‘Cool and damp,’ he said, patting his chest. ‘Not a time of year that poets wax lyrical about, but every now and then I remember the claustrophobic smell of those miserable little rooms in the Westerclave, and then a single breath in the open air reminds me of what’s to be valued in life more vividly than any of our greatest works of art.’
His two companions remained silent. Both had known too many terrors in their own lives to intrude on his reflections.
Then Eldric clicked his horse forward again. ‘Winter Festival soon,’ he said. ‘It’s not something we normally make much of, but I think perhaps we should this year. Lights, music, dancing, a beacon in the middle of the winter darkness. After all, the Grand Festival was spoiled somewhat, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s a nice idea,’ Dilrap agreed. ‘I
