Chapter three
Dardisea NowhenBen’aryn doesn’t know who they are — or even what they are. He cannot see their faces. But they speak reassuringly, even though their language is not his. Hands draw him onwards — back to the fringe, where the distant stars turn the darkness to burnt umber.
When he sees them for the first time, he is very afraid.
* * * *
The King of Beaumarais, Tristan Dinrhydan, could not sleep. He tossed restlessly in his bed, in a cold sweat. The whispering had begun again — a voice, low and mellifluous, echoing in his mind. It had come to him for the first time right after his father’s callous betrayal on the parade field — the day his sister Gwenn had attacked the City with her Fynäran raiders. The voice had been sympathetic then — and helpful. It had given him the ide
