CHAPTER 27That night, the general got into a fight with Milorth about camping.
“But there’s a town five kilometres away! Can’t we sleep there? In a place fit for one such as myself?”
“We can’t stay at an inn, there could be spies anywhere!” the general said, horrified.
The fae were passing coins around. Again.
“But you can’t expect me to sleep in the dirt!”
“I don’t expect you to. We’ve provided you with a bed.”
“You can’t expect me to lower myself onto that thing.”
The general felt a headache coming on. “It’s all that we’ve got, I’m afraid. It’s either sleep on the bedroll or sleep on the dirt.”
Milorth narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, green magic formed around his hands and a giant, golden, jewel-encrusted bed appeared beside him. The blankets were made of down, the pillows looked ov
