11
Yseult
The commander himself escorted me inside, marching me forward with a strong hand on my arm.
The closer we got to the gates, the more my head throbbed. The pain enveloped me until I struggled to draw breath. Whatever defenses the Corpse King had on his fortress, they were strong enough to crush out any magical threat.
Perhaps it was a boon the journey had stripped me of magic. I’d come to seek a way to stop the mage, and now was being dragged into the heart of his fortress.
At great wooden gates, I was walking more on Tristan’s strength than my own. His face was grim as he pulled me past the clusters of warriors. I felt his anger, but his hand on my arm, while strong and inescapable, was gentle.
“Commander,” a few greeted him, and he barely grunted an acknowledgment.
“Here,
