The Riches of Reward - Part 3

Lord Feltan chuckled in good humour, his cheeks rosy from his wine. Vol got the sense that he was not the most… aware of men. He was infected by his age in the way he comported himself. There seemed to be a pause to process whatever word was said, as though he struggled to get his old mind to keep up. Regardless, he seemed pleasant enough, for nobility.

Indeed, that was where Vol was sat. At the table of nobility, speaking first hand with a Lord himself, all off the back of a lie that he'd built, a battlefield that he'd helped to construct, with powers darker than he could ever openly mention to a single soul. A stranger life it would have been hard for Vol to imagine, given where he'd been just a couple of months ago.

"And what of you, young Vol? How old indeed are you?" Feltan asked.

"Fifteen," Vol replied stiffly.