Oren began to use his fists. He’d heard the crack of neck against stone, another had taken a kick in the chest and tumbled downwards. He’d felt victory rising. He was going to beat them all, and demand to see both the King and the girl. Preferably at the same time.

A voice of authority had risen above the rest, the cudgel had come down on his crown, and all was blackness.

He’d awakened here, dreaming of the dying wapiti only to realize the sounds were coming from him. As he struggled to make sense of it all, his thoughts returned to what had happened in the Great Throne Room.

His strategist’s eye had immediately recognized the layers of power. They lay as strands in the air, vying for prominence. The Earth Skyll’s power was palpable, strengthened by the highly visible Red Robes. Even so, Lord Fulcruchen was a force with which to be reckoned. He had the ear of the King and was favored by the common folk. The nobility were fickle and would side with the stronger power. As it now stood, they were obeying the rise and fall of Ranald’s scepter.

Barely.

He’d schooled his featured into impassivity as he handed the Warrior king the scroll, having taken it from hollow horn of a great wapiti, where it had been kept safe during his journey. A dying man and an elderly councilor against the wiles of the Earth Skyll, who’d somehow managed to keep his position for three hundred years.

Watch yourself, the Gibbor had warned him, You’re dealing with an ancient evil.

He’d laughed then. Hadn’t he warded off demons from the sky?