As she neared, she saw the dim shapes of the Trolls who served as the Druid Guard at watch on the walls. Dark-clad and imposing, they were the protectors of the order. They were walking the battlements, lighting the torches with nightfall’s approach. Garroneck, Captain of the Guard, disdained the use of the flameless lamps present throughout the Keep’s interior. Fire was more dramatic and forbidding, and it was his task to keep those who were not invited away. Aphenglow could picture his blunt features and fierce expression as he explained the reason for this. The Keep had been assaulted only a handful of times since its construction, and it had fallen only once, when it had been betrayed. The big Troll did not intend to see it happen a second time, not while he was in command of the guard.

She closed off all but the parse tubes aft, and then walked forward and drew down the jib and mainsails on her skimmer and stowed them away. She would coast in and use the wing sails to steer the little ship. Measuring less than sixty feet, it could be flown by a single person, assuming one knew what to do. Aphenglow was an experienced flier, capable of commanding even a ship-of-the-line, and she had done so with the Walker Boh on several occasions. The only Druid who was her equal when it came to flying was Bombax, but then he was her equal in almost everything.

Readied for landing, she worked the thrusters in tandem and allowed the skimmer to settle slowly within the interior walls of the Keep, down into the courtyard that had been converted in Grianne Ohmsford’s time to a landing platform where the ships could be anchored just off the ground or docked for servicing. All the other ships were visible save Arrow, so it was likely all but one of the other Druids were in residence.

She brought Wend-A-Way down carefully, the landing platform blazing to life with hastily lit torches; the Troll guard had seen her approach and recognized her vessel. Garroneck was already waiting, standing off to one side, huge arms crossed over his chest until he raised one in a casual gesture of greeting. Very like him. Never any show of impatience or excitement, everything measured and steady. In all the time she had known him—which covered the entire period of her Druid tenure—she had never seen him make a rash or foolish decision or lose his temper with anyone who did.

She lowered the skimmer anchor, which Garroneck came forward to secure, dropped the rope ladder over the side, shouldered her backpack, and climbed down to greet him.

“It’s been a long time, Aphenglow,” he rumbled, his great hands swallowing hers. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” she answered. “How are things here?”

“Steady sailing, favorable winds. We do what’s needed and then some. The Ard Rhys still sleeps. Is that about to change?”