Vorinth Nesturo oversaw the battle from a fortified noble's mansion in the midst of his army. Several huge, multi-decked skyships hovered overhead, posted against the Fatesworn fleet swarming the skies over the market. My aura prevented regular scrying magic from working, so it seemed he'd returned to mundane means, using dozens of soldiers as scouts to bring his mages the information on our position and numbers so that they could update their illusory maps.
The king's face was worn and grayed beyond his years. He was, perhaps, twenty, at the most. Around the same age as Luke, though comparing them at anything made me sick.
