" . . . And that's my limits of knowledge on the matter. Highly paraphrased, of course," Kutur finished, gathering up loose papers as he spoke.

"So what should we do about the threat?" asked Rughoi, mostly to himself. "That will be all. Leave me to my thoughts," he said, waving in the direction of the front gate. "And if possible, send your reports to either Merat or Rama, whichever one you think will look at your data more sympathetically." Kutur bowed low, and exited through the gate, leaving the room looking far quieter and larger than when he did. Rughoi looked up and around him, at the towering stained glass figures, tapestries, and felt . . . like a child again. Gone for a few minutes was Rughoi the Unbound, Son of the Dragons, and in his place little Rughoi of the fields, who could only gaze in wonder at riches he had never seen in his life. Rughoi composed himself. Perhaps he was a little rash today. He should visit his mother. A search of the palace, however, found her nowhere to be found. "Where is my mother?" he wondered, slightly frustrated. "And for that matter, where is Rama?"

Merat was not within the bounds of the city, where Kutur was looking for him. "We are soldiers," he said to his guards, who were hard at work laying cobbles for the roads. "Not builders. Heard report. Bright light. Possibly dracons. With me," and with that, he and ten of his elite retinue left for the hills. They stopped at the near side of the hill. "Spread out," he commanded. "Find dracons. Capture, kill if necessary."