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. The boy's hair fell
over his forehead in a tangle, all but blocking his vision.
Moran studied him as a warrior studies a new
opponent. The boy wore a baggy jerkin and faded breeches.
He held a battered duffel in one hand and a stray piece of
brass that Moran thought he recognized in the other.
The boy stared interestedly at the knight. Moran had a
hawk nose and bristling white moustache; he looked fierce
and remote except on the rare occasions when he smiled.
"You could have killed me," the boy said.
No fear, Moran thought. None at all. "I may yet. What
have you come for?"
Rakiel half-rose at the daunting boom of the Voice,
companion to the Mask.
The boy said simply, "I want to become a Knight of
Solamnia."
Rakiel chuckled aloud. The cleric's laugh ended
abruptly when Moran, with a single wrist flick, sent the
sword flying backward to THUNK, quivering, in the wall
opposite him.
Moran resisted the temptation to see where the sword
had landed. Always assume, Moran's own mentor, Tali-sin,
had said, that it landed well if you still have work in front
of you. Part of Moran was pleased that his skill had
impressed Rakiel as much as it had the boy.
"Name?"
"Tarli
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