"Voss?"
The lead Dwarf, whose helmet was cracked from the worm attack, frowned. He looked at Damien, then at his subordinates, then back at Damien.
"Never heard of it."
Damien blinked.
In the Dragon Empire, the name Voss was enough to make babies stop crying and nobles wet themselves. It was synonymous with darkness, power, and fear. To hear someone say "Never heard of it" was… refreshing, but also problematic.
"It's a human noble house," Damien explained smoothly, wiping worm blood from his sleeve. "My father is Theron Voss. He is an old friend of King Durin."
"Friend of the King?" The Dwarf scoffed, spitting on the sand. "Every human who comes to the border claims to be the King's long-lost cousin. Listen, lad. You saved our lives, and for that, the Ironclan owes you a debt. But debt or no debt, the law is the law."
He gestured to his men. The surviving dwarves levelled their rifles, not at the worms, but at Damien.
