“Oh, by all the gods great and small,” swore Ivy. The last person she wanted to meet was Fottergrim’s personal spellcaster, the master of Tsurlagol’s walls throughout the siege. The wizard focused on Sanval, obviously taking the Procampur captain as their leader. The others he had looked over with a disinterested eye and immediately dismissed as unimportant. Ivy kept quiet, wanting to observe without being too closely observed. “So what are you hunting in these ruins with Toram’s godsight goat?” Archlis repeated the odd phrase, gesturing with the tip of his metal crutch at Kid, who cringed away as though he expected it to spit fire at him. “What do you think we seek?” Sanval answered question with question, his voice very steady and low, even as he took a half-step in front of Kid, sheltering the little thief behind his well-armored back. “I am the magelord Archlis, the terror of Fottergrim’s army,” snapped the wizard. “Do not play games with me, little captain from Procampur.”
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