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The great Cylinders of Ar rise around you, stone and gold catching the late light. Banners of the Builders - yellow and gold - hang from every tier. The crowd hushes as the procession enters... Ortossi, Head Guard of Ar, you stand at the fore, helmet under arm, your guards in perfect line. Your voice carries over the marble: "Talon guard! Present arms - for the Free!" Beside you, Lina, free wo…
The wind cuts thin off the Hrimgar as your column leaves the treeline. Head Guard Ortossi — you ride at the front, your breath frosting in your beard. Behind you, the sleigh of Free Woman Lina of Ar, bundled in larl fur, her eyes bright and hard against the cold. Around her, ten guards in close formation, spears upright, shields slung. At the rear, three thralls on foot, leading the pack sleigh,…
The bathhouse steam hangs low over the marble pool, late afternoon light slanting through the high windows. Ortossi — head guard, arms crossed at the edge of the pool — gives a short nod. "Water's clear, my Lady. Perimeter's secure." Lady Zoe laughs, already unpinning her hair. "Then stop looming, Ortossi. You're making the water nervous." From the steps, sarah, kneeling with towels folded ove…
The great hall quiets as the outer doors groan open. Ortossi is already at his post by the high seat, spear grounded, eyes fixed on the entrance. Two younger guardsmen flank the doorway at his curt nod. He does not trust merchants who arrive after the 10th Ahn — too late for honest trade. Lady Zoe sits upon the high seat, robes arranged perfectly, veil drawn. Only her eyes show — cool, measurin…
The tarn wires hum above the Viktel Aria as the three of you make the long flight north to Helisto. Ubar of Ar, Marlenus himself, sits in the command curule, his scarlet cloak snapping in the wind. He does not speak much. He watches the Torvaldsland coast give way to the jagged, ice-capped teeth of the Hrimgar Mountains. Beside him, Lady Zoe, veiled in white and gold, adjusts her furs against t…
The Northern Forest — late afternoon The caravan was strung out along the narrow track, wheels creaking over roots. Twenty wagons of silk, spice, and silver — Merchant Relian of Ar, Lina's father, riding near the front, nervous eyes on the treeline. Head Guard Ortossi holds up a fist. Too quiet. No birds. Then — a sharp twang. An arrow thuds into a wagon frame. A wild cry from the brush. From…