CHAPTER 68

The black towers of Morath rose above the
smoking forges and campfires of the valley
below like a cluster of dark swords raised to
the sky.
They jutted into the low clouds, some
broken and chipped, some still standing
proud. The wrath and final act of Kaltain
Rompier written all over them.
Spreading his soot-colored wings wide,
Dorian caught a wind that reeked of iron and
carrion and banked around the fortress. He’d
learned to harness winds during these long
days of travel, and though he’d covered much