This was his moment of truth—close enough to feel blowback from the world's recoil. The moonlight danced off his chest-mark. He felt more alive than he ever had being farther west in a thousand tomb-like encampments.
He waited.
Ian appeared again, stepping forward, cadenced by his soldiers. He was pale, ebony clad, runic lines still faintly burning. His eyes glowed with the shadow fire.
The crowd roared—momentarily drowned.
Renner scanned crowds of faces: nobles with trembling lips, mercenaries sharing glances, gamblers wiping sweat. All shouted for blood. All expected Ian to hold.
He closed his eyes for a second. Not this time, he thought. This time I climb the blade.
Renner stepped down the wall steps into the trench behind the initial line. He moved nimbly—none of his steps kicked gravel. When he reached the second level of trenches, he paused to topple a standing lantern—embers fell into the ventilation gap. Magelight went pale.
He breathed deep.
He crouched.
