About fifteen hefty men lay dead on the floor of an open-roofed bamboo shack. The precise strokes of a sharp blade were definitely the trademark of Dravon. That he was here was no longer a probability.
The hearth at the center of the room still emanated heat.
"They must not have gone far."
It was the redhead. He came to stand beside Kaelion, who was bent towards the hearth. He continued poking at the black ashes, and if someone spoke to him, he showed no sign.
"If we go after them now, we should catch them before they make it out and into Valerune." Hans continued.
Kaelion dusted his hands against his side as he stood facing Hans. If he knew he had to go through it with Hans Marcot, he would have proposed to do it alone with his men. Or was it that Prince Aran did not trust him to kill Dravon?
