“What do you mean, you’re sending me away?” Voran complained, his face white with shock.
Rogned sat outside his tent on a soldier’s rough stool. Voran stood in front of him, still dressed in yesterday’s finest. He had not slept either, it seemed.
“Not away, Voran. I expect you back soon.”
“But we are only just beginning. Where could I possibly be of more use to you than here? This is the moment to strike, when the iron is hot!”
“I need you to go to Ghavan Isle.”
Voran’s face fell. “But I was hoping you’d go there yourself. I wanted to present you to Dar Mirnían, so that we could offer him our swords together.”
“I know, Voran.”
Rogned was no longer sure that submission to the monarchia of Vasyllia was the correct choice. He tried to tell himself it was not the pleasure he felt, growi
