Elandris saw it. There was a sort of purity in the other man's motions, something fluid and concise, as if what he did he did with the grace and the blessing of some, unknown God of war who smiled quietly down from above and regarded the actions of its last chosen child with a vague satisfaction. Or perhaps it was something in Karrlandren's stance, an emotion of sordid confidence, knowing that he wielded a blade as an extension of his body.<br/>Elandris was not a man easily given to great concern or tragically inaccurate estimation. He was afraid of the Knight's ability. Naturally, he would not betray his immense admiration of the other's swordsmanship by complementing him on it, and he suspected that they were words of praise that Karrlandren would not wish to hear. He practiced with his weapons because that was what he always did, but it was clear that in no small part he hated the blade he carried, hated what it did and what it stood for. But before he could put it down, he was being called upon to again swing it.<br/>Elandris removed the map from his pocket and handed it to the Knight. "According to the Barkeep, of whom I took the precaution of inquiring about, this is a war strategy, entailing the various duties of the respective clans."<br/>He slid a hand to his chest, then checked his right arm. Three knives were in their places, and he was unwilling to reveal the positions of the other three, no matter how trustworthy the Knight appeared to be. And three was all he needed anyway.<br/>"I would like to depart before noon," he informed Karrlandren. "I presume you will be bringing your steed?"