old

common people call the church’s arm militant ‘The Knots,’ more often than not. And, what’s worse, the Knights themselves seem to relish the term.”
“The Clann Harald do not mix in Empire politics,” stated Erik firmly. His father had warned him that this might happen.
The Emperor gave a wry smile. “So your father always said. Just as I’m sure he warned you before you left Iceland. But, Erik Hakkonsen, because you guard Manfred . . . do not think you will be able to avoid it. Any more than your father could.”
The old man turned and faced Erik squarely. “Politics will mix with you, lad, whether you like it or not. You can be as sure of that as the sunrise. Especially in Venice.”
Erik’s eyes widened. The Emperor chuckled.
“Oh, yes. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”
He took Erik by the arm again and began to lead him toward the door. “But we can discuss Venice tomorrow. Venice, and