The rebel camp was a labyrinth of tunnels carved beneath the ruins of the Shattered Provinces. It smelled of damp earth, old iron, and the unwashed bodies of those who had been forgotten by the Empire.
Silas, the man who had knelt in the ash, led them to a central chamber lit by stolen glow-stones. He was a former commander of the Southern Guard, his face a map of scars earned during the Emperor’s purges. He looked at Valerius with a deep-seated distrust that even the presence of a Soul-Binder couldn't entirely erase.
"We have three hundred riders and twice as many foot soldiers," Silas said, leaning over a map of the Imperial Capital. "But we are facing the Golden Legion. And they have Aurelius—the Emperor's dragon. Against that kind of fire, we are just kindling."
Valerius stood w
