Dylara crouched beneath a table in Vokal's kitchen and listened to that nobleman's strident voice as it lashed at a group of palace guards outside the half open door.
"Do you expect me to believe," he said hotly, "that a single warrior could slay seven of you? Were their muscles turned to water at sight of him? And the rest of you—are you soldiers or children to be so easily outwitted?"
No one attempted a reply. Ekbar, captain of the guards, stood stiffly by, beads of nervous perspiration dotting his forehead. His turn would come once Vokal was through with the guards themselves. He would be fortunate indeed to escape with no more than a tongue-lashing; he might well end up being demoted in rank.
"Who was this man?" Vokal demanded. "Did any of you recognize him? Speak up, before I order your tongues cut out with your own knives! You!" He pointed a finger at one of the men. "I understand you were one of those who first saw him. Who was he?"
The designated man, his trembling voice matching the shaking of his knees, said hurriedly, "He was like no warrior I have seen in all Ammad, Most-High. He was very tall, with great rippling muscles that——"
"Enough!" Vokal shouted. "I might have known you would claim no ordinary man could best the lot of you. And, I suppose, at least fifty more of these huge strangers fell upon you?"
"No, Most-High," the warrior admitted. "But there was one more, not quite so large as the first. He came from within the palace to join his friend and the two of them ran——"
"Wait!" the nobleman said sharply. "Are you sure this second man came from inside the palace?"
"Yes, Most-High." He pointed an unsteady hand at the door leading to the palace kitchen. "He came from there. With my own eye I——"