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353 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 21, 2014
The mountains, these unforgiving teeth of rock and scree that gnawed the west of the country and ran down its spine, were different. In them the day could turn from summer to winter in the time it took to spark a fire and huddle against the storm. Upon them were the wraith-haunted tombs of old, tombs that were already old during the days of the emperors, and their cold presence had terrified the soul of a young man, little more than a boy, learning the ways of warriors beneath their unblinking stare.
His old friend had stared up with sightless eyes at the grey clouds scudding low overhead. The wind, a cold northeasterly, was sending them in from the sea, and Edwin could smell the rain that would fall later that day, extinguishing the ashes of Forthred’s pyre. The body lay upon crossed logs outside the encampment and on the banks of the Derwent. Cofi had carried the urn that would take the ashes when the fire had eaten its fill. The king had drawn his hand down over Forthred’s face, gently closing his eyes.
“Rest well, old friend, he had said, but the words sounded hollow in his mouth.