Before he could, another of the ministers—an elderly woman with unhealthy, milky eyes—said, "If you wish asylum, we will grant it." Her tone was almost reverential, and she carried only a trace of the bucolic Sook accent.

Bryck's brows drew together slightly. "Why ... no." He didn't know with what name to address this body and so did not, avoiding any potential breach of etiquette. Who knew what behavior this ministry of yokels expected from a petitioner? Bryck, however, was a noble and knew the ways of stately protocol.

"What, then?" asked the minister with the hairless skull.

Bryck gathered a breath. "I bring a formal appeal from the city of U'delph. I—"

"From U'delph?" asked a third one among the mantled figures. He was a spindly male, the youngest at the table. He gazed at Bryck with patent incomprehension.

Bryck suppressed an impatient sigh. Had he not made it clear where he came from? "Yes. U'delph. Your neighboring city. We ask your support, humbly and respectfully. We are in a time of urgent need, as you may—"

"Udelph?" echoed die crone with the poor eyes. They were now all peering at him as though he babbled nonsense.

Bryck blinked at die group, thoroughly bewildered.

"How can you bring an appeal from U'delph?" asked the first minister.

"I assure you I have been authorized to do so by my city's ruling council," he countered, wondering if this was the source of this body's baffling response to his petition. It was true he carried no official documents substantiating his right to make the appeal. Evidently that had been an oversight—and one he might have to pay for in the form of this wasted journey. Three days and two nights on the jouncing back of that steed, all the hardships of his excursion, all his intrepid efforts ... for nothing.

A hot blossom of indignant anger opened in his chest. How dare these boors! Didn't they know who he was, what sacrifices he had made?