Adam rubbed his chin, his gaze locked on Grum'Thal's face. The sparkling hope in the great shaman's red eyes did nothing to soften the scars of suppressed fire digging across his face. Still, he heard the slight joyful tremor in that deep voice of his. It was genuine, the counterpoint of fifteen thousand years of despairing powerlessness.
That single clue was all Adam needed to banish his doubts about Grum'Thal's honesty. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe the old orc was luring him with half-truths and theatrics he failed to see through. But, he wanted to believe the old orc—to believe in his honor.
He nodded. "Do you know where that person is? Probably not after so long, but if he's still around, I'll find and ask him for you. You have my word, and I don't give it lightly."
