‘My dearest soldiers! My beloved citizens! My wretched minions!’ Dathenar tilted his head back and yelled, ‘We’re here, sire! Summoned—’ ‘Press-ganged.’ ‘Your pardon, press-ganged into your service, as if tithes weren’t enough—’ ‘You, peasant, what was that you mumbled?’ ‘Nothing, sire, I but await your speech!’
