Warlord held it gingerly and looked back at the bird. Giving a series of pretty twittering whistles at it.
The bird responded in kind, and cheerfully took off. Black tipped red wings fluttering as it vanished as quickly as it’d come.
“What’s that about?” I stared after the bird, fascinated.
“Messages.”
“From whom?”
“One of my sources.”
Sources? I’d always heard he talked to no one. How’d he groom sources?
And who were they?
Who’d want to aid such a cold man?
“Magus.” He explained absentmindedly.
“One of the mages?”
“He used to be.”
“But he’s not now?”
“I just helped him escape under the condition he would send me such word.” Warlord’s tone hardened slightly, and I could tell he wasn’t liking where this discussion was going.
That’s how he honed sources. Freeing them
