Kingdom of Ash

Gavriel would wish him to. Had given his life
for it.
Yet Rowan lowered his head. “I hope you
found peace, my brother. And in the
Afterworld, I hope you find her again.”
Rowan stooped, grunting at the pain in his
thigh, and hauled Gavriel over his good
shoulder. And then he climbed.
Up the siege ladder still anchored beside
the western gate. Onto the walls. Each step
heavier than the last. Each step a memory of
his friend, an image of the kingdoms they had
seen, the enemies they had fought, the quiet
moments that no song would ever mention.
Yet the songs would mention this—that the
Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth,
defending the city and his son. If they
survived today, if they somehow lived, the
bards would sing of it.
Even with the chaos of the khaganate