“Step forward,” commanded the King, then waved in the general direction of Milo. “I’m granting an investigation.”

            Oren Whitehair approached the throne, dropping to one knee and bowing his head in deference.

            “What say you?” asked William.

            Oren lifted his head.

            “Peace from the Pentacas of High North and Greetings from the Gibbor who watches over the blue stones.”

            “The Gibbor! Yes, I was hoping, wait . . .” The King pushed back his sleeves and placed the scepter across his knees. “Allow me to give you the Traveler’s Welcome.” Ranald began the ritualistic motions. “The eyes of the King are upon you, the ears of the King hear you, the words of the King bless—”

            The blare of a horn pierced the air; the chamberlain had announced the midday meal.

            ‘Your Highness, it’s time for the people to be fed,” interrupted Elymas, working his clubbed foot from the bars of the stool. Without waiting for the King’s permission, he motioned the Inner Guards forward. The crowd began to shift and stir.

            “The Hunter was announced before the call,” replied Ranald. “I will hear him.”

            Whether from weariness or annoyance, Ranald chose that moment to close his eyes. It was just as well that he didn’t see the guards shrink back against the walls or the Earth Skyll nod that they should.