Chapter 106

CASPIAN

Corwin named them in the small chamber behind the council hall, standing, with his hands behind his back, the way a scout gives back a country he has ridden over.

He had asked for the Chancellor’s household roll and been refused it, very courteously, three times. On the fourth day he had gone down to the household stables instead, and leaned on a half-door with a groom for an afternoon, and looked at horses.

“The bay with the white sock behind,” he said. “Still in the Chancellor’s string. Ridden by a man called Harl Voss, who has grey at the temples and a nick out of his left ear. He led the cart out of the gate. The liver chestnut that dishes its off fore went lame two winters ago and was sold, but the groom remembers who rode it. A man called Daw. Drove carts, when he was told to.” He paused. “And the brown cloak. He doesn’t wear it now. His name is Kell. He keeps the Chancellor’s keys.”

Quill wrote each name down. I signed under them.