“Azhur,” said Galdtchav quietly, “you seem to be revisiting…” Azhur waved a hand. “Later, perhaps? The lads….”
“Please don’t worry, my lord. The lads are well aware of that story.”
“I see. But that would mean....”
“Yes, it would. They told them. Very remiss, I felt.”
Galdtchav examined his fingertips, “I understand, Azhur. Shall we speak later?”
Azhur snapped round, trembling, “Frankly, Lord Galdtchav, I feel very much like speaking now. Out of character I know, but things… surface and must out.”
“All the same, Azhur—boys, would you mind…?”
“Oh, let them stay, they’ve heard it all!” Azhur’s hands were not twisting together now: they moved emphatically but helplessly, as though he could not express what burned inside. Every sweep of his arm seemed to release a furious thought, a worl
