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the battlement walls with archers, and fired at
the soldiers who’d rushed for Lorcan and
Gavriel.
But he and the Lion had already marked
their next target: the battering ram still
slamming into those ever-weakening gates.
And with the archers covering from above,
they’d begun slaughtering their way to it. And
then slaughtering their way along the ram
itself, until it thudded to the ground, then was
forgotten in the wave of Morath soldiers who
came for them.
Lorcan’s breath had been a steady beat, a
grounding force as the bodies piled around
them.
They need only hold the gate long enough
for the khagan’s army to overrun the Morath
host.
From above, a swift, brutal wind added to
the dance of death, ripping the air from the