slam shut at a moment's notice. In the gathering gloom, the horsemen looked to be Taneryn militia, long braids blowing in the wind. Behind them came several horse-drawn carts, laden with what Sasha guessed would be fresh food. So long as Halleryn held the back road around the lake, food supplies would stay fresh. So long as they kept the Hadryn on the other side of the stream, fresh water could be collected from the lake. But if Usyn decided to press forward in force, neither could be guaranteed.
“What's wrong?” she asked Kessligh then, into that solemn, wind-swept silence. The blood red sky was fading now, deepening to the colour of coals in a dying fire, once the most brilliant heat had paled.
“I remember this place,” Kessligh said heavily. “Thirty years ago. The walls had not held the Cherrovan then. We took it back after they'd held the place for a week. Inside the walls we found…” and he grimaced, unwilling to complete the sentence. He gazed away across the rumpled, darkening surface of the lake. Sasha stared at him for a moment. Kessligh rarely displayed such emotion recounting his time in the Great War. The spirits of this place must surely have been unsettled, for all the blood that had been spilt here.
She made the spirit sign again, unable to stop herself. This time, Kessligh did not appear to notice.
Halleryn's gate loomed ahead, alive with burning torches within the archway.
“Who approaches?” came a cry from the battlements, and they halted on the road.
“Prince Damon Lenayin!” a Royal Guardsman yelled up, with extra volume to be heard above the loud flapping of green and black Taneryn banners overhead. “Yuan Kessligh Cronenverdt! M'Lady Sashandra Lenayin! Master Jaryd Nyvar of Tyree!”
Along the walls to either side, many faces peered down, some leaning out for a better view. It was one of the more dramatic announcements any arrival could have declared. A formality, of course, as they'd been invited.
“The Great Lord Krayliss of Taneryn grants you welcome!” came the call down from the battlements. “Pass within and be at peace, for you are within the protection and hospitality of the Great Lord of Taneryn!”
They passed beneath the portcullis into Halleryn town itself. The main street ahead was lined with buildings of stone base with wooden walls and rooftops, as was the fashion of northern towns. A soldier of obvious Goeren-yai appearance arrived before them and beckoned them to follow. The road was cobbled, rare for a Lenay town, but then, stonework was the tradition in these parts. And there were drains, Sasha saw as they walked, leading to what she presumed were underground outflows. God forbid they led into the pristine lake. She couldn't imagine any Goeren-yai township allowing that. More likely a river inflow washed it someplace outside the walls to be buried or composted for farm use…another serrin innovation that the Goeren-yai had adopted many centuries ago.
The streets of Halleryn were mostly empty and unlit by any street lamp or torch. Sasha could not help but think the town dank and gloomy, with nary a tree to break the monotony of stone and cobbles. The central road sloped upward until it opened on a broad, paved courtyard busy with soldiers. New arrivals were dismounting and leading their horses to the stables on the right. Men gathered in the courtyard about makeshift ovens and the smell of cooking wafted in the air.
Attention turned as the royal party crossed the courtyard, some men coming to their feet, more from curiosity than respect. Here too, there was little warmth to greet a prince and, in several quarters, even some coarse laughter at a whispered joke. Then, halfway across, there came a new murmur sweeping through those watching…“Cronenverdt! Cronenverdt!”…and suddenly all men were standing and pressing forward to watch, openmouthed and incredulous.
Overlooking the courtyard was a tall keep of stone walls and overlooking arches. The keep's grand wooden doors were thrust aside by a pair of guards as the royal party approached, and they entered a stone hallway lined with old, faded tapestries and alive with the dancing flame of ensconced torches. Their guide led them up a broad stone staircase to the left, where they found themselves emerging from the floor of a great clansman's hall.
All was stone, but for the tall windows in the walls. Central pillars made rows to either side of the very long, central table, laid for serving. Light came from flaming torches mounted to the ceiling pillars, and a