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Almost every wagon had its guards men-at-arms wearing the badges of small lordlings, sellswords in mail and boiled leather, sometimes only a pink-cheeked farmer's son clutching a homemade spear with a firehardened point.
They then offer to fight anyone who disagrees. Not to worry Sparhawk, he added with a chuckle. It's a formality. The challenge is almost never taken up.
Out of place or not, he was here for a good reason, and the sooner he got started the better he'd start feeling. First, he needed dr. soman directions. He selected a Frozen Yoghurt store as the emptiest along the row, and sauntered in.
'You're out of your mind, Gashon,' he declared flatly. Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon was a bloodless, corpselike man with sunken cheeks and no more than a few wispy strands of hair protruding from his lumpy scalp.
Turning to the dr. soman .s wagons, he said, Calis! You'd better come here. As the elfling leaped down from the wagon, Ghuda said, What? Look at his face, said Nicholas.