thonged silver medallion stamped with the toad face of the goddess Heqt.
Samlor’s broad face was deep red, the complexion of a man who will never tan but
who is rarely out of the sun. He cleared his throat, rubbed his mouth with the
back of his big fist, and said, ‘My sister sent for me. She’s in there, the
servant says?’ He gestured.
‘Why yes,’ said Regli, looking a little puzzled to find the quirt in his hands.
The doctor was getting up from his chair. ‘Why, you’re much older, aren’t you?’
the lord continued inanely.
‘Fourteen years,’ Samlor agreed sourly, stepping past the two Rankans to the
bedroom door. He tossed his cloak over one of the ivory-inlaid tables along the
wall. ‘You’d have thought the folks would have guessed something when the five
between us were stillborn, but no. Hell, no … And much luck the bitch ever
brought them.’
‘I say!’ Regli gasped at the stocky man’s back. ‘You’re speaking of my wife!’
Samlor turned, his knuckles already poised to rap on the door panel. ‘You had a
choice,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who was running caravans through the mountains,
trying to keep the Noble House of Kodrix afloat long enough to marry its
daughter well – and her slutting about so that the folks had to go to Ranke to
get offers from anybody but a brothel keeper. No wonder they drink.’ He hammered
on the door.
Mernorad tugged the white-faced Regli back. ‘Master Samlor,’ the physician said
sharply.
‘It’s Samlor, dammit!’ the Cirdonian was shouting in response to a question from
within the bedroom. ‘I didn’t ride 500 miles to stand at a damned doorway,