Krug arrived at The Stamp on the morning of Day 403. Two days after the battle. He'd walked the entire distance from Ashenveil — no cavalry, no escort beyond Harvin and two guards. The Handler's place was not at the siege. But the Handler's place was absolutely at the negotiation.
The fortress looked different from the inside. The western gate hung open on damaged hinges. The courtyard was scarred — impact marks, dried blood, the gouged tracks of drake claws in stone. The Iron Hoof above the gate had been cracked by a stray trebuchet stone, one half of the symbol lying in the dirt beneath the arch.
Vark met him at the gate. The Commander looked exhausted — three days of combat followed by two days of maintaining a perimeter around two hundred minotaurs who hadn't formally surrendered but had stopped fighting. The soldiers standing guard had the glazed, sharp-edged alertness of people who'd been on watch too long and were running on discipline rather than rest.
