‘My master stirs in the Abyss,’ he said, tongue flickering. ‘The thousand years are almost done. Your house was our great enemy before, Sabran Berethnet, in the days you call the Grief of Ages.’ ‘My ancestor showed you Inysh mettle then, and I will show it to you now,’ Sabran retorted. ‘You speak of a thousand years, wyrm. What deceit does your forked tongue sell?’
Political lore
