He cared more about livingthrough the next few days than about the king of Algarve. The snow would melt,the ground would turn to muck, and, when the muck grew firm enough,it would be planting time. About half the people on the street were short, swarthy Yaninans,most of them with wool cloaks over their big-sleeved tunics and tights. He might have been a man who'd come down with a deadly cl Cwbut not yet perished of it.
Some smelled likeroasting meat. For now, though, Kolthoum. He and his fellow Sibian exileswere tools in the Lagoans' hands - useful tools, to be employed withsome care, but tools nonetheless. We'll make a stand on Mt.
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