You spoil your horse, Halt said. Will glanced at him. You spoil yours. Halt considered the thought, then nodded. That's true.

Horace normally didn't need anyone else to save his life. He was pretty skilled at doing it for himself.

And with his arm around the younger man's shoulders still, he led him away from the bow and back to the small group by the tiller. Halt glanced up as they approached, caught a look from Gilan and had a pretty good idea what they had been talking about. "Where have you two been?" he asked, his tone light. admiring the view," Gilan told him. "Thought you might need a hand from the two wisest heads on board.

What are you looking at, foreigner?” the guard demanded roughly. The smile was a little unsettling. A prisoner shouldn’t smile at his captors like that. “I’m just making sure I can remember you,” Gilan told him. “Never know when that might be useful.

Would you trust him with your life, Halt?" Gilan interrupted, and Halt looked up at him. "Yes," he said quietly. Gilan patted his shoulder once more. "Then trust him with his own," he said simply.

I will remember this word," he said. "Shenanigans. It is a good word.

It's not what I expected," he said. "They're far more organized than our intelligence had led us to believe.