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."
Rakiel's mouth quirked. "For the first time in our
lives." He stretched a slender, thinly muscled arm out and
withdrew the mercenary down an alley.
They were playing Draconniel, said to have been
invented by Huma himself to keep knights ready for war.
The game grid was laid over a map of Xak Tsaroth, and the
dragon side was moving small raiding parties through the
back streets, down the storm drains, and inside market
carts. Moran, accustomed to the open play favored by
Solamnic Knights, was intrigued by Rakiel's underhanded
style - and a little appalled.
He brought a second swordsman forward. "I'm
preparing a sortie down Grimm Street."
"Your frankness does you credit." Rakiel withdrew a
previously concealed bowman from Grimm Street.
"Perhaps it's just as well that you honor-bound knights no
longer fight wars."
Once the cleric's caustic remark would have cut through
Moran. A long, thin man, Moran awakened morning after
morning in a lonely, wide bed, knowing that he had spent
his life training for a war he would never fight: a grand and
glorious war on dragonback, a war such as the great Huma
had fought. No more. The dragons were driven away. Istar
was bringing "peace" to the world
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