Chapter eightFweygo said: “If you keep looking at the blintz, Dray— ah— Drajak, he’ll blow our cover for sure.”
“There’s a little Fristle fifi just beyond him. I’m looking at her. At least, that’s what he’ll think.”
Fweygo twisted around casually to look. The tavern was filled with noise and laughter and the smells of ale and cooking. He nodded. “Very tasty. We’ll have to knock him over soon.”
I supped on my ale, which was a reasonable local brew here in Nerlinium, the capital city of Enderli. Over the past few sennights the Star Lords had hoisted me out of the Blue Lily farm and dumped me down here with Fweygo. We were slated to go after the Prism of Power belonging to the priests of Dokerty in Enderli. San Quenlo had been happily accepted by the folk of the Blue Lily and he told me he
