The battlefield still smelled of smoke when the horns sounded.
Not the sharp warning of an attack.
A single, long note.
The ancient signal for parley.
Every soldier turned toward the northern road.
A lone rider approached through the morning mist.
He wore no armor.
No weapon hung from his belt.
Above him fluttered a white flag.
The universal symbol of peace.
The Royal Wolves immediately formed a defensive line around Kaelira.
Ronan rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Stay behind me.”
Kaelira stepped beside him instead.
“If he came under a white flag, we hear what he has to say.”
The rider stopped a few yards away and slowly dismounted.
He lowered his hood.
He was older than Kaelira expected, with streaks of silver in his dark hair and tired eyes that had seen too many
