Olvric did not reply.
‘You’ll not face Dan-Tor, let alone Sumeral, with any chance of victory without those beside you who can use the same power,’ Oslang gasped. ‘You must have learned that already.’
Olvric’s eye narrowed, then he withdrew the knife. Oslang slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking violently. Only Sylvriss and Yengar noted that Olvric’s hand too was shaking as he sheathed his knife.
When Oslang sat up, he was white-faced and still trembling. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, almost plaintively. ‘I’m a student of lore, not a warrior. I feel sick — let me have a moment to recover myself.’ He looked at Olvric. ‘You’re a terrifying man, Goraidin,’ he said softly.
‘I take no pride in it,’ Olvric replied. ‘It’s one of the more unpleasant aspects of our calling.
