Chapter twelve
Murlock Marsilus and King Nemo inspect my daggerThis Murlock seemed to me to be no atavistic sport of the family of Marsilus — despite all I had heard of Marker Murlock, and all I had observed of his son Pando — for the old Kov had been relentless in his rage and malignance against not only Tilda, the girl his son had married in defiance of his wishes, but against her family also so that they had given up the stage and gone farming with distant relatives in that pleasant valley. Now, we left the valley and our zorcas’ hooves rat-tatted with a more purposeful sound on the paved road.
“Pando will turn out all right, Dray,” said Inch. He reflected, and added, “If he lives.”
“The story of the old Kov’s recantation on his deathbed and the known desire of his to have Pando reco
