“I am Sarkis of the Weeping Lands!” roared the servant of the sword, in a voice loud enough to shake the walls. “And you are in my way!” Cousin Alver let out a squeak and nearly fell in his haste to get off the staircase. “It is so gratifying when that works,” murmured Sarkis. “Does it not usually work?” “Not on actual warriors, no.” He started down the steps, one hand gripping Halla’s. “Normally they just yell back, ‘No one cares, come and die.’ Is anyone likely to come from above?”
