Hello,
Have you ever thought about what makes a great first chapter in a sequel? As a reader, I appreciate when an author can subtly remind me about everything that came before so that I get that tingle that reminds me what I liked so much about the first book.
A great sequel opener does more than recap—it rekindles emotion. Readers don’t want a dry summary; they want to feel like they’ve slipped back into a familiar world without tripping over exposition. One effective technique is weaving reminders into dialogue or setting details.
A character’s offhand remark can hint at past struggles, or a landmark can evoke a memory from book one. This way, the story moves forward while gently pulling the reader’s mind backward. Another key element is tone—matching the voice and atmosphere of the first book creates instant continuity, like striking the same chord but in a new melody.
When done well, the first chapter feels like a reunion with old friends, not a lecture. That subtle balance is what makes readers lean in and think, Yes, I remember why I loved this world—and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Have you read Loftiest Intelligence? I don’t know if authors are allowed to have favourites (are books like children?) but Lofty is mine. At least for now.
Get a copy
Although, now that I think about it, Dirt Townwas pretty fantastic too. And The Hawks Trilogy reads like literary popcorn—once you start, it’s hard to stop. (Books are like children—it’s impossible to pick one above the others. Fortunately, since I only have one kid, I don’t have to worry about playing favourites in that department. Aidan wins every time.)
We’re working on book 2 of the Legend of Order and Chaos. I’m going to share the draft of the first chapter and you can let me know if it has any of the hallmarks of a great sequel opener. Tell me if gets you back in the swing of the story or just confuses.
Warm regards,
Paula Baker and Aidan Davies
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Here’s the draft of the opening chapter to book 2 in the Legend of Order and Chaos.
Use the contact form on the Contact Page to let us know what you think.
Chapter One
The Druid Woods
Kelhos stared past the druid lights into the forest. The druids had vanished long before—yet their magic remained.
The thought stirred a fleeting twinge of wonder.
His head shot up. When had he last felt such a thing? He could barely recall a time when he knew anything beyond an exhausting numbness. But since Sarathame called on him to help her daughter, his blunted emotions were awakening. Everything had changed in that moment when she saved him from certain death at his father’s hands.
If he closed his eyes, he could still taste the defeat. He had been finished. He had given up. When she appeared, demanding that he save Ellie, he had almost turned away. But something deep inside refused. That spark drove him to dig deeper than ever before—and find a way to win. In the end, the choice was stark: die—or live and make a difference.
That was the moment everything changed for him.
Had he ever made a decision entirely on his own without considering what his father would think? For as long as he could recall, he had unquestioningly done whatever Vallus, demanded.
Autonomy.
That was it. Kelhos was in charge of himself—no longer his father’s puppet. He had always marvelled at his brother Therin’s ability to stand up to Vallus. Kelhos had never bothered. It was easier to go along than it was to stir up waves.
“Move back,” Wizard Kristof Farmarch called.
Kelhos studied the little snow house the old elf had built to protect them from the Winterlands’ storms while they slept. “You could leave it for the next travellers,” he suggested.
“No,” Kristof answered. “If someone needs shelter, they will make their own. There is no point cluttering up the trail.”
“But it won’t be as comfortable as yours,” Ellie said. “How did you make a mattress out of snow?”
With a grunt, Kristof waved her off. “You will have to study builder-magic if you wish to learn that secret,” he answered. “Now, move out of the way.”
As soon as Ellie and Kelhos were clear, Kristof threw a blast of magic that blew the snow walls apart.
The old builder gave a satisfied huff and shouldered his pack. “Come,” he said. “We will probably arrive at the College today.”
Kelhos tucked his chin into the top of his coat and matched his stride to the elf’s big footprints. Kristof could not help it. Elves were arrogant. They always assumed they were the most competent in any situation.
He did not mind. After three days of walking, it was easier trudging along in Kristof’s wake than fighting his own way through the drifts. More than anything, it amused him. He might be a half-god, but he looked enough like his human mother that elves tended to treat him as a lesser being—until they got to know him.
Or perhaps he minded a bit. He might not have the legendary elven sense of direction, but anyone could find their way to the College of Mages by following the druid lights along the path. They bobbed and swayed, shifting constantly so that it was difficult to know from one trip to the next how long you would have to walk. But they always got you there.
“Is it much further?” Ellie called.
