Chapter nineteen
“Then die, Dray Prescot, die!”“Grogor!” I said, booming it out in hearty good fellowship. “How grand to see a friendly face again, by the Holy Bones of Genodras!”
“Gadak...” He goggled at me. “But we all thought you gone to the swifters, dead.”
“To the swifters but not dead. I have been remitted. How is our master, Gafard, the King’s Striker? He is well, I trust?”
“As well as that prince Glycas will let him be. The king is changed — well, it is not for me to prattle on. So you come to serve my lord Gafard again?”
“My lord Gafard,” I said, realizing I’d forgotten the “my lord” bit, thinking so often of him as Gafard. “Aye. If you will take me to him.”
“He is closeted with the king and Prince Glycas. They plan this afternoon’s strike at that accursed city.”
“The siege
