They came for him before the blood on his hands had dried.
Four guards, wearing House Velrane colors, their faces unreadable beneath the shadow of their helms.
The barracks door banged open and they entered like a storm front, boots striking the stone in perfect unison.
"Soren Thorne," the lead guard announced, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "You will come with us. Now."
Soren rose from his cot, feeling the stiffness in his knuckles where Jerric's blood had congealed. The other recruits watched with a mixture of fascination and relief, grateful the guards had come for him and not them.
Dane caught his eye from across the room and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Not sympathy, exactly, but acknowledgment.
"Where to?" Soren asked, though he already knew the answer.
The guard's mouth tightened. "Lord Velrane awaits. Do not make us drag you."
