CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Behind Irrien, the North burned. It became a thing of flame and smoke, screams and despair in a way that made the First Stone smile tightly. He rode with grim satisfaction toward the next of the castles for his men to assault, while behind him villages smoked in the aftermath of their capture and slave lines stretched out almost as far as the lines of his army.
The whole conquest had been easy. Too easy, in a lot of ways, although Irrien wasn’t enough of a fool to start wishing for harder victories. The villages they’d passed through had been largely empty, the castles undefended. The peasants he’d tortured for answers had said only that Lord West’s men had come and told them to evacuate.
Now, his armies were advancing on the stronghold of the dead nobleman, and Irrie
