In the Great Reception Hall of the Palace of Spires, the high double doors were thrown open to admit a procession unlike any the capital had seen in a hundred years. Clad in embroidered deerskin mantles and silver-stitched tunics, the seventy envoys of the Free Western Valleys strode down the central carpet of sea-green silk. At their head walked Elder Rowan of the Sun-Oak Clan, his silver hair braided with…
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