Between one ring of walls and the other, the castle, encircled by a disorienting maze of merlon-topped hedges, stairways, and shady passageways, was guarded by impeccable sentinels, all wielding their halberds, in their rich, elegant uniforms. Dinvahèbin seemed to already have been there. The convoluted turns and roundabouts of that maze were no mystery at all to her, nor did anybody hinder her relentless march, however they might know her or not, for neither did they hail her coming, nor show any sign they wished to speak to her. Rather, people would point to each other in her direction, thereafter to whisper their unknown comments in each other's ears. And equal was their behaviour as they pointed their forefingers at Bùce, hastening children to get back home...
Hard to blame them, for
