### 201

You stare into the man’s steel-blue eyes and, using your psychic skill, implant in his mind the suggestion that he should put his crossbow on the ground. You are hoping he will comply with your command so that you can attempt to get away, but then he says something which makes that idea redundant.

‘You’re no bandit,’ he muses. ‘No, by thunder, you look like a Sommlending to me.’

Turn to 13.