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Ansel of Briarcliff’s soldiers.
Aedion kept that knowledge from his face
as he rode his stallion down the front lines,
inspecting the soldiers.
The tang of their fear fogged the frosty air,
the weight of their dread a bottomless pit
yawning open in their eyes as they tracked
him.
The Bane began striking their swords
against their shields. A steady heartbeat to
override the vibrations of the Morath soldiers
marching toward them.
Aedion didn’t look for a shifter in the
ranks. Ilken flew low over Morath’s teeming
mass. She’d undoubtedly go for them first.
Aedion halted his horse in the center of
their host, the iced-over Lanis almost buried
beneath the snow that had fallen the night
before. Morath knew it existed, though. Those
Valg princes had likely studied the terrain