Chapter 19

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"The Prince, man. I say he had old Valdhon murdered," the dock worker responded. "Whatta ya say? Am I right?"

"Well," the blonde knight fumbled, "I dunno."

Dismayed by his lack of an opinion, another dock laborer cut him off. "Gotta be. The Prince is cleanin' up. Consolidatin' his power." The man winked, as if he had an inside source.

An older man stroked his short beard in thought. He wore the clothes of a merchant and his manner of speaking was more refined. "This year's Journey of Homage should prove very interesting. It would appear that the Prince is making his move. After all, the King's become nothing more than a doddering old fool."

At that, Mharkhel began to rise, his hand coming to rest on his concealed knife. But Setryv put a restraining arm on him saying, "Sit down, friend. There's no need for you to go to the bar. A wench will serve us shortly." The blonde's eyes flashed a warning but it was still a moment before Mharkhel seated himself.

Hoping to take the attention off his friend, Setryv steered the conversation toward a different topic. "Have any of you heard any more rumors about the Slayers?"

"They're not rumors," one of the dock workers replied. "Our friend Dhirnhon was here the night we got word. Weren't ya Dhirnhon?" he said and poked the man with his elbow.

Dhirnhon, the fourth at the table, sat slumped in a chair. He was a middle-aged man who frequented the White Wyvern. "It's the truth they're speakin'. I was here that night," he said groggily.

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