The horns came at midnight.
They were not the ceremonial horns of a pack assembly or the low signal blasts of a routine patrol reporting in, but the short, violent bursts of border wolves sounding an active breach. It was the kind of horn call that had only one meaning and required absolutely no interpretation.
Lyra was already standing when the second round of blasts confirmed the first. She was dressed and armed in under a minute. The leather armor went on in the dark by muscle memory, buckles finding their fastenings without requiring her eyes, and she was moving through the door with her silver vambraces still being secured when Rhen materialized in the corridor as though he had been planted there.
"Northern wall," he said. "The vanguard hit three points simultaneously."
She was a
