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Chapters (61)
  1. Publisher’s Notice
  2. Map of Crache
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE THREE SIDES OF A COIN
  5. THE MOURNING AFTER
  6. THE KNIGHT BEFORE
  7. WHERE ONLY STONE STEPS ASCEND
  8. A THOUSAND FACES AND NONE
  9. BLOOD COINS AND BLOOD COIN HUNTERS
  10. FALLING STARS
  11. CITIES BUILT IN BOXES
  12. STEEL FIELDS OF RUST AND ROT
  13. RESOLVE IS THE FORGED BLADE THAT CANNOT BE QUENCHED
  14. THE DEAD WHO REVEL IN LIFE
  15. SHAHEEN
  16. THE FIRST WEAPON WAS A STORY TOLD BY LIARS
  17. HOME STUDIES
  18. REQUITAL IS THE REVENGE OF THE WELL-READ
  19. BURIED ON THE BATTLEFIELD
  20. ON AND OFF
  21. SAVAGERY PAYS A CALL
  22. WHEN GHOSTS SPEAK YOUR REAL NAME
  23. PART TWO UNRAVELING THE EDGES
  24. THE BLACK EAGLE
  25. THE MESSENGER
  26. A PEBBLE IN A MAZE
  27. THIRTY TONGUES AND NOT A WORD SPOKEN
  28. TEARS MADE OF FIRE
  29. LATE-NIGHT CALLERS
  30. THE MATING CALL OF THE CRACHIAN WIND DRAGON
  31. ONLY FIRE AND ICE GROW IN CHARNEL HOUSE GARDENS
  32. SCATTERING THE ASHES
  33. THE JEOPARDY ROOM
  34. HEAVEN’S HOSTESS IS HELL’S HANDMAIDEN
  35. THE BONES OF THE WORLD
  36. THE GOD RUNG
  37. KNIVES SPEAK LOUDEST IN THE DARK
  38. THE INTEREST PAID IN BLOOD
  39. RIDDLES SHAPED IN STONE
  40. THE CALLING HOUR
  41. WE BURIED OUR STORIES IN THE EARTH
  42. PART THREE REVELATIONS OF THE THROAT
  43. FORMLESS, SHAPELESS, IT CAN FLOW OR IT CAN CRASH
  44. THE SPARROW GENERAL
  45. THOUGH IT BE HARSH, COME BACK TO THE LIGHT
  46. THE NEW DEVOURING THE OLD
  47. A PLOT OF CORPSES
  48. THE BLACK TURTLE
  49. MARCHING TO A HEADLESS DRUM
  50. SEEK NOT THE EAVES AT MIDNIGHT
  51. REUNION
  52. SLEEP, AND HIS BROTHER DEATH
  53. MISSIO INTERRUPTUS
  54. BORN ON THE BATTLEFIELD
  55. IN THE HOUSE OF THE IGNOBLE
  56. THE ONES WE KEEP CLOSE
  57. DAWN IS THE MOMENT YOU WAKE
  58. THE GRAY AFTER THE STORM
  59. FINAL SELECTION
  60. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  61. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Taru sniffs and blinks away the salty discharge, staring down at Lim passively.

“As I said, you’re a fair man.”

BORN ON THE BATTLEFIELD

THE VEST IS THICKLY ARMORED, its leather the dusky yellowed russet color of blood drying in sand. Emblazoned on the chest in a deep, bloody crimson is a sparrow in flight. The sparrow has a single white eye, and lines the same color trace its plump body and capelike wingspan. Sirach presents it to her inside the armorist’s wagon.

“I had it made for you,” she says to Evie. “It was high time to make it official, Sparrow General.”

Evie is dubious. “You don’t think this a little wasteful under our current circumstances?”

“I think it wholly necessary, and for the same reason. We’re going into battle against a superior enemy. There’s conquering the body and then there’s conquering the mind. They know your name because you inspired this rebellion. They need to see that you’re quite real, and leading that rebellion to their doorstep. And it’s not only the enemy’s mind that needs conquering. This will help you win the minds of those men and women out there who need a Sparrow General behind whom they can rally.”

“Fair enough,” Evie relents, more than a little exasperated. “You’re as dangerous with words as you are with blades, you know that?”

Sirach bows as if she’s been thoroughly complimented. “Siccluna teaches you to use every weapon at your disposal.”

Evie pulls the armored vest around her thick, woolen battle tunic, securing its strap at her right shoulder with a gloved hand. She’s already wearing her sword in its scabbard, and a matching dagger, both of them Sicclunan weapons.

Sirach is clad in light leather armor designed for the most amount of maneuverability. The leather has been dyed the same wilted violet color of her eyes. She also wears a curved Sicclunan saber, but her half-moon daggers are sheathed beneath each arm in scabbards hung from her shoulders.

“Are you ready, General?” she asks Evie.

“Please, I’ll wear the sparrow, but stop calling me that.”

Sirach doesn’t try to stifle her grin. “Whatever you say.”

The two of them emerge from the armorist’s wagon to waiting war columns of Sicclunan soldiers, B’ors warriors, and rogue Savages. They’ve struck camp and are mounted, armored, and armed for battle.

The Elder Company approaches the duo. Mother Manai smiles brilliantly at Evie and presents the stump of her right wrist. A finely honed single spike designed for lethal thrusting has replaced her usual makeshift finger blades. It is fastened to her wrist and shoulder by leather straps, equally well tooled.

“What do you think?” Mother Manai asks Evie. “I think the master armorist took a likin’ to li’l ol’ me.”

“I think you’re ready to take on the Skrain all by yourself,” Evie says.