FOR TWO DAYS, MARSIL OF HOUSE PIERRAN, the DRACAENY of the North made dwelling in the solemn library space branched off the main chambers of his bedroom. For two nights also, he made bed among heaps and piles of books, running his hands over the shelves like a Castle Cook would handle a butter knife.
It was just a night to his leaving with the troops chosen by the Lord Commander for the mission into the Eracusan border.
Ever since the King had given his order for him to ride with the selected infantry company, Marsil had been in a bind. He had lied to Arlon. Maybe not lied outrightly, but he hadn't told the truth either. He most certainly knew the men Latchlon sought. He knew their numbers.
Three of the fifteen Flameseekers were currently in chambers next to his, masqueraded as Seers of the Four Towers.
