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. They approached
silently. There were thirty or forty of them, dressed in
ragged, ill-fitting clothes. Several wore robes.
Graym looked around at the circle of men and women.
"Good to sec so many of you here to greet us." He waved an
arm. "I'd offer a drink, but we're running short."
A robed and hooded figure came forward. The robe was
too long, clearly borrowed, and had been dyed a neutral
color. "I am Rhael," said the person. "I am the elder."
The voice was strong and dear, strangely high. Graym
said dubiously, "Are you sure? You sound kinda young for
an elder."
"Quite sure." The woman pulled back her hood and
shook her hair free of it.
Darll snorted. "Who are you all?"
"I am Rhael. These are my people. We come from the
village of Graveside."
Darll asked, "A law-abiding village?"
She nodded.
"Good." He raised his manacled hands. "Arrest these
fools and free me."
"Arrest them? Why?"
"Because they're crooks."
"What have they done?"
"What haven't they? Theft, resisting arrest, drunk and
disorderly plenty of times, drunk but not disorderly at least
once, sober and disorderly a few times - "
Rhael seemed impressed. "What are they like as
fighters?"
Terrible," Darll said truthfully. "Awful to watch. You
can't imagine."
"Brutal?"
"That man - " Darll pointed to Graym - "drove off a
band of bounty hunters, with only me in chains to help
him."
"That one . . ." He pointed to Jarek. "He nearly killed a
man with one blow." More or less true, counting a thrown
rock as a blow
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