Meluryn's broad back and curly hair were easy to spot, even from across the room. I meandered toward the table, where he, Rhisiart, and Seyzhavye were having a council of war with a gray-haired man with a face like a cross between a bird of prey and a hatchet. He looked like a Viking, honestly, and I wondered idly where his horned helmet was before sliding onto the bench beside Seyzhavye.
She was apparently relating the tale of how she'd finished the riddle match. "-and kicked sand into it, to keep it from healing." She obviously expected something other than the anger that darkened his face, deepening the already harsh lines.
"Sand? You think sand will stop his like? Has all lore been lost so soon?" His eyebrows lowered ominously, like thunderheads over a clear sky. I noted absently that his eyes were an astonishing gray before he continued his tirade. "Cold iron. An