Page 161 of Warlord's Plaything

He lifts his hand.

And the first strike falls.

Chaos erupts.

Steel clashes against steel.

Blood splashes across the dirt.

The orcs turn on Kaelith’s men, hacking, slashing, tearing through them like animals.

And Kaelith?

Kaelith fights. Like a man who knows this is his last stand.

Like a man who would rather burn the world than lose it.

I watch as the camp descends into bloodshed.

I watch as the alliance crumbles.

I watch as the war we needed begins.

And Xyron?—

Xyron watches, too.

"This is it."Xyron’s voice is steady. Certain. A king watching the last pieces of his kingdom fall into place."The next time we move—"His gaze cuts to me."We end this."

And I nod.

I know.

I’m ready.

This is the moment before the final war.

Kaelith is bleeding.

And soon… He will die.

51

XYRON

The battlefield is chaos.

Smoke curls through the air, thick and acrid.

Steel clashes against steel, the ground slick with blood and bodies.

The orcs are like beasts let off their chains, tearing through the dark elves with brutal efficiency.

And yet Kaelith does not fall.

I watch him from the shadows, perched on the remains of an old watchtower, my blade steady in my grip.

The time isn’t right.

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