Jarthastra laughed and clapped his hands. The priests saw their cue and followed suit.
“Get it back in a minute,” whispered the captain. He bowed to the Valgraav and went off to see to his men.
“Well,” said Jarthastra, “if the warrior Tyr-shan will consent to guard me, I will hear the Morning Song. Let us await the singer.”
Tyr glanced at his parents. If literally bursting with pride was ever truly a possibility, now was the moment. He grinned and hefted the sword. It was far too heavy for him, but the balance was good and he gave a few swipes to show off.
“Take care, Tyr-shan,” said Jarthastra. “Do not assassinate me.”
Everyone but Bel-ghirá and old Mauzhrevhar laughed, glad to be light-hearted at last. Then they all stood quietly and waited for the singer to appear above his turret.
