Chapter sixteen
“I never was fond of skelebones!”Among the many half-obliterated marks cut into the walls at corners and turnings, the heart, lobed, slashed through with a sword, passed as just another sign among many. That mark was the sign of Spikatur Hunting Sword.
Hurngal had one of his people busily cutting a fresh mark at points where we changed direction. He used the Kregish block script initials H.h.H. I had to smile. I wondered just how many folk there were in Hamal with those self-same initials.
Loriman cast me a quizzical look. We’d paced each other since leaving that bridge of midget flying horrors and I had lost that opportunity of talking to him.
With floor, walls, and ceiling well tested before us, we marched on through a succession of chambers wherein the magnificence o