Kelhos snapped out of the reverie he had fallen into. His ears were cold. How long had they been walking? He glanced over his shoulder.
With her scarf wrapped around her head and her shapeless coat fastened up to her throat, the girl was almost unrecognizable. All bundled up, she looked harmless—not like someone who had made the Enforcers of Caer Loch quake in fear.
Kristof stopped and turned his back to the wind. Shifting his staff to his other hand, he reached inside his brown builder’s coat for a small leather pouch. Ignoring the chill, he pulled off a woolen glove and extracted a charben from the bundle.
“Since when do you smoke?” Ellie asked, stamping her own path through the thigh-deep snow to look up at him.
“Geomari gave me these,” answered Kristof, brushing icicles from his moustache and beard with his sleeve. “Sometimes, they help me think. I would be lying if I said that this trek did not have me a little on edge.” He set the rolled herbs on his lip and lit it with a flick of his thumb.
The flame seared through the blinding whiteness, burning the image into Kelhos’s good eye. He blinked and it was gone.
Kristof blew a stream of smoke. Despite the wind, he shaped it into the likeness of a tall elf in the prime of his life.
Ellie laughed. “Wonderful!” she cried. “You captured Geomari exactly.” She pushed her scarf out of her eyes. “See how his chin tilts up. I liked him. He—”
Wizard Farmarch winked and the smoke sculpture vanished. Then he let out another stream of smoke that shifted into the former City of Kings with the huge sphere perched atop its spindle.
It was funny how language changed over time. The word city had once meant a single towering structure—a monument of order and power. Vallus took that idea to its extreme when he built the City of Kings and its twin, the City of Gods: two colossal edifices half a world apart.
His theory had been that by housing all the kings in one city and all the gods in the other, he could encourage alliances and cooperation—without the difficulties caused by the delays of long-distance communication and the prejudices brought about by separation.
The buildings’ maze-like interiors were designed to keep rulers in constant contact, laying the groundwork for harmony and order. Alliances would flourish. Friendship would bloom. The world would be at peace.
It did not work.
Instead, the City of Kings became a nest of vipers. So far from their homelands, the kings forgot that their role was to smooth the way for their people. They cared only for profit and were happy to do it on the backs of the very ones they were supposed to protect.
The Great God Vallus had tried to intervene. He tried to remind them of their duty.
When they did not listen, he killed them all and turned from Order to Chaos.
“What’s that?” Ellie asked, gesturing to the smoky structure.
Kristof peered down his nose at her. “Have you never seen a picture of the College of Mages?” he asked.
“Really?” the girl asked. Her enthusiasm for life was almost contagious. “That’s what it looks like?”
“That is what it looks like,” agreed Kristof.
A blast of wind caught the smoke and tore the construction to tatters as the old elf closed his eyes and drew on the charben again.
“Can I try one?” Ellie asked.
The golden eyes opened. “Do you think that is wise?” he asked.
Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I just want to see what they’re like.”
Kristof reached into his coat again and pulled out the bundle. “You will not like it,” he said.
Taking a charben, she studied the roll. “Which end do you put in your mouth?” she asked.
“I do not suppose it matters,” Kelhos answered. “Either way, it’s bad for you.” He pulled his collar up and huddled behind it.
Ellie stuck one end in her mouth and, without taking off her gloves, conjured a flame.
The control and precision of the fire was extraordinary.
When the leaves caught, she sucked hard—and started coughing.
“Wait,” she said, waving her hands around her face. “I wasn’t ready. Let me try again.”
With a look of concentration, she drew in slowly this time. The smoke curled past her lips, and her shoulders stiffened. For a moment, her eyes watered, then she exhaled in a thin ribbon and laughed softly.
“It burns,” she said, her voice rough. “And it feels—strange. Like heat sinking into me.” She took another careful draw, slower now, and her posture eased. “It’s—calming. Like the world just stepped back a little.”
Kelhos grunted. “I’ve seen Nihil Divisioners—immortal as they are—addicted to those things,” he said. “Lungs filled with tumors.” He shuddered. “Healing magic isn’t very effective when your body turns against itself.”
Ellie grimaced and tossed the charben to the ground where it extinguished in a hiss. “That’s horrible,” she said, hoarsely. She looked up at Wizard Farmarch. “If it’s so bad for you, why do it? What do you get out of it?”
