The thunderous crash of the iron portcullises echoed through the Great Feast Hall, locking three hundred rebel soldiers inside a stone tomb.
High above, icy wind screamed through the shattered skylights, sending thousands of sparkling glass shards raining down onto the long dining tables. The eighty warriors in silver plate landed upon the perimeter balconies with heavy clatters of steel, their shields gleaming with the ancient Dragon-Wolf crest, their notched arrows pointed down at the rebel ranks.
A choking, terrified silence fell over the room.
Alpha Viktor gripped his broadsword with two trembling gauntlets, his single eye darting between the silver marksmen on the high walls and the unmoving sovereign upon the dais. Beside him, Elder Morzan sank against the carved legs of a high-ba
