“Yeah. They do that, you know,” said Brother Watchtower knowledgeably. “Happens all the time. You read about it. Skions, they’re called. They go lurking around in the distant wildernesses for ages, handing down the secret sword and birthmark and so forth from generation to generation. Then just when the old kingdom needs them, they turn up and turf out any usurpers that happen to be around. And then there’s general rejoicing.” The Supreme Grand Master felt his own mouth drop open. He hadn’t expected it to be as easy as this. “Yes, all right,” said a figure the Supreme Grand Master knew to be
...more
