06-28-2023, 10:17 PM
He just glared at her dismay, but like hell if he was going to let her see anything except a grimace. Besides, her eventual story gave him something to occupy his mind. Something besides what was making his toes stretch and curl.
Saying the Blight was quiet was a very different thing than saying the Blightborder was quiet. Just because it wasn’t encroaching on the borderlands didn’t mean it wasn’t growing or that something wasn’t growing in it. The King of Shienar’s kin petitioned for help from the White Tower and was turned away made him snort in derision.
“I am sure the White Tower would say that. Hopefully you have come to learn to not believe everything the Tower says.” He rolled his eyes, toes scrunching and stretching.
Arikan didn’t know all the Fortresses, Fal in the Old Tongue. There were so many, but he recognized Fal Sion simply because it was large enough to occupy a sizable dot on a map. For all his years as a dreadlord, he was never a part of offensives at the Blightborder. His work was far more important than overseeing the expansion of vines and plants, no matter how dark and twisted they were.
“I promise you, the Blight is not quiet,” he muttered to himself, wondering if this meant one of the Chosen was manipulating the stories of the Blight. If so, were they changing the message from the source or blunting the message being heard? “She return to Shienar after being rudely turned away?” He imagined the king of Shienar’s niece at the gates, slunking away sad and defeated, dismissed by their oldest ally of the Light.