Irenya lay alone in her bed that night, wide-eyed and restless, certain she would not sleep again for a long time. Outside, the moon rose full and yellow on a night so soft it should have been reserved for the making of love and plans. But the only plans in the making were battle plans. The fleetwalker had almost fallen from the sky into Julis’s arms.
In a reception room near the main entrance, where Julis had carried the young woman, Leachim and Aeryl attended to her cuts and bruises.
‘In the pass,’ she had rasped. ‘Lost concentration. Almost fell into the gorge.’ While the physicians saw to her injuries, the woman told her story to the small gathering.
‘The Sildahni are roused … mightily,’ she gasped to Elaaron, who had pulled up a chair opposite her. ‘I have never seen them like this
