“Slowly he got to his feet. Dafydd rose also, casually, his hand on his quiver. Jim found himself getting to his feet as well, and Dick Innkeeper materialized in the inn door, stepping out to join them. Only Aragh stayed seated, his jaws laughing. The man in the lead was a lean individual who looked to be in his fifties. The ends of hair seen escaping from under his steel cap were iron gray, and his short, curly, jutting beard was pepper-and-salt in color. Beyond his air of authority, he see...med little different from the men behind him, except that the weapon at his belt was not the short sword the others wore, but rather a longer, two-handed weapon like Sir Brian's. He came up to the ditch girdling the inn, crossed its bridge and stopped before the knight. "I'm Giles o' the Wold," he said. "And these are my free brothers and companions of the forest. I take it you're Sir Brian Neville-Smythe?" "I am," Brian answered, stiffly.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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