The last he saw of theoutside world was Merovec's face. Eh, Ebastiao? I expect so, sir, Ebastiac, said, nodding. Having fought the Algarviansin the Six Years' War before his regiment had mutinied and he'd gonehome, Rathar was less than eager to face the redheads again. His cape still shedsome water.
That was enough. Maybe he was an oracle instead. He hoped Burgred's did, too. And, somewhere up there in Tirgovistetown, he had a son or daughter he'd never seen.
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