Chapter eighteenTobi Vingal did not walk steadily. His face, ashen, looked like a dirty kerchief crumpled up and thrown down into a corner. His hands groped before him like those of a blind man. Those hands were empty, and the scabbard that should have held his Lohvian lynxter flapped as emptily as his hands.
In the next instant a crowd of the Guard appeared at his back. These were kampeons, hard men with iron resolve, who had seen a very great deal of the putrescent underbelly of life in their campaigns. Their tanned faces were set in granite lines. They had seen the pits of hell before; because they were who they were they could cope with the shambles they had seen — just.
Naghan Raerdu started forward. “Tobi! You have seen the Spectre?”
Tobi shook his head in a dazed fashion. “No.” H
