I squeezed my eyes shut as the truck rumbled through the gates, bracing myself for the horrors of the Rogue lands.
I expected the screams of tortured prisoners. I expected the stench of rotting meat and old blood. I expected to see heads on spikes and wolves fighting over scraps in the mud.
The truck slowed to a crawl, the tires squelching in deep mud. The engine cut, dying with a shuddering cough.
Silence fell.
Well, not silence. It was a hum. The low, rhythmic murmur of life.
I frowned. That didn't sound like a dungeon.
Slowly, terrified of what I might see, I peeled one eye open. Then the other.
My breath hitched in my throat.
We hadn't driven into a slaughterhouse. We had driven into a village.
The "Bone Yard" was a sprawling, chaotic settle
