The sound of war filled Balur’s vision. The sound of his army. His to command. Their adoration had grown with each pass of the fake dragon skull. Their ardor for his words. He was their prophet now.
A feint. To stall and to feint. That was what Will had asked him in that tent, that night. And he had stalled. He had burned with frustration. Until Will was nothing but a distant memory to these people.
And now he unleashed his rage.