Flinthammer Hall

“Would you get me another drink, Ringo?”

“Not unless you say it,” Ringo said, leaning back in his chair at the Honor Hold Inn. “You know the rules.”

“I’m not going to say it,” Beli said, her voice even, but shooting him a dirty look.

“Say what?” Widge asked, returning from the Little Gnome’s Room outside and climbing into his seat.

“Nothing,” Beli said.

“From now on,” Ringo grinned, putting his hands behind his head, “I want to be addressed as ‘His Royal Highness.’”

The ogres of the Blade’s Edge Mountains had recently declared Ringo their king. Ogres, it turns out, have even lower standards than previously believed.

“I’m not calling you that just to get a drink,” Beli said. “And I don’t say things like that in public.”

“Lalalalalalala!” Widge squeaked, leaping to his feet and sticking his fingers into his ears, turning and running for the bar. “I’ll get the drink! Just stop this line of conversation before I return to the table!”

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