Mazael sighed and pounded a fist into his leg. “Sir Albert, I shall be blunt. Until last week, I hadn’t set foot in the Grim Marches for fifteen years. And in these last weeks, I’ve seen my sister abducted by one of Lord Richard’s vassals, bands of pillaging mercenaries roving the countryside, and heard rumors that dead men stalk the plains at night. Do you know something, Sir Albert? I’m damned tired of people assuming I know what’s going on, and I want some bloody answers!” His voice had risen to a shout, and he forced himself to calm down. “Lord Mitor seems to think that the Elderborn are behind the rumors.”
Sir Albert looked incredulous. “Sir Mazael, I beg your forgiveness...but Lord Mitor is a fool.”
Nathan flinched. “That is treason.”
“Regrettably, truth and treason are often one and the same,” said Silar. “In this case, doubly so.”