“You’re the Ice Baron?” Vlora asked, more than a little skeptical. “I am. Don’t try to say my name, nobody can. Just call me the Baron, or Vallencian to my friends. And you, Lady Flint, are my friend. I read your biography. It was very good.” What the pit is he talking about? “I don’t have a biography.” “You do,” the Baron assured. “It was written by a Rosvelean mercenary who served in the Kez Civil War. Excellent stuff. I’ll have a copy translated and sent to you.” “Thank you? I think?” “It is nothing. You must be Colonel Olem.” Vallencian suddenly lurched forward, shaking both their hands
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