Rough hands jerked Clay from slumber.
“How dare you come here, usurp the place you’ve always rejected and denied? I’ll not tolerate it. I am the only true son of Balinor, the rightful heir to his status and repute, his power and wealth!”
Fuzzy with the exhaustion he had not totally shaken, Clay struggled to understand what was going on. Finally he recognized Marishal, the young elf Aron had said was Clay’s half-brother. Marishal should be on earth, not here. Has he left his post and if so, why? A jumble of confused, troubled thoughts rolled in Clay’s mind. He shoved back, forcing the young elf to let go and withdraw a few steps.
“I did not come here by my own choice or effort. Some greater power seems to have taken a hand in matters. But I was made welcome and our sire told me a place h
