The dawn was no reprieve.
When the sun rose pale over the ridges, its light touched nothing but ruin. The silver grass was slick with blood, the fields littered with the dead. Reavers lay in heaps, their masks shattered. Bonehounds sprawled in twisted ruin. Siege towers smoldered, their black husks smoking against the morning wind.
But the horns blew again.
Three deep blasts, long and steady, carrying across the valley like a summons to death.
Elinora stood on the dais, her cloak torn, her arms streaked with soot and blood. The Spine was heavy in her grip, its shadow biting into her palms. The cracks beneath her feet glowed faint even in daylight, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Her wolf’s voice was cold. The Grave Alpha is not content to watch. He comes now. He will break the w
