Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass #7) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,3

their enemies draw closer.

Crunching snow mingled with labored breathing.

Right on time.

Aedion nocked an arrow to his own bow and ducked lower on the outcropping.

As Ren’s scout had claimed when she’d rushed into Aedion’s war tent five days ago, there were six of them.

They did not bother to blend into the snow and rock. Their dark fur, shaggy and strange, might as well have been a beacon against the glaring white of the Staghorns. But it was the reek of them, carried on a swift wind, that told Aedion enough.

Valg. No sign of a collar on anyone in the small party, any hint of a ring concealed by their thick gloves. Apparently, even demon-infested vermin could get cold. Or their mortal hosts did.

Their enemies moved deeper into the throat of the pass. Ren’s arrow held steady.

Leave one alive, Aedion had ordered before they’d taken their positions.

It had been a lucky guess that they’d choose this pass, a half-forgotten back door into Terrasen’s low-lying lands. Only wide enough for two horses to ride abreast, it had long been ignored by conquering armies and the merchants seeking to sell their wares in the hinterlands beyond the Staghorns.

What dwelled out there, who dared make a living beyond any recognized border, Aedion didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know why these soldiers had ventured so far into the mountains.

But he’d find out soon enough.

The demon company passed beneath them, and Aedion and Ren shifted to reposition their bows.

A straight shot down into the skull. He picked his mark.

Aedion’s nod was the only signal before his arrow flew.

Black blood was still steaming in the snow when the fighting stopped.

It had lasted only a few minutes. Just a few, after Ren and Aedion’s arrows found their targets and Lysandra had leaped from her perch to shred three others. And rip the muscles from the calves of the sixth and sole surviving member of the company.

The demon moaned as Aedion stalked toward him, the snow at the man’s feet now jet-black, his legs in ribbons. Like scraps of a banner in the wind.

Lysandra sat near his head, her maw stained ebony and her green eyes fixed on the man’s pale face. Needle-sharp claws gleamed from her massive paws.

Behind them, Ren checked the others for signs of life. His sword rose and fell, decapitating them before the frigid air could render them too stiff to hack through.

“Traitorous filth,” the demon seethed at Aedion, narrow face curdling with hate. The reek of him stuffed itself up Aedion’s nostrils, coating his senses like oil.

Aedion drew the knife at his side—the long, wicked dagger Rowan Whitethorn had gifted him—and smiled grimly. “This can go quickly, if you’re smart.”

The Valg soldier spat on Aedion’s snow-crusted boots.

Allsbrook Castle had stood with the Staghorns at its back and Oakwald at its feet for over five hundred years.

Pacing before the roaring fire ablaze in one of its many oversized hearths, Aedion could count the marks of every brutal winter upon the gray stones. Could feel the weight of the castle’s storied history on those stones, too—the years of valor and service, when these halls had been full of singing and warriors, and the long years of sorrow that followed.

Ren had claimed a worn, tufted armchair set to one side of the fire, his forearms braced on his thighs as he stared into the flame. They’d arrived late last night, and even Aedion had been too drained from the trek through snowbound Oakwald to take the grand tour. And after what they’d done this afternoon, he doubted he’d muster the energy to do so now.

The once-great hall was hushed and dim beyond their fire, and above them, faded tapestries and crests from the Allsbrook family’s banner men swayed in the draft creeping through the high windows that lined one side of the chamber. An assortment of birds nested in the rafters, hunkered down against the lethal cold beyond the keep’s ancient walls.

And amongst them, a green-eyed falcon listened to every word.

“If Erawan’s searching for a way into Terrasen,” Ren said at last, “the mountains would be foolish.” He frowned toward the discarded trays of food they’d devoured minutes ago. Hearty mutton stew and roasted root vegetables. Most of it bland, but it had been hot. “The land does not forgive easily out here. He’d lose countless troops to the elements alone.”

“Erawan does nothing without reason,” Aedion countered. “The easiest route to Terrasen would be up through the farmlands, on the northern roads. It’s where anyone would expect