Vlora flexed her fingers, gripping and ungripping the hilt of her sword. Everything was making her furious lately – it was like an angry cloud had descended on her the moment she entered Landfall, preventing her from sorting her thoughts clearly. She had to fight through it. She had to be cold, calculating. Before two weeks ago she didn’t know Styke from a swamp dragon. She had no reason to trust anything he said – even if he had followed her orders and tracked down the dragonman. All she had was his reputation, Olem’s admiration, and Taniel’s letters.
