Tormalin the Oathless személy

Tormalin, as ever, looked as outraged as an insulted cat.

The thing was enormous; it must surely have crushed the Eboran under its weight. But then the huge bulk of the thing rolled to one side, Tormalin the Oathless lifting it off as easily as a man discarding a horse-blanket, with the Ninth Rain still held firmly in his right hand. He stalked over towards them while a wide puddle of steaming blood grew from the body of the worm-touched creature. He looked aggrieved.

‘Tormalin . . .’ Vintage shook her head. ‘Tor, my darling, are you all right?’

He pursed his lips at her, apparently oblivious to the watching crowd. ‘Would you look at this?’ He held up the cuff of his jacket, which was smudged with blood. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of Reidn silk? And now this.’ He turned in a circle, revealing a huge patch of crimson on the back of his jacket. It was soaked in the monster’s blood, as was much of his hair.

‘Your clothes,’ said Noon. She wasn’t sure what else to say. ‘Your . . . clothes?’

It doesn’t look like much, but it’s actually pretty tasty, if you cook it for long enough. And douse it in wine. And drink lots of wine while you’re eating it. And drink lots of wine afterwards, so you forget what you were just eating.

113. oldal, 9. fejezet (Headline, 2017)

‘Where are we now?’ she asked.

Tor made a point of looking around, his hands on his hips. ‘Judging by the constellations just starting to glint into life, the scent of the wind and the texture of the earth . . . I would say we’re precisely in the middle of nowhere.’

347. oldal, 38. fejezet (Headline, 2017)