Now. Gom gazed around the room, then went for a last look through the casement. Perelion was just clear, and moving out. He took his staff, hoisted his pack, and went down the attic stair

No baggage. That spoke of interview. . . . In just a few hours, he’d have his new master! After that, he’d need his baggage for sure!

“The winds of change are blowing,” he muttered, and looked up startled. He’d said the invocation, quite without meaning to. He scanned the room, but nobody seemed to be paying him any mind.

Gom foraged about, broke a piece of Essie’s stiff salt cheese, then threw open the door to toss the tidbit out—and found himself face to face with a man.

 “The Fourth Realm boils with hate and blood feud among the ruling houses. If we can’t stop them, then Karlvod will have the gate, and move one closer to Bayon.”

“I ran the moment I saw them.” She glanced back through the crowds towards the inn street.

"But that’s the beauty of the song—nobody exactly knows. Only that Hershel went out into the mist and came back all changed.”

“So. The rat comes to ground. I thought if I waited long enough I’d have you.” The hand shook him savagely, rattling Gom’s teeth. “Well? Have you nothing to say?” Jofor!

"They’ve ever been, and remain a fierce folk, quick to take offense . . . What else? Their powers are great . . . they see things the ordinary man cannot, their gift of prophecy is legendary, and beware of one who can look into your heart."

“Sorry, Gom Gobblechuck.” Thrulvar was laughing openly. “You’re coming with us.”