The hour passed far too quickly. Every few minutes, another scout returned with the same report. No sign of Senraki. No message. No trace.
By the time the sun had begun sinking toward the western mountains, even Salka had accepted that the old headmaster would not return before nightfall. Without another word, he left the academy and made his way to the outer nonagon, where thousands of northern warriors had completely encircled the fortress-like school.
Banners bearing the crest of the Galka insignia fluttered in the evening wind while armored warriors stood shoulder to shoulder in disciplined ranks. At their center sat Great Chief of the north Zaka Asakana upon an enormous warhorse, his broad frame radiating the confidence of a man who had never been denied anything by force.
Salka stopped on top of the outer gate of Galka war academy, his expression unreadable.
"State your business," he called. Zaka's eyes narrowed.
