"I have no further business in Caeloria," Jack replied, his heterochromic eyes locking onto the shaman's painted face. "The throne is secured for Rhys. The Council is cowed. My time is better spent in the west. I will ride with you to Krogar, and you will introduce me to the individual whom I've been waiting to meet."
Grom studied Jack's unblinking expression for several long heartbeats. The old orc nodded slowly, the silver runes along his tusks dimming as his tension receded.
"The journey across the Great Salt Flats and through the Iron Crags takes six weeks by heavy caravan," Grom said. "Even with swift draft-beasts, the borders of our realm do not yield easily to outsiders."
Jack's lips parted in a sharp, cold smirk.
"We are not taking draft-beasts, Shaman," Jack said.
