CHAPTER 48

The khagan’s forces had dealt enough of a
blow to Morath that the bone drums had
ceased.
Not a sign of sure defeat, but enough to
make Chaol’s heavily limping steps feel
lighter as he entered Princess Hasar’s
sprawling war tent. Her sulde had been
planted outside, the roan horsehair blowing in
the wind off the lake. Sartaq’s own spear had
been sunk into the cold mud beside his
sister’s. And beside the Heir’s spear ...
Leaning on his cane, Chaol paused at the
ebony spear that had also been planted, its jet-