"Based on your observations over the last half-day, what kind of man do you take him for?" Luthier asked, his voice calm and guiding.
Greyoll paused to consider. "Well, he seems a bit cowardly, but his nature is kind. His speech and manners are humble and cautious. To be honest, he is far more tolerable than that insolent Governor."
"If you strip away the 'cowardice' you've projected onto him," Luthier said with a thin smile, "you are essentially correct. His etiquette, the meticulous arrangements he made for this camp, and the small details he let slip during our talk all serve as proof."
"And yet," Luthier continued, his fingers tracing the hilt of his Dragonscale blade, "does it not strike you as contradictory? This 'kind, humble, cautious, and meticulous' man did not even attempt to persuade his superior to welcome us. In fact, the moment we met, he went out of his way to tell us that this disrespectful reception was entirely the result of the Governor's willful arrogance."
He looked out into the darkening valley. "If I were like many young dragons—proud, impulsive, easily provoked, and obsessed with my own honor—he likely would have added more hints and suggestions. He would have played the victim to draw a line between himself and the Governor, fanning the flames of my anger. But after seeing me and testing my reaction, he realized I was not so easily moved. He chose to retreat quickly to avoid further scrutiny."
Greyoll began to grasp the threads of the conversation, though she felt a nagging suspicion that his remark about "young dragons" was a pointed jab at her own temper.
"So, from the moment we left the city gates until just now, you were the one playing the host? You were testing him the entire time?"
"In a way," Luthier replied. "Despite our short time together, I realized he and I share a similar trait: we both trust our instincts. Just as he sensed he lacked the ability to manipulate me, I identified his intent the moment I invited him to ride with me. Everything after that was merely verification."
"But I still don't understand one thing," Greyoll said, her brow furrowed. "He must have realized you were testing him. If that's the case, why did he drop his guard when you asked about his family? Why didn't he keep up the mask?"
"You think that was a test as well?" Luthier offered a helpless, weary smile.
"Was it not?"
"Human emotions are strange things, Greyoll. I tested him a hundred times, and a hundred times he masked himself perfectly. But when I asked a single question with genuine intent, I happened to strike the one thing he refused to hide behind a mask."
He glanced at the dragon maiden beside him. Though she was over two centuries old, to Luthier—who possessed the soul of another life and a higher understanding of this world's destiny—she still seemed like an innocent, straightforward child.
"I could hear the truth in his voice. What he did in Leyndell was real. There was no benefit in lying about that, and we can verify it once we reach the Capital. If I need a reason to save his life once, his past compassion is enough."
Greyoll remained silent, though she secretly grumbled to herself about a dragon claiming to understand human emotions. Still, she didn't argue. She maintained a look of deep, solemn contemplation before nodding slowly. "I see."
Regardless of her feelings toward his other decisions, she found no reason to oppose him this time.
At that same hour, ten miles from the camp, Clavell had not returned to Karen City. After ensuring he was not being followed, he took a wide detour through the deepening night, slipping into a secluded grove north of the city.
He reached the center of the woods and blew a soft, prearranged signal.
After the third call, the branches of a massive tree rustled. A lithe, powerful shadow dropped from the trunk and landed before Clavell's horse. The moonlight filtering through the canopy revealed a face of nightmares.
A deep, jagged scar ran from his left temple down to the right side of his mouth, the heavy stitching resembling a bloated centipede. His cold, iron-grey eyes and the massive Kaiden sellsword blade strapped to his back marked him as a man who lived and breathed slaughter.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," the mercenary sneered. "I take it the dragon didn't take the bait?"
"Was that not expected?" Clavell replied, his voice equally sharp. "What I did not expect was the Prince himself. He is far more seasoned than his age suggests. If the fools in Leyndell treat him like a child to be played with, they will find their hands bloodied."
"Oh?" The mercenary looked intrigued. "High praise for a newborn demigod. How does this hatchling compare to the lords and ladies of Leyndell and Caria in your eyes?"
"I have no interest in meaningless questions," Clavell said coldly. "Our time is short. To the point."
The mercenary shrugged. "Everything is ready on our end. More than half of the demi-human tribes in southern Gelmir have sent their finest warriors. We also have twenty adult Trolls on standby. Krug wanted me to tell you that if you can lure Hektov and his guard more than fifteen miles from the city, we will have more than enough time to tear them apart."
"More than half?" Clavell was visibly shaken by the scale of the mobilization. He thought for a moment before speaking. "I will say this one last time. The equipment and supplies from Hektov's unit are yours. I will provide extra grain and medicine afterward. But if you touch the farms outside the city, the deal is off."
"We know, we know," the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You've said it a dozen times. You know the kind of man Krug is. Besides, even if someone had other ideas, could we really stop a man with your skills?"
"As long as you understand," Clavell muttered.
"I will intercept the scouts Hektov uses for intelligence and feed him the false reports we need. Tomorrow at noon, once the Ancient Dragon delegation is well away from the city, Hektov and his men will pass through Sunset Pass. I will be within the ranks to ensure everything stays on track. From the moment the vanguard enters the pass, you have thirty-five minutes to finish the job."
"Perfect." The mercenary flashed a savage, jagged grin. "We won't disappoint you."