“Our guest.”
“And so you went in search of her?”
“Most naturally, for though she and I are naught save comrades, comrades we shall be to the end.”
Vytal studied his face. “Our guest’s name, Kyt, is Frazer.”
“Frazer!” The poet started. “We are tricked. Tricked by a boy! Forgive me. You must leave another to defend the fortress,” and Marlowe, drawing his sword, held it out to the soldier. “Leave me the pen only, for I am not worthy of this.”
But Vytal laid a hand on his shoulder kindly. “I was befooled myself.”
“Let us go to him,” suggested Christopher.
“Nay, I have just sent Hugh Rouse, who returned with me from his picket duty. He will bring the fellow to the fort.”
“Let us wait in the armory, then. I long to see that bantering actor pleading for our mercy. He would play excellent well upon the stage, with his tales of torture and feigned idiocy.”