“Langdon was my good friend always, but there was a streak of rashness in him and he did not always see the road ahead with clear eyes—”
At this criticism of his father Fors stirred but he did not speak.
“You have already, youth that you are, broken the clan laws-going your own way in pride and stubbornness—”
“I ask for nothing of the Eyrie’s giving!”
“That is as it may be. I have twice heard your tale-you have a liking for this Arskane, I think. And you have eyes and a talent for getting under the skin of a man. This Marphy is one whom we might well remember. But Cantrul is a fighting man and of a different breed. Give him something to fight and he may be more open to other thoughts when the victory lies behind him. Very well, it is up to us to give him something to fight-something other than this tribe!”
“What—?” Fors brought only the one word out of his vast amazement.
“Beast Things. A well-baited trail could lead them north to the Plains camp.”
Fors began to guess what was coming. He swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. To be bait for the Beast Things, to run north a pace or two before the most hideous death he knew-
“Such a task could be only ours alone—”
“You mean-not tell Lanard?”