"So soon . . ." Dorain muttered, and Brogan was troubled by the pain and resignation he heard in her voice.
As the four approached the mansion, Damond said for Gart's benefit, "Prince Wilkin is the nephew of the King of Brand, son of the King's younger sister, Charyl. He is more thane than prince, for his position here has always been that of able warlord."
As the four were about to find, Prince Wilkin was a striking young man, black-haired and grey-eyed like his mother. He wore his hair longer than most men's wont, and was renowned for his skill with bow and sword. At one time he had gone to Celedhan himself for instruction, preferring the elves' finesse over the men's brute strength of arms. He was an acquaintance of Anest; the two had spent many hours together engaged in swordplay.
The guards at the door led the four to a large study on the second floor, with high ceiling and dark panelled walls of polished mahogany. Prince Wilkin stood at the mullioned window for some time, even after the guards had left, his back to them, the cut edges of the glass casting little rainbows of light upon the floor, and across his face. At last, with a sigh, he turned to consider each of the four in their turn; Brogan, Dorain, Gart, Damond. With a tight smile, he gestured to a