Chapter 94.1
There were no accidents this time, no blinding moments of stark terror where it seemed as though he would fail his beloved little brother, lose him to the quicksand, to the demons who everywhere lay in wait. In that first crossing, the knowledge that their mother would not mourn her second son had spurred him on when the strength born of griefstruck terror threatened to fail. This time they crossed the Sand River as easily as if it had been a soft green meadow in the heart of Et-Trag. And the thought of Lilit beckoned, beckoned. He almost wept at his first sight of Trag’s Pinnacle, that mighty upthrust of the land with Vortka’s Sanc at its peak, and Fiona’s greatest city spread like bright jewelled skirts about its base. In the city named for his father there was Lilit, and there was t
- Writer
