Chilled to the bone, he slumped in the back of the carriage as it lumbered up the rough-hewn Gods’ Road. Ben Maryll lay beside him, peacefully snoring away. Geris both envied and hated him for it. The caravan had left Safeway more than two weeks ago, after Ashhur—with ample input from Ahaesarus and Judarius, surely—had decided that the lordship would be brought to a close and a king would be named. Ben had been excited by the news, and Geris felt he should be too, but his original nightmare had begun to return each night, and it just wouldn’t let him be. The carriage hit a bump, vaulting him off the rough wooden slats. On landing, he jarred his elbow and let out a pained cry. The curtain at the front of the carriage was swept aside, and Ahaesarus poked his head through. “What’s going on, boy?” the Warden asked. His blond hair looked like the tendrils of a phantasm in the eerie moonlight that seeped through the carriage’s thin canvas covering. “Why did you yelp?” Geris rubbed his sore arm.