Wizard Farmarch blew out a stream of smoke that shaped itself into a mountain range. “Not much,” he answered. “And truth be told, this is likely my last charben for the next century.” His pointed ears twitched, and his head jerked around. “Did you hear that?”
Kelhos held his breath, listening hard. The wind made it all but impossible to pick out anything.
“What is it?” Ellie croaked. “Is it druids?”
Kelhos laughed. “Druids?” he repeated.
“I read about them,” Ellie answered. “Druids lurk in these woods.” Her mismatched eyes stared past the line of floating lights. “Deranged wizards who’ve forsaken the College’s teachings. They’re like darklings in that way. The book said they train animals and can transform into the shapes of their beasts to hunt down any who enter their land.”
Her earnestness made Kelhos choke off his laughter.
Wizard Farmarch dropped his charben. “I do not believe you need to worry about druids,” he said.
“He’s right,” said Kelhos. “They’re no longer a threat. Those rumours are out-dated. Druids did walk these forests a millennia ago.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m not proud to say, I played a part in wiping them out.”
Ellie’s mouth formed into an O. It happened every time she was reminded just how long he had been alive. There was something about her naïve wonder that made him want to know her better. That—along with her ease with power. Her certainty. She really was Sarathame’s daughter.
“So, it won’t be druids who come after us,” she murmured, touching the sword and belcher that hung from her belt. “But there’ll be something else. More Nihil Divisioners? Enforcers?” She stopped and blew out a breath that fogged in the air like smoke. “Are there darklings out there?”
Kelhos closed his eyes. The darkling, Grael the Brave, had been her brother. How had he never put that together before? Did she know?
As if in answer to his unspoken thought, Ellie cleared her throat. “Sarathame—my mother—” Her voice cracked. “She said Grael the Brave was my brother.”
Kelhos nodded slowly. “He was a hero,” he said. He did not want to talk about Grael. If he had not given his cousin that sword, the shattered remnants of the man would still be cowering in the old fortress. He rubbed his hands together. “But you don’t need to worry. There are no darklings in these woods.”
“We are safe enough on the path,” Kristof said.
Ellie lifted her chin. “Maybe I don’t need to attend the College,” she said. “Maybe we should go hunting for whatever monsters still haunt this world. We could start with the woods.”
“There is more to learn about magic than the casting of spells,” Kristof murmured. “The College of Mages is an important stepping stone for any mage.”
“Yes,” she said, letting her breath whistle through her teeth. “You’re right. And that’s what I want to do. It’s what I always wanted.” She slumped. “It’s just—I miss Farragut. I feel like I need to avenge his death.”
“I know,” Kristof said, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I do too.”
Kelhos stiffened. He could finally hear what Kristof’s elven ears had picked up earlier. A hound was barking. But not just any hound.
“Can you feel it?” Wizard Farmarch asked. “The animals grow restless. The woods are emptying. Something is on the move.” He scowled and started down the path once more, his hand clamped around the handle of his axe. “I do not like this.”
Ellie looked from Kristof to Kelhos before lunging after the old elf.
Kelhos watched them, an odd tightness in his chest. He could kill anything the forest threw at him—he was a wolf among sheep in every moment of his life. But suddenly, he could not stop questioning himself. Would he be quick enough to stop an attacker with a belcher pointed at Ellie’s head? Could he deflect an axe swinging for Kristof Farmarch’s neck?
He would never have considered such specifics with any of his former allies. He would not even have cared to defend them. But now he did. What had brought this on?
He cleared his throat and plowed after them.
The bark came again, so low it vibrated the spaces in his chest.
He increased his pace. It was sooner than he had expected, but he had never doubted that his father would send someone after him. Why did it have to be her? Of all the Nihil Divisioners, Alto was the only one who might have a chance against him.
He chuckled. That was why. His father was no idiot.
The barks sharpened, erupting into a frenzy.
Wizard Farmarch and Ellie stopped as a massive form materialized out of the storm.
It leapt onto the path, silver fur whipped wild by the wind, eyes gleaming ice-blue through the flurry. Shaggy and massive—closer to the size of a bear than a dog—it moved with surprising grace, each bound sending up clouds of powdery flakes. Then it plunked itself down, panting and grinning, steam rising from its breath as it fixed its eyes on Ellie.
