CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Erec galloped on Warkfin, kicking him with all he had, racing against time as images of Alistair flashed through his mind. He galloped from Baluster late into the night, charging and charging across the outskirts of the city, heading west, until finally the first sun began to break in the sky and in the distance he spotted the outline of a small castle, high up on a hill, surrounded by a formidable moat, a drawbridge, stone walls, and guarded by dozens of soldiers. They wore a distinctive armor, different from the armor of the north—a green, shiny armor, covered in scales, and helmets with noses that came to a point. There were probably two dozen knights guarding the entrance, unusual for a lord. Erec realized the slave trader had been telling the truth: this was indeed
