Page 155 of Warlord's Plaything

"Not yet."

I smile.

This will be easier than I thought.

I slip out of the tent, unseen, unheard.

But my work is not done.

Not yet.

I move to the next target.

Another camp. Another chieftain. Another whisper planted in the right ear.

I weave my poison like a spider spinning its web.

A false order here.

A twisted message there.

By the time the sun rises, their alliance will be nothing but a fragile, crumbling illusion.

And all that will be left?—

Is ruin.

I vanish into the darkness, slipping back into the tunnels.

My pulse pounds with the thrill of it.

The war is shifting.

The game has begun.

And Kaelith?

He is already losing.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

49

XYRON

The walls of this fucking world are starting to crumble. I’m watching it crack within the secret room of the chamber.

I can feel it.

The weight shifting.

The foundations breaking beneath Kaelith’s feet, shaking under the pressure of the war he thought he controlled.

The council chamber is filled with smoke and voices raised too high, too sharp, too fucking fragile.

The space is overflowing with the aroma of burning incense and paranoia.

The room feels smaller than usual, or maybe that's just Kaelith’s power shrinking by the second.

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