She names it False Friend. Like you.” “To whom have I been false?” “To her,” the northman said. “Can it be that my lady has forgotten that you once swore her your service?” There was only one woman that the Maid of Tarth had ever sworn to serve. “That cannot be,” she said. “She’s dead.” “Death and guest right,” muttered Long Jeyne Heddle. “They don’t mean so much as they used to, neither one.”
