The Herald's breathing, if it could still be called breathing in the traditional sense, continued its labored rhythm.
The creature's golden eye fixed on Loryn with a sharp intensity.
The Herald was performing some final calculation, weighing the value of honesty against the protection of pride.
When the Herald spoke, his voice sounded amused.
"Typhoon. I hate the Dragon King with every fragment of what remains of my consciousness. I spent centuries at his right hand, accepting his commands, believing myself to be something greater than a mere instrument of his will. And he... he cast me aside. He let me go on this mission expecting me to fail, perhaps even wanting me to fail so that he could eliminate me without the political consequences of a direct execution."
The Herald's laughter continued, a sound like stone grinding against stone.
