A brief, jaggedy, vexed smell wafted from Faile. The Great Lord delighted in setting his servants one against another, to see who was stronger. aran'rhiod—that vital secret was easier to guard with no manifestations anyone could see—yet he did not ask how. It had happened, with a king and with a queen.
For a moment there was clear air where it had been, and along the line that the bar had burned, until the fog began closing in. Without it. Even as she watched, one was swarmed under, men and horses, by stabbing spears. A pitifully small thing for which to be happy.
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