Epilogue
A week or so after the removal of his wife from Glinnery, Aysun Sanfaer stood at the top of the tallest glissenwol tree in Waeverleyne. A structure had been hastily erected, large and sturdy enough to accommodate the considerable bulk and weight of his new war machines.
The monstrous contraptions were wrought from steel and pale tayn wood brought from Irbel. It was the hardest, strongest wood available and it needed to be, for these machines were built to hurl the heaviest of missiles at intruders from the air.
One was equipped to hurl rocks. Ammunition was being brought up by pulley; a stack of at least thirty waited to be loaded into the machine.
The other was fitted to hurl something more deadly. Globes of hide rested, seemingly innocuous, in a great container at the base o
