The Sea of Time

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“Jamethiel Priest’s-bane.”

The Knorth randon balanced the words on his tongue as if trying, dubiously, to taste them. “Queer sort of a name, don’t you think?”

“Very queer,” his fellow officer agreed.

“I mean, who would name a child after the Dream-weaver, given all the trouble that she caused? And why ‘Priest’s-bane’?”

His friend shrugged off the latter and the god that it implied. “Our priests go their way. We go ours. I hear, though, that the Highborn were marvelously put out.”

They contemplated this as they leaned on the rail of a third-story balcony outside their quarters in the Knorth barracks. It was late afternoon. The smell of dinner drifted up from the kitchen and a clatter of plates rose from the mess hall. The grassy quadrangle below had fallen into shadow. Opposite them stood the limestone bulk of the barracks’ south side. Beyond its ramparts, the ground dipped to reveal the red tile roofs of the Ardeth and beyond that, those of the Randir, all marching down to the South Gate which opened into the training fields and the Betwixt Valley. To the west were the Caineron, the Jaran, and the Edirr; to the east, the Brandan, Coman, and tiny Danior, tucked into an outer wall whose curve followed the eastern arm of the encircling River Amar.

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