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like a mighty mirror spread beneath the gray
sky.
Yrene knew Anielle’s layout was as
familiar to Chaol as his own body—and knew,
from the memories she’d seen in his soul and
what he’d told her these months, that the gray
shingles of the roofs had been hewn from the
slate quarries just to the south, the timber of
the houses taken from the tangle of Oakwald
lurking beyond the flat plain that bordered the
southern side of the lake. A small offshoot of
peaks jutted like an arm from the snaking
body of the Fangs, hemming in the city
between it and the Silver Lake—and it was
into the barren slopes that the keep had been
built.
Level after level, Westfall Keep rose from
the plain to the higher reaches of the mountain
behind it, the lowermost gate opening onto the
flat expanse of snow, while other levels