Smiling and shaking his head as he panted, Palemon continued to rove his eyes along the walls. The haze had cleared enough for him to see all the way to the farthest tower, and now he knew without a doubt that his plan had succeeded. A few final skirmishes were being fought here and there, but the last of the Ileans were throwing aside their arms.

The defenders were swiftly cut down anyway, dying with piercing screams. Palemon and his people were cold bloods. They had no warmth in their hearts. They were as strong as iron, as hard as ice.

The battle was over, the walls now filled with warriors clad in chain mail and a greater number of dark-skinned clansmen from the desert. Blood-drenched and gasping, dazed but victorious, one after another broke out in smiles as they stood over the fallen.

But Palemon didn’t smile with them. He had yet to achieve his true objective.

‘Sire.’ A rough, gravelly voice cut through the sudden quiet.

The fighters ranged along the walls stirred as a shorter figure moved through them, his broad shoulders shoving them out of the way. Kyphos finally appeared, stomping toward Palemon, a half-moon axe in his hand and congealed blood coating his forearms.

He was moving quickly, urgently. His shaggy black eyebrows were close together, narrowed over his deep-set eyes. Palemon wasn’t surprised to see Kyphos covered in gore; despite the fact that his neck was hunched forward on his shoulders, he had a powerful frame, with muscular arms and a broad chest, and was nearly as skilled in battle as Palemon himself.

‘Kyphos!’ Palemon barked. ‘Gather the men. We need to secure the harbor.’

There were ships in Malakai, at least seven of them: merchant vessels, but still seaworthy enough that they might be used to return to Necropolis for the women, children, and old men left behind. Palemon had embarked on a dangerous voyage to find these lands, but the remainder of his people wouldn’t survive long: the musk ox, reindeer, white bears, and orca had all been hunted to near-extinction. Winter supplies were meager. Back in the land of ice and snow, he knew that starvation would have already begun to claim lives.

‘There’s a problem,’ Kyphos said, meeting Palemon’s eyes. ‘At the end, the officer with the white crest on his helm fled with the last of the defenders.’ Kyphos’s face was grim. ‘They were heading for the harbor.’

Palemon whirled to face the city. During the fighting he’d had little chance to take it in, but now that he was gazing at it, he wasn’t thinking about the fact that Malakai was beautiful and grand, with a sizeable population and a wealth of riches – instead, every tall building and winding avenue was now an obstacle, a barrier between the walls and the distant harbor.

He roared at the men around him. ‘Everyone who can hear my voice! Follow me!’