This was, in part, accounted for by the soldiers, extra patrols assigned to the streets since a captive noblewoman and her entire household had vanished into the night, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake. But only in part. Most of the newcomers were Imphallian, not Cephiran: citizens of the many hamlets and towns that sprouted throughout the region, wild toadstools of expanding civilization. As the invading forces advanced, conquering community after community, it simply made sense to arrange their captives and forced laborers into fewer, larger groups. Thus did Rahariem receive a constant influx of newcomers, prodded along at Cephiran swordpoint. And with these new arrivals, like camp followers straggling behind, came news and rumors. Cerris sat in a small office in one of Rahariem’s great halls, hunting some of those wild rumors. He wore nondescript tans and greys, and his chin was newly shorn. Without the concealing growth of beard, his cheeks looked hollow, his flesh deeply etched with lines.
