Conference room.
"So, can we say we've won a brief victory?" Konrad Curze hissed.
"If this does not count as victory, then perhaps your standards for it are a little too high, my brother," the Lord of the Fire Drakes said with a friendly smile. Some time had passed since the slaughter ended, but the stink of blood still clung to him.
The Forging Hammer clearly had not yet had time to go into the wash tank.
"Oh, no offense meant, but, Vulkan," Konrad Curze said, laughing pleasantly, "some people really do look as though that is exactly what they're thinking—ah, what do you say, Corax?"
"You talk too much," Corvus Corax replied calmly. "My Legion and I fought hard and won. That is an indisputable fact. I do not look as though I enjoy it because I am looking forward to the next battle."
Konrad Curze clapped.
"What a righteous man. You have a clear plan for the future, don't you? Then I imagine you can also guess what we should do next?"
The Lord of the Ravens gave him a cold stare and said nothing, because Rogal Dorn's voice had already sounded. "You had best keep quiet, Curze."
"Or what? What are you going to do?"
"I do not intend to do anything to you."
Sitting in his own seat, Rogal Dorn still had not wiped the weathering from his face. The age in his features made him look somewhat out of place among this gathering of demigods, but no one raised any objection to it. "I am merely stating a fact—you should keep quiet while he is thinking."
"If he hasn't shown any denial or objection to my behavior, then that means he's tacitly allowed it, doesn't it?"
"Tacit permission does not mean he indulges you."
Dorn