The war drums sounded at dawn.
From the high cliffs of Elandor, Darian watched as the combined armies assembled—a sea of steel, banners of every kingdom fluttering in the wind. The air was thick with anticipation, fear, and something more dangerous—doubt.
Beneath a hastily erected war tent, the newly formed High Command gathered. Darian stood at the center, beside Sareth, Kaelin, Petra, and Lioren. Around them sat the rulers of the Five Kingdoms—the grim-faced Queen Elira of Vaelcrest, the iron-handed General Morric of Thandor, and others whose loyalty was still untested.
Kaelin leaned toward Darian and muttered, "If half of them don't kill each other before the battle, it'll be a miracle."
Sareth's eyes flicked over the council. "Their swords may point outward, but their knives are aimed at each other's backs."
Darian raised his voice.
"We march at sunrise. The Second Spire rises in the Wastes of Gorrath. We strike before it's complete."
