Chapter ThirteenIt was mid-afternoon of the fourth day after the battle when Galt finally found himself with time to spare for Garth’s obsession with the magic sword. As he had expected, he found the older overman in the King’s Inn, sulking in a corner with a mug of ale.
“Greetings, Garth,” he said, standing beside the table.
“Greetings, Galt. I don’t suppose you have time to sit down.”
“No, but I do have time to tend to the sword, if you like.”
“Good!” Garth rose, a trifle unsteadily; Galt realized, with considerable misgiving, that the overman had been doing nothing but drinking since early morning. He knew that Garth would be offended if he suggested putting off the matter of the sword, and he was not sure how long he would be free of other concerns, so he said nothing, but followed
