Prince Darathel leaned over the table. His sword, made for his father’s hands, banged against the ancient wood and he moved it behind him nervously. Covering the table was an immense map drawn on canvas. Ghostly glowing points and clouds hovered over the surface, indicating where the enemy was camped and where its soldiers moved. The lamp above, filled with the ethereal light of the prim, flickered out for a few moments, dimming the relief of the castle and outer walls, leaving the blue-white of the enemy army on the map as the sole source of light in the room… or nearly so.
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