The hours before the full assault
The high plateau had become a place of fevered, desperate preparation a cauldron of blood and shadow that seemed to swallow light itself.Varak’s blood circle dominated the center of camp forty feet across now, etched deep into the stone with salt, ash, and the dried blood of twenty rogues and four captured Blackthorn scouts. The hearts had been placed at the cardinal points and the midpoints, still faintly steaming when the ritual began at dusk. The warlock’s acolytes eight silent figures in hooded black moved in perfect synchronization, their chants a low, unending drone that set every wolf’s nerves on edge, making the younger ones whimper in their sleep and the older ones grip their weapons tighter.Ronan stood at the edge of the circle, coat open to the
