With Gale at the front, the battle changed in a way that even the most frightened people on Solania's walls could understand.
Until that moment, the horde from the peaks had looked endless. Even under the rain of dark bullets, the spreading swamp of Van Dijk's devouring magic, and the suppressive pressure of the Necropolitis, the black tide had still carried that awful quality of inevitability. It had looked like something that could be slowed, thinned, or delayed, but not truly opposed. The moment the dead city's army began to move, that certainty cracked.
Gale led the charge like a titan of war.
