the boy, except as we've always known him-the youngest son of Bitter Ansoain.' He held out his hand to seal the trade.
Dru hesitated then clasped the Zhentarim's hand. They exchanged the hollow good-wishes of men who do not expect to meet again. The sun was poking above the horizon as Dru walked down the stairs alone.
Another night without sleep.
He thought about Amarandaris's words before they had shaken hands. Her youngest son?
Вы читаете The Nether Scroll
