“Lahal — majister.”
Oh, yes, Kov Loriman the Hunter had come a long, long way since the days of Spikatur Hunting Sword, when we’d groped our way around among the magics and monsters of the Moder. A figure appeared at his side, wreathed in a trembling blue radiance.
Instantly, futile though the gesture was, my fist gripped the hilt of my sword.
Another blue-shimmering figure ghosted into existence, and dear old Deb-Lu, very quickly, said: “It is perfectly all right! He felt he would prefer to stand before you in lupu at first. Afterwards—”
“You vouch for him, san?”
“I do. He recognizes the situation. He appealed to Kov Loriman because they have worked together before.”
“I see!”
The astonishment I felt was tempered by caution. If Deb-Lu said a thing was so, then it was a safe bet that
