foot soldier. Wind-Cleaver was a leaden
weight in her hand. She could no longer
discern her sweat from blood.
The Queen of Terrasen had come, an army
with her, and it would still not be enough.
Lorcan knew Maeve had come. Could feel her
presence in his bones, a dark, terrible song
through the world. A Valg song.
He fought far down the city walls,
Whitethorn and Fenrys nearby, Aedion
unleashing himself upon soldier after soldier
with a ferocity that Lorcan knew came from
deep, brutal grief.
Gavriel was dead. Had died to give his son
and those at the western gate a chance to shut
them again.
Lorcan tucked away the pang in his chest at
the thought of it. That the Lion was no more.
Which of them would be next?