its ears to quiet it.
‘What is this? There is enough money here to raise an army!’ Scowled Kadakithis,
tossing the pouch lightly in his palm.
A polite and perfect smile lit the northern face, so warmly handsome, of the
Rankan emissary. ‘Have you not told him, then, 0 Riddler?’
‘No, I thought to, but got no opportunity. Also, I am not sure whether we will
raise it, or whether that is my severance pay.’ He threw a leg over the
sorrel’s neck and slid down it, butt to horse, dropped its reins and walked
away down the beach with his new Tros horse in hand. The Rankan hooked his
helmet carefully on one of the saddle’s silver rosettes. ‘You two are not
getting on, I take it. Prince Kadakithis, you must be easy with him. Treat him
as he does his horses; he needs a gentle hand.’
‘He needs his comeuppance. He has become insufferable! What is this money? Has
he told you I am for sale? I am not!’
‘He has turned his back on his god and the god is letting him run. When he is
exhausted, the god will take him back. You found him pleasant enough,
previously, I would wager. He has been set upon by your own staff, men to whom
he was sworn and who gave oaths to him. What do you expect? He will not rest
easy until he has made that matter right.’
‘What is this? My men? You mean that long unexplained absence of his? I admit he
is changed. But how do you know what he would not tell me?’
A smile like sunrise lit the elegant face of the armoured man.
‘The god tells me what I need to know. How would it be, for him to come running