‘Commander Drago,’ he said. ‘Is this the way the Muster treat strangers? Weapons and threats?’
Drago ignored him. He looked Sylvriss up and down appraisingly.
‘Fyordyn, eh?’ he said to Olvric, without taking his gaze from Sylvriss.
‘Yes,’ Olvric said nervously. ‘We’re only servants, sir. On our way to join our Lord down here, but the snows caught us in the mountains and...’
‘Servants?’ said Drago, showing his teeth and reaching out to grip Sylvriss’s cloak. ‘In clothes like these?’
Olvric looked surprised. ‘We have a kind and generous Lord. He looks after us well,’ he said.
Drago turned to him scornfully, then threw open Sylvriss’s cloak. ‘A very kind Lord indeed,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Who expects a pregnant “maid” to drag herself over the mountains to tend to him.’
Eyes blazing,
