Every Crochan who could fly and wield a sword had come. For days, they had raced northward, keeping deep to the mountains, then cutting low over Oakwald before making a wide circuit to avoid Morath’s detection. Indeed, as Manon and the Thirteen perched on the city walls, the Crochans streaming overhead while they made their way to whatever landing place they might find on the castle battlements, it was still hard to believe they had made it. And without an hour to spare. The farther north they had flown, the more Crochans had fallen into the lines. As if the crown of stars Manon wore was a
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