“Look!” she cried. “His tail is wagging.” She edged forward, stretching out a mittened hand.
“Ellie!” Kelhos cried, his belly cramping. “Don’t—”
He broke into a jog as she dropped to her knees and buried her hands in the beast’s fur.
“Who’s a good boy?” she said, half laughing as the hound leaned into her.
“Ellie!” Kelhos called again, coming to a stop. “Back away.”
Lifting its big head, the hound turned its pale eyes on Kelhos and wrinkled its snub nose.
“Why?” Ellie asked. “He’s friendly.” She scratched around its ears. “And look—he likes it.”
Without warning, the hound swung around, its lips peeled back from pointed fangs. Its mouth opened wide, exposing red gums and a slobbering tongue before clamping down like a trap springing shut. It made a low, guttural growl as it wrenched its head sideways and tore Ellie’s hand off.
Then it sprang away and disappeared into the storm.
For half a dozen heartbeats, the girl stared down at the stub of her arm. Then, with a piercing shriek, she pelted after the hound, flying past the druid lights and off into the mist-covered forest.
“Ellie, stop!” Kristof cried before plunging after her. “Fool child. One moment she is worried about druids and the next—”
He trailed away, gasping for breath and Kelhos loped past him, following the bloodstained footprints through the snow. Sometimes, the crusted snow was enough to sustain his weight, but most of the time, he crashed through, slowing his frantic chase.
He had to get to Ellie before things got out of hand. He almost choked. The hound had chewed the girl’s hand off. If that wasn’t out of hand, he didn’t know what was.
Losing the trail, he floundered into a drift and fell flat on his face. He tried to listen over the pounding of his heart and the rasp of his breathing. The only sound he heard was the wind moaning through the treetops.
Suddenly, a hand clamped on his shoulder, and he was lifted to his feet.
Conjuring a pair of crimson-magic swords, he whirled to face his attacker. He did not start the fight, but he would finish it.
In the glow of the red light, he recognized Kristof and the bloodlust faded, replaced by an inexplicable desire to protect.
“I am on your side, Chaos lord,” the old elf said, holding up his hands.
“Don’t call me that,” Kelhos growled as he released the swords. “Not unless you want me to return to my old ways.”
The hound barked again, and they both turned toward the booming noise.
“Stay close,” Kristof said, surging forward. “I do not want to have to chase you down again. You were going in entirely the wrong direction, and we do not have time for that. I want you with me when we find Ellie.”
His words hit Kelhos like a bolt of lightning. Wizard Kristof Farmarch wanted his help.
And Kelhos wanted to give it.
Without arguing, he jogged along in the elf’s wake.
Following a straight path visible only to himself, Kristof raced through the woods, seemingly immune to the ghostly haze.
Just when Kelhos was about to call out to remind him that the barking had come from somewhere off to their left, they broke through into a clearing.
Ellie knelt in the snow, surrounded by the yellow glow of healing magic. She had reclaimed her severed hand and was pressing it into place.
As the light faded, leaving them in the colourless grip of the snowstorm, she sat back with a sigh. “See?” she called. “He really is friendly. He dropped my hand when I caught up to him, and he’s been waiting while I healed it.” She frowned at Kelhos. “I think you scared him.”
The hound gazed at her, his tongue lolling out to the side as his tail brushed back and forth through the snow.
Kristof drew his axe and edged between Ellie and the monstrous silver beast. “You must ask yourself, Ellie,” he said quietly. “Why is he out here? Why has he taken us from the safety of the path? He must have a reason.” He swept his gaze around the clearing. “We need to get back.”
Ellie scowled. “He’s a dog,” she said, climbing to her feet. “He doesn’t need a reason.” She studied her wrist and scooped up a handful of snow to rub the drying blood away. “Look at that. It’s not even going to scar.”
A black shadow solidified in the snow-laced air. When it moved, Kelhos sucked in a breath. He had known she would come, but still it was a shock.
She had not changed. Of course. She never changed.
Snow and frost rimed the rivets and ridges of the armour not covered by a shaggy, snow-covered bear fur. Her pale hair stuck out in a frosted fringe beneath the helmet that hugged the contours of her face, its hinged cheek plates locked tightly under her chin, leaving only a narrow slit for her purple eyes. Were those eyes paler than he remembered? Did that mean her bond with his father was fading—or that his father himself was weakened by the recent battle?
