War had a smell, and I had learned it young. Cold metal, disturbed earth, and the sharp musk of wolves running hard with violence already decided in their hearts. That smell was coming through Ashveil's northern walls right now, carried on the wind like a message Roland had paid three hundred bodies to deliver.
Kael was already moving before Brek finished speaking, and I followed without hesitation because standing still while Roland marched on my position was something I was constitutionally incapable of doing regardless of what was growing inside me.
The keep came alive around us. Warriors pulled on armor in corridor doorways, ranked wolves falling into formation with the quiet efficiency of people who had drilled this scenario enough times that panic had no foothold. Ashveil was
