them, too.
Aedion opened his mouth to agree when his
brows narrowed.
He surveyed the plain, the horizon.
“Out with it,” Ren said.
Aedion steered Ren back toward the tower
entrance. “We need to talk to Rolfe.”
Not about hellfire at the southern and western
gates. Not at all.
They waited until cover of darkness, when
Morath’s spies might not spot the small band
of them who crept, mile after mile, across the
Plain of Theralis.
Clad in battle-black, they moved over the
field that would once more become bathed in
blood. When they reached the landmarks that
Aedion and Ren had used the daylight hours to
plan out, Aedion held up a hand.
The Silent Assassins lived up to their name