Chapter seventeen
“It is him! I know! Pur Dray, the Lord of Strombor!”I, Gadak the Renegade, spat juicily on my harness and laid into it with a will with the best polishing cloth. Tack and gear lay spread about on the old sturm-wood table. Others of the men in the loyal squadron likewise polished and spat, spat and polished. We all felt we needed to look smart when the hired kidnappers of the king came calling.
Gafard had smiled that smile of his that was nowhere ironic but all grinning leem-grin.
“So you come to me, Gadak, knowing the king very likely can send you to the galleys?”
“If that is to be Grodno’s will, that is to—”
“Aye, aye! And how do I know you have not made another bargain with the king’s man — this Nodgen the Faithful?” Here Gafard curled his fist in contempt. “The co
