Khason
“The Rogue King?” Dawson’s voice was high with incredulity.
I nodded, although he couldn’t see me through the phone I’d borrowed from another oddly friendly rogue. I leaned back against the rocky wall of the plateau, keeping my eyes on the lump near the edge of camp that was Ivy, curled near enough to Duhn’s fire to stay warm in the chilly night, but not so near that I could make out anything but her shape from where I stood now, phone pressed to my ear.
“That’s what they’re calling him.” I muttered. “They’re like a cult. All marching off to the promised land. No, sorry. The ‘Rogue Lands’.”
“Mother save me.” Dawson heaved an exasperated sigh. “Stohn can’t fight numbers like that…”
“I don’t even think he can outrun numbers like that, Daws. If Christiano has even three times this
