Chapter twentyDarham said: “I’d never have guessed you was a kov, Nath — I mean, Kov Darjad.”
“Nath the Hammer’ll do fine, Bold.”
Schanake said something to which Mrindaban contrived a reply.
The desperate shout had worked — thanks to Opaz. The crossbows had lowered on Schanake’s command. He did not, of course, recognize me. But a basich who knew his name could only be the one he’d encountered on that deserted isle.
While he talked to me and quelled his wonder that his new comrade was a kov, Darham kept shooting dark glances from under his eyebrows at the four Shank crossbowmen. They sat in a line on the other side of the cave, crossbows resting on their knees.
“Look at ’em,” said Darham. “That one on the end keeps gripping and ungripping his bow. They don’t trust us.”
Shocking all w
