The morning the banners rose, the world seemed to shift.
Across the frost-hardened plains, horns rang out, summoning soldiers from their tents. Cloaked in wolf-furs, clad in steel and leather, they formed ranks that stretched farther than the eye could follow. Standards bearing the sigils of a dozen houses unfurled in the cold wind—the silver falcon of Halric, the crashing wave of Isolde, the black stag of Bram, and, most of all, the golden phoenix that marked Cael’s rebirth.
It had been generations since the lords of the north had gathered beneath one banner. And though their numbers were not yet what Varrow commanded, the sight of so many swords drawn together breathed new life into weary hearts.
Cael stood at the front, mounted upon a great gray warhorse. The bandages beneath his tun
