Grif leaned back and stared at N'grash doubtfully. "Really. A Sword."
"A Sword," N'grash repeated. "He is known as the Viceroy. You are in danger, Tester."
N'grash's people had a tradition of labeling everyone they knew. It was, N'grash claimed, an attempt to know the essence of another's soul. Grif's soul, it seemed, was hard to label--or was non-existent, as N'grash occasionally claimed--because she was never satisfied with any label she chose. When they'd first met she called him "Trickster," then "Jester." She found neither label satisfactory, and would occasionally replace it with a new one: "Mocker." "Liar." "Madman." "Fool." Lately she had taken to calling him "Tester," because, she said, he insisted on testing the boundaries of everything and everyone he met.
"The Viceroy?" Grif frowned. "Never heard of him. Name's a bit ostentatious, though, isn't it? Nothing like a little hubris to start off your day..."