“If he isn’t a Vairking,” the other countered, “then why does he wear Vairking leather armor? Answer me that.”
“Vairking or not,” the fat one declared, “he will do very nicely to string up by the heels and shoot arrows at. For quite evidently, he is no Roy. What say you to that, my fine target?”
The guard removed the gag.
“I say,” Myles evenly replied, “that you had better not take any such liberties with me.”
“And why not, furless?” the seated Roy sneered.
“First, let me ask you a question,” Myles said. “Who is King of the Roies, Grod the Silent or Att the Terrible?”
“Grod the Silent, most assuredly. Why do you ask?”
“And do you know Prince Otto, his son?”
“Otto the Bold? Most assuredly.”
“Know then,” the captive asserted, “that I am no Vairking, but rather a Minorian, which is a sort of creature I venture you have never met before. Furthermore, I am a particular personal friend of Otto the Bold. He will not thank you to string up Cabot the Minorian by the heels, and shoot arrows into him. I demand that I be taken before Prince Otto.”