Chapter eightZeg organized a small flier from Zairfaril. The airboat was like a pinnace, trim and fast. They carried Didi out on her stretcher and I looked down on her. She was so pale she looked as though she would wisp away any second. Had she not taken that baptismal dip in the Sacred Pool of the River Zelph in far Aphrasöe, the wound would have killed her for sure.
Her hand stirred faintly, so I took it into my hand, holding it with trembling concern, feeling the desolate ache of wounds and pain and death.
“Paz,” she said. Her voice barely reached my ears and I bent closer. She called me Paz, for was I not supposed to be this famous puissant Emperor of Emperors, the Emperor of All Paz? That notion was the idea of the Star Lords and one in which I had little faith. Still, young Didi c
