Kytun rode his zorca next to mine. He leaned over and his whisper reached me, harsh in the night:
“We are late, Dray! The Twins are already up!”
“The ground is softer here. It makes for heavier going for the infantry.”
Then, to compound our troubles, a merker astride his fluttclepper flew swiftly in from the moonshot darkness landing with a great rustling. He alighted and ran swiftly across to pace my zorca and so stare up, troubled of face.
“Well, Chan of the Wings?”
“We are observed, King. A voller — very fast — curved sharply away. He must have seen us.” This Chan of the Wings was a most important man in a king’s retinue, a man of secrets. “There was nothing we could do.”
“Thank you, Chan of the Wings.” This was the man who had first openly raised the call of “Notor Prescot, King
