Could I change? Could Dray Prescot, the Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, really stop being the reiving tearaway rascally fellow he was?
Seg bellowed in a too-loud voice: “Cheer up, my old dom! You look as though you’ve lost a zorca and found a calsany.”
“Aye, Seg, aye.”
The overhead abruptly split, the wood shattering away in scything splinters, and a couple of frogs belted down. They hit the deck under our feet with almighty crashes and instantly were up and hopping about. Turko caught them easily enough. He whistled.
“You’re right. They weigh like stone.”
“The whole picture is different,” I said, forcing myself to return to the present and what was going on. “When Csitra dumped cartfuls of frogs onto our heads it was all a bit of an occult lark. She was plaguing us. But now, one
