On a dark hilltop overlooking a sleeping kingdom, Rowan froze. The others were already halfway down the hill, leading the horses along the dried slope that would take them over Akkadia’s border and onto the arid plains below. His hand dropped from the stallion’s reins. He had to have imagined it. He scanned the starry sky, the slumbering lands beyond, the Lord of the North above. It hit him a heartbeat later. Erupted around him and roared. Over and over and over, as if it were a hammer against an anvil. The others whirled to him. That raging, fiery song charged closer. Through him. Down the
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