The outer slums smelled different from the rest of the city, and Beorn had long since stopped expecting them to smell any other way. Cook fires, crowds packed into small streets, alleys and buildings. The breath of too many people who had arrived with nothing and organized their lives around that fact with inevitable efficiency.
He walked through the early-morning streets in a plain coat and a hat pulled low enough to alter the view of his face, with Tam at his left and Lewin one step behind, carrying one bag.
"There's five of them."
Beorn said to Tam as they moved. "Three are probably past the beginning of it. Two are still in the early stages."
Tam kept pace without looking over.
"How long have the younger ones been in the early stages, my lord?"
"Lewin's estimate was weeks."
He glanced ahead as they walked.
"Maybe longer."
She pursed her lips in empathetic distress.
"Chances are the oldest is keeping them from using their powers."
