell you, did he?”
“Um… who didn't tell me what?” Deandra asked.
“That we were coming? No?”
Deandra shook her head.
Biphur heaved a long-suffering sigh and said, “M'lady, we're here on the Prince’s orders all the way from Ironhame to see to the construction of your estate!”
“Excuse me? My what?”
He looked at her, realizing that she still didn't understand and continued, “Your husband has been appointed The Lord Warder of the North, m'lady. The Crown has sent us to see to the building of a proper estate for you both. You are to be this region’s new Crown Authority!”
Deandra blinked and said, “Oh. Um… I'm not sure quite what to say…”
“I know what to say.” Ynghilda said with a wicked grin, “Congratulations, M'lady! That and… You’re fired.”
EPILOGUE II
In the distant south it was still early autumn. Far beneath the earth in a ruined palace something stirred. There was awareness that The Dreamer was no more, but that did not matter; his role was finished. By harvesting the energy from the sacrifice of the Dead God he at last had the power to begin the process of healing. After all these long ages he would, finally, rise again. The Sleeper would awaken.
Let the Gods of Men tremble.