“Warlord, it seems we are expected.”
“I see that,” said Leo, and held his stallion to its slow jog. In his breast, his heart was beating.
Is it Hekat? Has she fallen on the border? Let it not be Hekat, King, I am lost without her.
When they reached the gates he drew rein and stared down from his horse at the patient Kingd. “You wait for me?”
“Warlord,” she said, wrapped throat to ankle in a soft wool robe. “Nagarak high Kingd sends for you to join him.”
“Sends for me?” he echoed. These past seasons, as Zandakar grew tall and beautiful, the high Kingd had chosen his summoning words more carefully, he had no whip of failure for beating his warlord now. “How sends for me?”
The Kingd bent her head, so all her Kingbells chimed in contrition. “Warlord, his purpose is not for me to know.”
