Faolan stood there a moment. Then he rapped his empty cup.
"More wine, bard. More wine."
He turned to the battle again.
"Oh, gods, if I could see it, if I could only see it!"
Below, a ringing crash. A silence. A shouting, a pouring of noise.
"The Gate!" Faolan was stricken with fear. "We've lost! My sword!"
"Stay, Faolan!" Romna laughed. Then he sighed. It was a sigh that did not believe. "In the name of ten thousand mighty gods. Would that I were blind now, or could see better."
Faolan's hand caught, held him. "What is it? Tell!"
"Clev! And Tlan! And Conan! And Blucc! And Mannt! Standing in the gate, like wine visions! Swords in their hands!"
Faolan's hand relaxed, then tightened. "Speak their names again, and speak them slowly. And tell the truth." His skin shivered like that of a nervous animal. "You said—Clev? Mannt? Blucc?"