Page 358 of Kingdom of Ash

She had fitted her battle-crown to her head, along with the armor she’d gathered in Anielle, and outfitted herself with whatever spare weapons Fenrys and Lorcan handed to her.

Yrene, Elide, and the healers would remain in the rear—until ruks could carry them into Orynth. Dorian and Chaol would lead the wild men of the Fangs on the right flank, the khaganate royals on the left, Sartaq and Nesryn in the skies with the ruks. And Aelin and Rowan, with Fenrys, Lorcan, and Gavriel, would take the center.

The army had spread out as they’d neared the foothills beyond Orynth, the hills that would take them to the edge of Theralis’s plain, and offer their first view of the city beyond it.

Heart hammering, the Lord of the North unfaltering, Aelin had ascended the last of those hills, the highest and steepest of them, and looked upon Orynth for the first time in ten years.

A terrible, pulsing silence went through her.

Where a lovely white city had once glittered between river and plain and mountain …

Smoke and chaos and terror reigned. The turquoise Florine flowed black.

The sheer size, theboomingof the massive army that thundered against its walls, in the skies above it …

She hadn’t realized. How large Morath’s army would be. How small and precious Orynth seemed before it.

“They’re almost through the western gate,” Fenrys murmured, his Fae sight gobbling down details.

The khagan’s army fanned out around them, across the hill. The crest of a wave soon to break. Yet even the Darghan soldiers hesitated, horses shifting, at the army between them and the city.

Rowan’s face was grave—grave, yet undaunted, as he took in the enemy.

So many. So many soldiers. And the Ironteeth legion above them.

“The Crochans fight at the city walls,” Gavriel observed.

Indeed, she could barely make out the red cloaks.

Manon Blackbeak had not broken her vow.

And neither would she.

Aelin glanced at her hand, hidden beneath the gauntlet. To where a scar should have been.

I promise you that no matter how far I go, no matter the cost, when you call for my aid, I will come.

There would be no time for speeches. No time to rally the soldiers behind her.

They were ready. And so was she.

“Sound the call,” Aelin ordered Lorcan, who lifted a horn to his lips and blew.

Down the line, heralds from the khaganate sent up their own horns in answer. Until they were all one great, bellowing note, racing toward Orynth.

They blew the horns again.

Aelin drew Goldryn from its sheath across her back and hefted her shield as she lifted the sword to the sky. As a thread of her magic pierced the ruby in the pommel and set it glowing.

The Darghan soldiers pointed theirsuldesforward, wood creaking, horsehair whipping in the wind.

Down the line, Princess Hasar and Prince Kashin trained their own spears at the enemy army. Dorian and Chaol drew their blades and aimed them ahead.

Rowan unsheathed his sword, a hatchet in his other hand, his face like stone. Unbreakable.

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.

---