“Forgive them, Elana,” Einion said. “They are men of war, and for them it is unthinkable to plan an attack without knowing where they are going. I’ve not had enough information to give them.”
“You have been away for long, and your mind has stowed the painful memories of your past, Einion.” She sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm, her voice soft and reassuring now after the previous harshness. “But you are king in these lands, no matter what Rome says.”
“I will take the throne back,” he said, his teeth gritted.
“First you must cross the moors, and to do this, you must pass through the worst part of the lands. I have mentioned the pestilence, but there is a terror between there and here, a menace upon the moors that is older than time.”
“The wyrm?” he said. “I have heard of it.
