The next morning found the warlord’s staff moving around with warm drinks and warm pastries. Everyone had their share; the children had enough to be over-full, and they all found themselves awake and aware as they stepped into the Warlord’s audience chamber, ready for the first tale of the morning.
The chamber was tall, as tall as five or six men on each other’s shoulders, and at one point the ceiling had been painted magnificently. The paint had chipped and peeled, but you could still, if you peered, see the scenes that had outlasted the end of the world. Continue reading