Master Ellig of Roundoin sat in council with six of his peers and two of their lords, Pastmasters Churig and Needhus. The council was gathered in a large felt winter tent, the swordsmen seated around a large bronze brazier with a glowing bed of coals. In addition to the pulsing heat of the coals, each man was swathed in woolens and furs, and each was supplied with a goblet of rich red wine. Still, Ellig felt a chill in the air. Perhaps it was the cool attitude of the pastmasters. Perhaps it was a prickle of apprehension at the news he was about to share.
“Peers and Lords,” he said, as smoothly as he could. “I have news from my spies. Some is good. Some is…less so. And yet, I believe there are opportunities here.”
“The good news?” Pastmaster Churig asked with a dry tone and an arched eyeb
