Heiron leaned back in his seat and pushed his empty plate away. Benor was
still mopping up the remains of his gravy with a slice of bread.
“That was good.”
Benor ate the bread. “You’re right; I will happily recommend ‘The Bridge Inn’
at Tarrant to all my friends.” With that he drained the rest of the beer in
his tankard. It was good enough to tempt him into ordering another one, but
he felt turning up for work smelling of ale, however good, lacked gravitas.
Heiron toyed with his tankard. “I’ve travelled a bit young Benor but I’ve
not travelled enough to place your accent.”
“That’s easily explained. I’m from Toelar; you probably never travelled that
“No farther east than Tarsteps,” Heiron admitted, “but in Tarsteps, Toelar
men had a certain reputation. Are you one of those ‘roof-runners’?”
Benor smiled a rather tired smile. “Most men in Toelar…
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