Soon she saw a smudge in the distance, as though someone had left a dusty thumbprint on the painted canvas below her. The blemish grew larger, lost its rounded shape, and gained a gritty, indistinct texture, and beneath it rode a long column of riders. Too high to pick out details, Irenya circled behind the company, descending close enough to recognise each princedom’s colours.
She rose higher to watch the pattern of movement without being seen. At the front of the column rode Elaaron, directing riders to peel away and search down country lanes, before re-joining the rear of the company, but they were nowhere near the rough tracks along which the leader had taken her. She thought of fleetwalking above the column to where Elaaron rode, grim and resolute. She might be dirty, ragged, and exh
