Lord Raj Ahten himself gave a shout, reining in his stallion, and such was the power of his call—for he bore endowments of Voice from hundreds and hundreds of people—that his words carried clearly even this high on the citadel, even blowing on the wind. He sounded kindly and pleasant, belying the threat inherent in his deeds.

“King Sylvarresta, people of Heredon,” Raj Ahten called, his voice as fair as the tinkling of a bell, as resonant as a woodwind. “Let us be friends—not combatants. I bear you no malice. Look at my army—” He spread his arms wide. “You cannot defeat it. Look at me. I am not your enemy. Surely you will not force me to squat here in the cold tonight, while you dine beside your hearths? Throw open your gates. I will be your lord, and you will be my people.”

His voice sounded so pleasant, so brimming with reason and gentleness, that had she been on the walls, Iome would have found it hard to resist.

Indeed, in that moment, she heard the gears to the main portcullis grind, and the drawbridge began to lower.

Iome’s heart pounded. She leaned forward, shouting “No!” astonished that some of her foal subjects, overwhelmed by a monster’s glamour and voice, were doing his bidding.

Beside her, King Sylvarresta also shouted, ordering his men to raise the bridge. But they were far from the gates, so high up. The sound of Orden’s shout was muffled by the visor on his helm. He pulled it up to call more clearly.

In keeping with her own feelings of anger, down at the gates, Captain Derrow let a bolt loose at the Wolf Lord. Derrow’s bolt flew with incredible speed, a blur of black iron that would have driven through any other man’s armor.

But the speed and strength of Raj Ahten outmatched him. The Runelord simply reached up and caught the bolt in midair.

Such speed. Raj Ahten had done the unthinkable, taking so many endowments of metabolism. Even from here, she saw that he must move five or six times as fast as a common man. Living at such speed, he’d age and die in a matter of years. But before then, he might well conquer the world.

“Here now,” he called, sounding reasonable. “We’ll have no more of that.” Then with great force, with a sound of gentleness that slid past all of Iome’s defenses, Raj Ahten commanded, “Throw down your weapons and your armor. Give yourselves to me.”

Iome leapt to her feet, found herself grasping for her poniard, ready to toss it over the walls. Only Gaborn’s hand, which reached to stop her, kept her from dropping the weapon over the wall.