Ruineth

The map had made no mention of this place. A looming stone shape stood before him, dark and forbidding. He dismounted carefully from the bay mare, ensuring his boots made as little noise as possible on the loose scree outside the squat ruin. He whispered a word of caution to the tired horse, patting her mane as he did so.

She was suddenly aware of movement nearby; a presence that she had not been expecting. Looking up from the grinding table, she wiped her face to remove the flakes of impure iron from her skin and wondered what had woken her. Looking around she saw nothing untoward. Her tools were laid out haphazardly around the workshop and the forge-fire had faded to a dull red.

It was late, and the fireflies were winking love by the time she arrived, but she saw a light shining within. She rang the bell and the door quickly opened.

“Does the Lord Ambassador lodge here?” asked Ruineth.

“Sometimes,” replied Losshell. “He keeps a room here, and I see to it, and take in his letters for him.”

“Is he here now?”
“No. He has not been here since the morning.”

Gwanûr,

"What is the meaning of the guard posted by Lord Estarfin’s door?"