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Goldmoon moved to Arrowthorn's right side and fixed
her gaze out over the plains to the mountain on the northern
horizon. She could not see it from here, but she knew that
near the summit was a vast cavern, called the Hall of the
Sleeping Spirits, where the mortal remains of Goldmoon's
dead ancestors lay, behind a door opened by the rays of
Lunitari, the red moon, only once every ten years. On the
morrow, Goldmoon would journey to that cavern for the
first time to speak with her ancestors, her gods. She found
herself excited and perhaps a little anxious.
First, however, must come the games that would decide
who her escorts were to be. Only those two warriors who
proved to be the best would accompany and protect her on
the journey. Twenty young Plainsmen, lean and muscled, all
eager for the honor, filed onto a lower tier of the platform
and formed a semicircle before their princess. Goldmoon,
seemingly transfixed by the heat thermals shimmering in
the air before her, appeared not to notice the men.
When the last man took his place, however, Goldmoon
turned her gaze to the historian seated on the platform
behind her father, writing on a parchment with deliberate
strokes. She heard Arrowthorn let out a breath that might
have been a subdued snort of annoyance at Loreman
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