A Journey North

[Carter de Volthström]

Lord Leodon Taravin

Heir to the High Seat

The map of Shienar was spread across the table, held down at the corners with stones and a half-empty wine cup. Small carved tokens marked potential troop placements: some real, some meant to mislead if eyes untrustworthy happened upon them. The tent smelled of oiled leather and dry lavender.

Leodon stood at the head of the table, a gloved finger tracing the spine of the Drakon Ridge. “We make for Fal Moran initially,” he said, voice even.“But we can divert when we learn where we are needed most. General, train your scouts to watch for shadow spawn north of the Blightborder. They have to learn the signs.”

A murmur of assent passed around the tent. Commanders leaned in, discussing supply lines and fallback positions.
Then the flap of the tent opened.

A lower nobleman, member of Leodon’s entourage, gave a quick nod. “Apologies. A woman has arrived at camp. She says she is Aes Sedai.”

The tent fell still. Leodon straightened, smoothing the front of his coat. “Invite her in. With respect.”

Leodon turned to the gathered officers. “You are dismissed. We will resume after.” No one questioned him. By the time the last man stepped out, Leodon had moved to stand beside the carved chair near the fire.

When she entered, he bowed, not exaggerated, but enough. Enough to make clear who she was.

“Aes Sedai,” he said, voice resonant and sincere. “You honor my humble camp with your presence. If I or any under my banner can serve the White Tower, command it, and it will be done.”