Bells of Solaris rang at midnight.
Not for worship. They rang for blood.
Lanard's army came, a pack of wolves through the east gate, a tide of shadows against the stone walls of the capital. Barely more than a hundred men surged forward, but each one bore talismans, scars, and killing intent enough to unmake ten times their number.
The defenders were waiting.
An army of thousands stood braced within the outer courtyard — mages, swordsmen, city guards, and the king's personal household troops.
Torches burned against the night, the flickering light gilding their polished armor. Behind them, priests raised staves, weaving barriers of white light across the streets leading deeper into the city.
The clash came as sudden as it were violent.
Lan's soldiers struck like thunderbolts. Garran smashed through a barricade with his bare fists, splinters flying as men screamed and scattered before him.
