Chapter eighteen
A longsword falls“You nurdling get-onker!” The Gerawin’s voice hammered close to my ear and I opened my eyes, feeling as sluggish as Tyr Nath after he’d drunk the sylvie’s poisoned cup in the Grotto of the Trell Kings. I was being carried along like a rolled-up carpet, swaying from side to side. I c****d an eye down.
Below me lay a windswept, empty space beyond the slats and ropes; below that was the undulating mass of creepers and vines.
So I knew that Gerawin were carrying me across the bridge that gave this volgendrin its name.
We halted and the bandy-legged flyer thus addressed shouted something about no sane man having to cope with such a bar of iron. His yells were the furious and desperate shouts of a man seeing vast unpleasantnesses fast approaching.
“You have
