The Southern Pass was a jagged, treacherous scar cut deep into the towering mountains that separated the Dead Lands from the rest of the continent.
For centuries, this narrow gorge had been the only viable trade route between the North and the South. Now, it was a fortress of desperation. Towering barricades of spiked timber and jagged iron spanned the width of the pass. Behind the wall, hundreds of Silver Moon warriors stood with their weapons drawn, their breath pluming in the freezing air. They looked haggard, their cheeks sunken from famine, yet their eyes burned with the stubborn, foolish pride of their Elders.
I sat atop a massive, midnight-black warhorse, wearing my reinforced leather combat gear and my silver crown. Beside me, riding a beast that was just as massive and terrifyin
