Groll, the leader of the three Minotaurs, said. The creature’s accent was thick, his words barely discernable, but Gavin was getting the hang of it. “It’s true, they are ruthless, but they are also well trained,” Dwensolt said. “And if they have been found worthy of both a Ranger’s and Druid’s company, they can be trusted.” Once their Arch Druid friend had found out the contract on his life had been lifted, he’d become more himself. Vocal. Glad to have you back, Gavin thought. “As long as the price is right,” Roland said. “Of course,” Dwensolt said. “In this case, I suspect the price is their continued existence on this world.” The company was congregated at the bottom of the hill. Two archers kept watch above. “What about these Argo Vauths?” one of the Olympian Fu Manchus asked. His name was Sir Develin. He was dashing, if not flamboyant in his Olympian plate armor with gold inlay, his handlebar mustache swept down over his mouth.
