Godrid rested against the trunk of a large elm tree and watched as Histevul sat cross-legged with his eyes closed in silent concentration. The pale Bloodsold had been at this for more than a full day already, all through the night, and had barely broken a sweat; it was impressive. Granted, Godrid had been using his own pact-magic to help him maintain his, but nevertheless the mental fortitude it must have required was nothing to balk at.

Their plan had worked, though Godrid was mostly ...