Da’s axe seemed to leap into my hand with a will of its own. I turned to face the speaker. It was a man. A Sedorne. He stood on the hill above the brook, one hand casually propped on his sword hilt. He was about thirty, I thought, and tall, with a slim, well-muscled frame. He seemed familiar. Something about the shape of his face? Or his confident, graceful posture? It made me want to relax, as if he were a friend. Until I met his eyes. They were a striking, clear, greyish blue, emphasized by the severe way his pale hair was braided back from his face. Something dark – no, more than just dark, gleeful – lurked behind those eyes. I had seen that look before. In Ulem’s eyes. In Werrick’s. This was no friend of mine. A long, cold shudder worked down my back. As I watched, more Sedorne soldiers began to appear through the trees, ranging themselves beside the first. Four, five, six… I counted twelve, thirteen including the speaker. A stealthy rustle in the vegetation behind me told me there were others too.
