Along the length of the high table, voices stilled and all attention turned to the stoop-shouldered figure of the oldest Frost Walker at the high table. Before Old Fabiene could speak, however, Lord Ritchel stood and walked over to her seat halfway down the table from him.
"My people," he said loudly, his voice echoing off the icy walls and vaulted ceiling. "Tonight, Old Fabiene will regale us with a tale of Nyrielle's triumph in the arena of the High Fen, the day she earned the title 'Blood Princess of the Arena.' Please, give her your attention and your respect."
"Ice. Resonant. Chamber. Fabiene," the Lord of the High Pass intoned, summoning a brilliant gleam of icy blue and pale white light from his horn before touching it gently to Fabiene's much duller horn. "Now, just speak normally. Your words will echo through the hall. There is no need for an old woman to strain herself so we young ones can hear," he said gently.
