Prologue

   The Ashfolk whispered to each other as the army of the Weeping Mountains rode through the city. Dennys Merrins, King of the Ashlands, had died in the night. The Mountainfolk, who had been laying seige to Great Ashes for months, were welcomed into the city as soon as the Ash King was found the next morning.
   "That man out front," a mother murmured to her child, "that's Conri Mackall of Elfwyns Rock, the King of the Weeping Mountains."
   "The Ashlands will be great again," a husband told his wife. "A great king, that's all we need. King Conri of Elfwyns Rock."
   Conri smiled as he listened to other Ashfolk saying similar things. It had been nearly two hundred years since the first mad Ash King had murdered the last king of Spiderwood. That had been the beginning of the War of the sixteen kingdoms of Palencine. The Ash Kings since then had each been madder than the last. It was said that King Dennys would ride through Great Ashes every week and choose one of the commonfolk to murder for his amusement.
   Suddenly, Conri saw a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye and his horse began rearing. He heard worried shouts from the commonfolk, but couldn't make out what they were saying. After a few moments of struggle, the horse threw him and bolted off through the crowd who quickly made way for him. Conri found himself on the ground, face-to-face with a small child clinging to a dog. Both were quite dirty and unkempt.
   "Horsey try squish Fip," the child said.
   Two of Conri's Kingsguard, Sir Myron Riverton and Lord Edwin Dreswyck of Mount Spirit were at his side in a second.
   "Are you all right, your grace?" Myron asked.
   "What happened?" Edwin demanded.
   "I'm fine," Conri assured them. "My horse was spooked."
   "Spooked? By what?" Myron pulled Conri to his feet.
   "Fip." The boy answered for Conri. Myron looked at him for the first time.
   "Fip?" the knight inquired.
   "Mousey run by horsey. Fip chase mousey. Horsey scared."
   Conri laughed. "Seems simple enough." He turned to the crowd and shouted, "Whose child is this?"
   For a long moment there was silence. Finally, someone shouted, "No one's."
   "Is that true?" Edwin asked the boy. "Are you no one's?"
   "I Fip's. Fip mine."
   "You have no parents?" Conri insisted.
   "I have Fip."
   By this time another of the Kingsguard, Lord Gerard Lewin of Dreadpass, had brought back Conri's horse.
   "Edwin," Conri said as he remounted, "bring the boy. And Fip."
   "Bring them, Conri?"
   "He looks of an age with my son. Decca could use a playmate."