As usual, she carried Lie Catcher slung low on her hip, attached to a belt over the ragged chainmail that hung from her black plate armour. The stubby, wide-mouthed belcher, with its barrel like a trumpet, was not the most elegant weapon to look at—but when she chose to pull the trigger, her target was left with a gaping hole.
Her enchanted longsword looked even more massive than he recalled. Spells kept the huge blade light enough to wield, and it would cut through anything. Kelhos could feel the magic pulsing from it all the way across the clearing.
Even after a so many lifetimes of fighting, she always took her training seriously. Not only was she one of the oldest beings in the world—older even than Vallus—but she was also the most fearsome of its warriors.
Ellie and Kristof moved to stand with Kelhos—one at each shoulder.
Kelhos’s eyes shifted from the shadowed figure to his new allies. How could he protect them? Against Alto Defiance and her wee pup, he could hardly protect himself. He sucked his teeth. She would be furious that he had dared to defy his father.
Squaring his shoulders, he ignited a crimson sword in each hand. “What brings you here, Defiance?” he called.
He could feel Ellie beside him. She was practically vibrating—while Wizard Farmarch radiated a sense of calm intensity.
Alto removed her helmet, exposing her elven ears. She might be as old as the planet, but she looked like a girl of no more than twenty. She and Ellie could be contemporaries. However, her pretty features and pale skin masked a blackened heart.
“Lookin’ for you, Shade,” she said as the hound stood, stretched, and lumbered over to plop down at her side.
Kelhos stepped away from Ellie and twirled his blade to draw Alto’s attention from the girl. “And why is that?” he asked.
Alto Defiance beamed, her pale purple eyes shining. “Seems you did something right for the first time in your sorry life,” she replied with a shake of her head.
Kelhos frowned. “What are you up to?” he asked. Defiance had earned her name. She refused to do anything without an argument.
She was annoying—with her righteous anger and razor-sharp tongue. That was why Saul Emberheart, the leader of Nihil Divisioners—and until recently, Kelhos’s partner in Chaos—had banished her to the Winterlands.
Truth be told, it had been Kelhos’s suggestion—one of those spur-of-the-moment ideas that made as much sense as anything else they had been doing.
Saul told her they needed someone trustworthy to guard Kelhos’s abandoned house. His manse. But really it was just to put some distance between him and her.
Saul. He would be angry. The man never dealt well with betrayal and there was no other way to describe Kelhos’s change of heart.
“Please, Kelhos,” Alto said with a raised eyebrow. “You insult me.” She set her hands on her hips. “I heard what you did.” She clucked her tongue. “Finally. You decided to chase something you believe in. That’s reason enough for celebration.”
“You want to celebrate with me?” Kelhos asked.
“I’m happy to celebrate when someone finally grows up,” she said. “I have no patience with little boys.”
Kelhos grunted. “There’s no call to be nasty,” he said.
“That’s not nasty,” she said. “That’s truth. And here’s another truth: I swore an oath to follow you.”
“You swore to my father as well,” Kelhos answered. “As did I—and yet that did not stop me from trying to kill him. I am a turncoat.” He watched her, waiting for the moment when she gave up the pretense and attacked. “You’re a Nihil Divisioner. Nihil Divisioners chose Chaos.”
The hound leaned against her leg, and she rubbed its head. “I was there when Einsid forged your father,” she said. “Did you know that?” Her gaze went distant. “It was the kurgan invaders. They came in such numbers in their vast ships from the skies. We elves would have shared—but they wanted everything. They wanted our world.”
Its eyes rolling back in its head, the hound angled its chin for her probing fingers.
“We were completely unprepared for such war,” she continued. “We out-numbered them, but elves are no match for kurgans in a fair fight. They were going to exterminate us.”
The hound let out a low growl of contentment and flopped over to expose his belly.
Alto knelt and scratched at the thick fur. “We were so inexperienced,” she murmured. “We had no history of warfare and no weapons to match what the kurgans carried. We had all but given up. That’s when Einsid showed up.
“He and his skyship filled with soldiers had been searching for a world where he could continue his experiments.” She looked up and gave a wicked grin. “He held no love of the kurgans and pledged to help us. We accepted without hesitation. So, he got busy.”
