"Did I hear you right?" Sola asks Tars. "Did you just say you're going to lead a thoatling up the stairs to the old observatory? Did you hit your head when you were away?"

"It does sound like something you'd only do for a wager," he drawls, the corner of his mouth lifting. One of his lower hands clinks a length of chain tucked behind his breast plate.

"You are out of your mind," she laughs.

Tars finishes off his goblet of wine and stands. Several of his warriors scrabble to their feet and raise their glasses. A jumble of voices rise in toast. He toasts them back and then raises a toast to Edgar.

"Sark-Iljat must leave us now. But he will return some day soon, yes?"