“After the bad beer, sir, I am inclined to be less than tolerable with attempts at defaming my master’s character,” Ylir said flatly. He started for the door with Burg a few steps ahead. “That temper again, Ferral,” Marre called after him. “I recall you being more patient, back when you were an old man in Baidh. How is your daughter, Hertra Ferral? Sinea? She must be what, twenty-three by now?”
