With the dawn, the watchmen on the walls of Cenre sighted a rider galloping down out of the north, across the plains and the low hills, and they sent word to King Oron. Oron went up to the battlements with Tion, and all stood quietly, waiting.
When he had drawn close, the horseman yelled and waved, and Oron nodded a command, so that the great northern gate was heaved open. Oron and Tion and a retinue of soldiers came down as the rider pounded into the courtyard and reined hard.
“My horse!” he gasped, as he fell into the arms of a warrior. His lathered steed was led to a stone trough as servants appeared from the stables.
“What word, man?” Oron loomed above him. “Give him some wine, by the gods.”
Tion held a wineskin to the man’s lips, and he drank without end, gasped, drank some more.
