As the iron portcullis slammed home behind them, the common rabble was cut off, and the chanting priests began to peel away into the courtyards like white mist burning off the grass. The droning prayers ceased all at once as Alpheo passed beneath the vaulted archway of the inner keep.
A double column of the First Legion stood at attention in polished breastplates and cheek-guarded helms, their javelins held rigid as iron bars. At the head of the ranks stood his legates, who broke formation the moment the churchmen were out of earshot.
"You whole, Alph?" Asag asked, stepping forward while Jarza unclasped a heavy, fur-lined cloak and threw it over the King's shivering, bare shoulders.
"It's bloody freezing, and twenty thousand pairs of eyes just treated me like a dockside whore hawking her wares on the quay," Alpheo growled, pulling the wool tight around his collar. "All in all, far better than I feared."
