"A clean beast, Kepta, which you are not. Bid your two-legged morgels loose the youth, lest I grow impatient." The flyer swung the green rod into view.
Kepta's eyes narrowed but his smile did not fade. "I have heard of old that the Ancient Ones do not destroy—"
"As an outlander I am not bound by their limits," returned Garin, "as you will learn if you do not call off your stinking pack."
The master of the Caves laughed. "You are as the Tand, a fool without a brain. Never shall you see the Caverns again—"
"You shall own me master yet, Kepta."
The Black Chief seemed to consider. Then he waved to his men. "Release him," he ordered. "Outlander, you are braver than I thought. We might bargain—"
"Thrala goes forth from the Caves and the black throne is dust, those are the terms of the Caverns."
"And if we do not accept?"
"Then Thrala goes forth, the throne is dust and Tav shall have a day of judging such as it has never seen before."
"You challenge me?"