The snow came early.
By mid-morning, Ironclaw's ridges were whitewashed, wind howling through the gaps in the outer wall. Grace stood by the gate, watching supplies get loaded onto a cart bound for the frostline villages.
A horn sounded once—short and sharp.
Moments later, a bloodied scout stumbled through the snow, one arm bandaged hastily with bark and twine.
Grace rushed to him. “What happened?"
He collapsed to his knees. “Attack. Ice trolls on the northern pass."
Aldric appeared at her side. “The trolls haven't crossed in two years."
“They have now," the scout gasped. “Would've torn me apart, but—"
“But what?" Grace asked.
The scout looked up. “A wolf saved me. Tawny. Scarred. He drove them off alone. Then dragged me three miles through the ice."
Aldric's jaw tightened. “He s
