The real reason why you’re dashing promptly out again is so that you don’t have to argue with my councilors about war funds.” “Great sands, man, why would I want to do your job? They’re your councilors, you argue with them. My job is to look pretty on a white horse and win battles.
You’re determined to get me in trouble, aren’t you?” Behnam gave a slow, lazy blink, like a cat that hadn’t the faintest idea why people around him looked upset.
Sherrett gave a raspy chuckle, sounding anything but amused. His mouth flickered upward in an approximation of a smile. Or perhaps what a smile would be if it was held up against a wall and forced to plead for its life.
He could hear the unspoken question in the man’s voice, as if wondering why Darius felt so uptight even though he literally outnumbered the enemy ten to one. Dropping his voice, he confided in the man, “For every barbarian that you can see, it’s wise to assume there’s at least that number hidden nearby.
The palace runner that had escorted them unobtrusively slid in a dark corner and stayed, hoping to get an earful before someone remembered him and kicked him out.