The warning came three days before the attack.
Michael was in the garden, tending to the roses that had become his only escape from the weight of leadership, when the scout arrived. The young woman collapsed at the gates, her horse dead beneath her, her body covered in wounds. She had ridden for two days without rest, pursued by enemies who wanted her dead.
"Michael Voss," she gasped, her hand reaching for him. "The Warlord Council has reformed. They have a new leader. He calls himself the Conqueror. He has an army of two hundred thousand soldiers. They are marching toward Ashenford. They will be here in three days."
Michael knelt beside her, his heart pounding. "The Warlord Council? I thought they were defeated."
"They were." Her voice was weak, barely a whisper. "But the Conqueror ha
