Oswin turned his head sharply toward the corner.
The clamor of hooves echoed against the stone walls, followed by the deep blare of a horn. The sound seemed to shake the snow-laden streets themselves.
The Gin family's laughter froze in their throats. Even the arrogant third son, who had been sneering only moments before, paled. He stumbled back a step.
The head of the Gin family could only see with stunned horror.
Through the morning mist, the riders appeared.
One by one, they broke through the fog. The knights were clad in silver and blue, their armor polished to a brilliance that reflected the pale winter light.
Their banners unfurled and fluttered high above them. The sigil of the Darkhelm bloodline blazed proudly against the white sky.
At their head rode a tall figure in a dark robe, long silver hair fluttering in the air.
He did not need to speak. The mere weight of his presence made the air heavy.
