Enchanter's End Game

compelled to waste their lives in idleness, and might I point out, your Grace, that the loss of that talent injures Arendia even more than it injures us."
    "Well spoken, my Lord," the queen murmured.
    "Might I respond, your Majesty," the aged, white-bearded Baron of Vo Serin inquired.
    "Certainly, my Lord," Mayaserana replied. "Let us all be free and open with one another."
    "The titles of the Asturian gentlemen are theirs for the asking," the baron declared. "For five centuries the crown hath awaited but the required oath of fealty to bestow them. No title may be granted or recognized until its owner swears allegiance to the crown."
    "Unfortunately, my Lord," Reldegen said, "we are unable to so swear. The oaths of our ancestors to the Duke of Asturia are still in force, and we are still bound by them."
    "The Asturian Duke of whom thou speakest died five hundred years ago," the old baron reminded him.
    "But his line did not die with him," Reldegen pointed out. "Her Grace is his direct descendant, and our pledges of loyalty are still in force."
    The queen stared first at one and then at the other. "I pray thee," she said, "correct me if my perception is awry. Is the import of what hath been revealed here that Arendia hath been divided for half a millennium by an ancient formality?"
    Reldegen pursed his lips thoughtfully. "There's a bit more to it than that, your Grace, but that does seem to be the core of the problem."
    "Five hundred years of strife and bloodshed over a technicality?"
    Count Reldegen struggled with it. He started to speak several times, but broke off each time with a look of helpless perplexity. In the end he began to laugh. "It is sort of Arendish, isn't it?" he asked rather whimsically.
    The old Baron of Vo Serin gave him a quick look, then he too began to chuckle. "I pray thee, my Lord Reldegen, lock this discovery in thy heart lest we all become the subject of general mirth. Let us not confirm the suspicion that abject stupidity is our most prevailing trait."
    "Why was this absurdity not discovered previously?" Mayaserana demanded.
    Count Reldegen shrugged sadly. "I suppose because Asturians and Mimbrates don't talk to each other, your Grace. We were always too eager to get to the fighting."
    "Very well," the queen said crisply, "what is required to rectify this sorry confusion?"
    Count Reldegen looked at the Baron. "A proclamation perhaps?" he suggested.
    The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Her Majesty could release thee from thy previous oath. It hath not been common practice, but there are precedents."
    "And then we all swear fealty to her as Queen of Arendia?"
    "That would seem to satisfy all the demands of honor and propriety."
    "But I'm the same person, am I not?" the queen objected.
    "Technically thou art not, your Majesty," the baron explained. "The Duchess of Asturia and the Queen of Arendia are separate entities. Thou art indeed two persons in one body."
    "This is most confusing, gentlemen," Mayaserana observed.
    "That's probably why no one noticed it before, your Grace," Reldegen told her. "Both you and your husband have two titles and two separate formal identities." He smiled briefly. "I'm surprised that there was room on the throne for such a crowd." His face grew serious. "It won't be a cure-all, your Grace," he added. "The divisions between Mimbre and Asturia are so deep-seated that they'll take generations to erase."
    "And wilt thou also swear fealty to my husband?" the queen asked.
    "As the King of Arendia, yes; as the Duke of Mimbre, never."
    "That will do for a start, my Lord. Let us see then to this proclamation. Let us with ink and parchment bandage our poor Arendia's most gaping wound."
    "Beautifully put, your Grace," Reldegen said admiringly.
    Ran Borune XXIII had spent almost his entire life inside the Imperial compound at Tol Honeth. His infrequent trips to the major cities of Tolnedra had, for the most part been made inside closed carriages. It was entirely probable that Ran Borune had never walked a continuous mile in his life, and a man who has not walked a mile has no real conception of what a mile is. From the very outset, his advisers despaired of ever making him understand the concept of distance.
    The suggestion that ultimately resolved the difficulty came from a rather surprising source. A sometime tutor named Jeebers - a man who had narrowly escaped imprisonment or worse the previous summer - put forth the suggestion diffidently. Master Jeebers now did everything