![]() A squire he might be, but the others saw only his white hair and pale skin, the tell-tale signs of a Bythian. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alardus and Cuncz smirk, could feel the cold stares from Cune and Tyzce. “Where are you hiding? Get up here, now!” “Asho!” Lord Kyferin’s bellow carried over the cacophony of the great army arrayed around them. He’d die before he let the others see his fear. Even though he was at the back of the company with the other squires, he felt as vividly alive and terrified as if he were positioned in the vanguard.Īsho raised his chin. It was his first time riding into war with the Black Wolves. For years he had only seen the war banner hanging above his Lord’s high chair in the great hall, limp and still, but now it rippled and surged as if awakened and thirsting for blood. Asho shivered at the sight despite the quilted undercoat that he wore beneath his chainmail, and sat up straighter in Crook’s saddle. The wind plucked at Lord Kyferin’s war banner, causing the black wolf emblazoned on the field of white to snap fitfully as if impatient with the delay. ![]() All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. ![]()
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