Chapter 27Ivaroth stared up at the southern mountains. His horse was restless, responding to his unease. He was a man of the plains. He did not like mountains. They dominated, hedged in, constrained travellers to narrow, often precarious pathways with giddying heights both above and below. They were no place for a race born to ride free across the endless plains, flat and wide and open, where the weather could be seen and judged and did not turn from bright sunlight to dank freezing mist without warning, where the sun did not rise late and set early amid ominous, judging shadows.
‘Ivaroth, I will follow wherever you lead, but...’ There was a head-shaking pause. ‘I have misgivings.’
The speaker was Endryn, one of the few who had stood by Ivaroth when he was accused of his brother’s murder
