When something like order returned, Tyr noticed Greitha. She was still staring at him, but her cheeks were joyful scarlet, she had dropped the tankard and both hands were clasped on that protective bosom, battlements no longer but hills that rose and fell in the earthquake of her admiration.
“Er,” said Tyr again. He coughed, wiped his nose, and rubbed his stomach. “Can I have more stew?”
~
“YOU DID WHAT?” gasped Azhur.
“Smashed his stupid long nose,” exulted Tyr. “And then his miserable uncle comes in, Bal... Bal... him! Anyway, hates me, he does. Do y’ have to do y’ lore with him?”
“No, no,” said Azhur, grimacing. “But do be careful. Bal-jarrak’s in the Second circle too and I… well, I have to get on with him.”
“He hates you too,” Aienna told him. “Why should you?”
“It helps. It’s