Her mouth pinched. “Even after all this time, I still don’t understand what he did. He called himself a geneticist, but his explanations made no sense. All that talk about epigenetic programming—gene variants—and synthetic chromosomes—” She blew out a foggy white breath. “It was like trying to explain thunder to a wolf pup.”
Kelhos took a step closer. This was a part of the story he had never heard before. “What’s a geneticist?” he asked.
Alto shrugged. “All I know is, Einsid locked himself away in that ship of his for months, muttering to machines and scribbling on the walls. When he emerged, he brought Vallus with him. Vallus wasn’t born. He was built.”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t a normal baby. He grew so fast. Tall as a bear, stronger than any mountain lion before we knew it. And smart.” A shudder ran up her back and her chainmail rattled. “Those eyes.”
Her gaze went to Kelhos’s ruined eye where his crimson-magic spilled out through the slash that would not heal. “I’m almost used to it now—but back then, the idea of seeing magic roiling behind an eyeball made my skin crawl.”
The hound rolled to his feet and shook.
Alto Defiance unbent and rose to her full height. “Einsid called him General Vallus,” she said. “But we called him Stormborn. Not because of his power—though he had plenty—but because he moved like lightning and struck like thunder.”
A wistful smile softened her face. “Vallus was five years old when he first led us against the kurgans. He knew exactly where they would be and what they would do. We won that battle—and every one that came after. Soon, we had reclaimed all our land, and he started looking across the sea.”
She stopped, and Kelhos edged further from Ellie and Wizard Farmarch.
The hound watched him, its ears twitching, but Alto only reached out to tangle her fingers in its fur.
“Most elves were ready to give up the fight,” she said. “You know us. We want what is beautiful and brings us ease.”
“You never took the easy life,” Kelhos said.
“No,” she said with a grin. “When Vallus called for volunteers for his new Nihil Project, I was the first in line. I liked fighting so I took the oath to him without a second thought. In return, he shared his power–and Einsid did his bit of magic to make me immortal.” Her brow furrowed. “He kept talking about the secret cords of life, how he could make them coil and renew without end.” She rolled her eyes. “I still don’t know what that means. But I don’t get old. As long as I don’t let myself get killed, I’ll live forever.”
Kelhos let his swords fade away. “You never really had your heart in this whole Chaos thing, did you?” he asked with a lopsided smile.
Alto Defiance’s laugh rang out clear and bright—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Its unexpected warmth spilled into Kelhos, melting a tension he had not known was there.
“That makes two of us,” she said. “I knew from the start that you were only doing it because Vallus is the most persuasive leader ever made.”
Kelhos’s head snapped up. She was right. How had he gone all those years without noticing that his own ideals never aligned with his father’s? He thrust out his hand. “I had you wrong, Alto Defiance,” he said. “All this time, we could have been friends.”
Pulling off her leather glove, Alto wrapped her hand around his. “You’re a slow learner, Kelhos,” she said with a chuckle. “Good thing you have lots of time.”
Kelhos grinned and shook his head. “It’s a good thing, indeed,” he agreed.
“I knew you’d see things my way,” Alto said, pulling her glove back on. “Eventually.” She picked up her helmet from the snow and blew to clear the flakes that had accumulated in its interior. As she stuck it back on her head, she turned to Ellie and gave her a once over—from her snow-encrusted scarf down to her high leather boots. “So, you’re the one who has Vallus fit to burst.”
Wide-eyed, Ellie looked ready to burst herself. The girl would be dying to ask questions. Kelhos had rarely met anyone with such driving curiosity. Wisely, she had been cautious of interrupting Alto Defiance.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Alto. “Cat got your tongue? Tell me, little girl. Why do you think my god has chosen you in particular? What makes you special?”
Ellie’s eyes darted to Wizard Farmarch before her head jerked up and she cleared her throat. “I don’t understand anything you just said,” she responded, fire sparking from her mismatched eyes. “Who is Einsid and what do you mean Einsid made Vallus? That doesn’t make any sense. Who can make a god?” Her face twisted. “And as for me? I haven’t got a clue how I come into it. All I know is that Vallus is a curse upon this world and somebody has to stop him.” She crossed her arms. “I hope it’s me who has that pleasure.”
Alto tilted her head toward Kelhos and behind her visor, her eyebrows shot up. “Maybe I can see what has the old boy so wound up.”