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Arryl Tremaine knew that arguing would be a waste
for now. He kept quiet, turned his mind to other matters.
He wondered what Master Brek would think when he did
not return. It occurred to him that maybe the innkeeper
knew exactly what had happened to the knight, perhaps
had had a hand in it.
The fight ... outside the inn ... No, Arryl couldn't
believe something so monstrous, not even of Brother
Gurim. The knight wondered about his belongings....
MY ARMOR! Arryl was horrified that he could have gone
so long without thinking of the armor passed down from his
grandfather. "Master Arack!" he called.
The dwarf glanced over his shoulder. "What do you
want, Sir Knight?" he asked with a sneer.
"My armor! What has become of it?"
"The guard'll return it to ya, if it's decided ya should
wear it in the arena! Now keep yer place!"
The city guard DID have his belongings, then. Arryl
was most concerned with the armor. Those who had seen
him ride into Istar in full armor might have thought him an
elegant, rich knight, but the truth was that, while the House
of Tremaine was not poor, like so many of its cousins, it
had learned to be frugal. He had been fortunate in that his
grandfather's suit had fit him with very little alteration and
had also borne the symbol of the order to which the young
Tremaine had always aspired to join
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