He was thinking again about what she'd said to him. Never seeing a world of lives and deaths just beyond his grasp. He could kill as well as anyone had ever done a thing. And it wasn't a question of who was the best warrior. Cunning and luck took you farther than a strong arm. He happened to have the latter, but the two former were his strongest weapons. If he could call on luck and cunning whenever he wished - to whatever end he wished - did that not mean that he was completely invincible?
Surely, Guyther didn't stand a fucking chance. They wouldn't be the only ones looking for the fellow.
A universe of lives and deaths just outside your grasp. Yes, he could kill, but he'd said it to Aeotha without knowing. Take him alive. Stop this fighting. More were going to die because ... because somewhere deep down, most of the elves in this country required it, but that blood would be a pittance compared to the other. This was the arrogance of gods manifest in himself. He would not pretend to know how things were going to end, or say that one life was worth a million. But he could do what he could do.
The rest was just going to have to wait.
"Yes," Skandra said slowly. "In a manor, north section of the city. Close to the walls. Should be deserted. Or absolute chaos. I'm honestly not sure which, but either should be fun. You'll want to bring a few of those Thunderbolts... or paladins if you'd prefer. I know your friend could probably use the political points he'd earn for arresting a traitor, but they can't go alone. They aren't ready for Guyther and Drow and Elemmire, and we're probably going to see all three."
His hands came up, on either side of his face, and he tapped his fingers against the iron which waited for him there.