Ceinion would remember that voice, and the fact that the king had been on his feet before he’d heard anything. Knowing already. And so Osbert told them: of signal flares lit on hills towards the south by the sea, running in their chain of telling fire along the ridges with a message. Not a new tale, Ceinion thought, hearing it. Nothing new here at all, only the old dark legacy of these northlands, which was blood.
