The storm hit at dawn, right on schedule.
Reign stood on the ridge overlooking the valley, wind tearing at her cloak hard enough to make her eyes water. Below, her small force waited in positions they'd spent the night preparing. Twenty rogues against two hundred trained soldiers.
Suicide by any reasonable measure.
Across the icefield, Kieran's army advanced in perfect formation. Wolves in steel armor that gleamed even through the snow. Hunters carrying blessed silver weapons. Banners snapping above them in military precision.
They thought this would be easy. A quick battle, overwhelming force, then Kieran would have her head to present to the Council.
They were about to learn otherwise.
"Positions!" the gray male shouted to the rogues. His name was Tarek, and he'd served in a pack a
