Foren escort Kydon, Torcus and thirty Rivernauts to the front steps of the grey fortress. He turned when horses whinnied over his right shoulder. His eyes followed Hath and several guardsmen as they led a team of sheening horses toward a burly man outside the royal stables. Suddenly he was alerted by angry cries of dissension, echoing beneath the open gate. Ethwin whirled round and walked closer to an angry group of citizens who tried to enter the courtyard. Darc and a solid wall of Ally defensemen held back the shouting mob.

Above the din, perched in the lookout tower over North Gate, an old man peered at the crowd and frowned bitterly. The old man was bearded, of slight build, bent with the passing of many years. A wizened face accentuated scholarly features and stark grey eyes brimmed with passion. Long tufts of white hair flowed past the shoulders of a yellow gown, 

knotted fingers nervously gripping an orb-tipped scepter.

Lish the Wise shook his head and surveyed the heated barb below. The noble scribe, Sage and First Advocate of Tharden, Ethwin’s loyal castellan and trusted advisor, knew the time had come to intervene. From his loft in the watchman’s tower, Lish pointed his scepter at the bright round disc of a magnificent sun. Sparkling gems within the scepter’s glass sphere exploded with light, flaring outward in radiant streams, descending straight into the eyes of startled citizens and gatekeepers.
A deep, profound silence fell over the thoroughfare.

Lish wasted no time in projecting his voice to the blinking masses. “Countrymen! Arrest thy anger. Cease thy rage. Abide to your protectors and stand clear of the gate. There is no fear of dragon nor reason to trespass.”