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Tarkyn’s exit left an uncomfortable silence within the command tent. Both Danton and Harkell would have preferred to go with him but Tarkyn had made it clear that he needed time alone. Quietly in the background, Farlowe picked up the fallen plates and cutlery, righted glasses and bottles, and wiped up the spillages that had resulted from Tarkyn’s ire.
Looking at the destruction wrought by a moment’s lapse, Harkell reflected on the Tamadil volatility that he had trained over the last few months. At least the prince hadn’t lashed out with magic. Harkell’s soft brown eyes flitted back and forth between the wizards and Danton. Poor Danton was in the unenviable position of having a foot in each camp. No wonder he was looking so dismal.
“Excuse me, General,” murmured Farlowe, as he wiped a
