To leave Athfar and take to the road without weapons was unthinkable, especially when weapons were a way of life to the bordermen from the River Divide. Something was terribly wrong.
Ethwin broke from thought when Torcus gave a look of urgency.

“Lord Ethwin,” the Waylander said deeply. “Forgive my discourtesy. My king is unwell and in need of rest.”

“Yes, of course,” Ethwin said, waving to his men. “Prepare lodging for our guests in the west wing. Send Borum from the stables to tend to their horses.” He slung Gleanfire over his shoulder and faced Kydon and Torcus. “Come forth and enter the House of Eldoren. Sleep through the day and get back your breath. Tonight we shall feast and partake in council.”

Torcus gave a nod of appreciation. “We are greatly in your debt, Father of Peace, ye Slayer of Dragon.” Weary lines marked the Waylander’s

forehead. “Lord Kydon speaks rightly with full mind and wit. Tonight, in brief council, first words will be spoken of grim days upon us.”

Torcus bowed. Ethwin caught a glimpse of a red pulse, emanating from another crystal, this time beneath the Waylander’s travel cloak. Ethwin bowed cordially, without expression, then gazed upon the moss-grown blocks of Dracon Wall.

A single shade but a greater enemy? Ethwin pondered silently. Truth trapped in a vague preamble? What are Kydon and Torcus hiding? Beguiling jewels, perhaps, nothing more. Perhaps curiosity has gotten the better of me.

Ethwin’s thoughts were disrupted by voices, footfalls and clopping hoofs. He lowered his gaze as the Royal Guard and Forest Ally dispersed across the courtyard to different wings of the castle. Standing alone, left with a sense of bewilderment, Ethwin watched