The horns blew a third and final time, the rallying cry singing out across the bloody plain. The Lord of the North reared up, jutting Goldryn higher into the sky, and Aelin unleashed a flash of fire through the ruby—the signal the army behind her had awaited. For Terrasen. All of it, for Terrasen. The Lord of the North landed, the immortal flame within his antlers shining bright as he began the charge. The army around and behind her flowed down the hillside, gaining with each step, barreling toward Morath’s back ranks. Barreling toward Orynth. Toward home.
