The man in the Greyhaven mantle came out of the storm with one hand raised.
Wind snapped the stolen wool around his legs and blurred the trees behind him.
Albert’s search party stopped together.
“Survivor,” the man called. “Western patrol.”
The mantle sat wrong across his shoulders. Blood stained one sleeve. Snow covered the lower half of his face.
Albert did not know him.
That proved little. Greyhaven had sent dozens of guards onto the mountain.
Garrick raised one hand.
The archers held.
“Name and unit,” Albert called.
The man stumbled closer.
“Corporal Hayes. Lower search line.”
Albert’s wolf stirred. Hayes was the missing guard.
The man wearing his mantle was too tall.
Albert reached for his sword.
A Vesper officer beside Garrick went rigid.
“The arrows.”
Black-and-whit
