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Andry did his best to keep warm after a week of sailing, when all his clothes felt somehow both wet and frozen. He envied Oscovko, who’d returned to shore days ago. His men were probably halfway back to Vodin by now, traveling overland back through the Gates of Trec. It would take weeks to rally the Treckish army, and Andry all but salivated at the thought of a warm castle.

Especially now, as he rowed hard with the rest of the crew. He glanced down the deck of Lady Eyda’s chosen vessel, the largest of their mismatched armada. It was a Jydi longship, crewed by immortals and a few raiders who’d managed to escape.

Luckily their journey would soon be at an end. Ghald was near, the raider city fading out of the gray clouds.

The city sat at the tip of a peninsula, a knife jutting out between the Watchful and the Glorysea. The city sat across the only habitable land, the rest of the coast jagged with cliffs, fjords, and pine forest. Such were the lands of the Jyd; green, white, and gray, a frozen world of hardy folk.

Horrible winds roared from the north as their boats fought slowlyinto the port. Andry strained along with the raiders and immortals, his palms blistering on the worn wooden grip. But every stroke brought them closer to shore, until they passed the protective stone wall in the harbor. The wind died, letting them glide the rest of the way.

When the ship finally anchored, the crew wasted no time. The Jydi all but leapt from the benches, vaulting over the ship’s rail to land on the dock below.

Andry’s body ached after the hours rowing and he stood up gingerly, careful with his few belongings to survive Gidastern. His teakettle was not one of them. He mourned its loss for the thousandth time, wishing for nothing more than a warm cup of tea.

As he belted his sword back around his waist, he circled slowly, taking in the raider city of Ghald.

Longships jammed the port. Sails of every color flapped in the wind, striped or painted with symbols to mark the clans. Andry spotted bears, horned fish, wolves, eagles, and even a few dragons, their jaws breathing faded red flame. He had no idea what emblem belonged to which clan but tried to memorize them anyway.

Corayne will want to hear about this, he thought, his mouth filling with a bitter taste.

Beyond the docks were the markets and storehouses, meant to hold grain, steel, coin, treasure. Whatever came back from the summer raids. There were longhouses roofed with thatch, shingle, and turf, some with tiered spires. They reminded Andry of the cathedrals of Ascal, carved from wood instead of stone.

Almost all of Ghald was made of wood. Even the palisade wall was cut gray timber, sharpened to cruel points. Andry gulped and thought of a single candle bringing the entire place down around them. Let alone a dragon.

Gidastern was half stone and she still burned, he thought, glancing at the heavy gray sky.Ghald will suffer the same fate in half the time.

Then Andry’s eyes narrowed, tracing the cramped streets of the raider capital.

But not without a fight.

Upon closer inspection, he realized Ghald was more a military encampment than city. Armories and stables dotted the streets, and forges sparked from every corner. Hammers rang on anvils while traders shouted in the markets, haggling over the price of good steel. He saw axes flashing in a training yard, and almost everyone wore some kind of armor beneath their furs. Men and women alike, hailing from all the clans. Hide tents lined the interior walls, done up in rows like an army camp. Ghald overflowed with raiders, far more than she could hold.

The sight filled Andry with some confidence, small as it was. Like the Treckish warbands, the raiders fought for glory as much as gold.

And there was no greater glory than saving the realm itself.

The Elders rallied together, following Lady Eyda off the ship. Andry hesitated to join them, hanging back. He was no immortal soldier. Instead, he offered an arm to Valtik, planting himself next to the witch.

“Ah, it is good to see you,” she crowed, her smile growing even wider.

Andry sighed and pulled his cloak, hiding his sword beneath its folds. “I’ve been here the whole time, Valtik.”

The old woman clucked her tongue, tsking at him as she worked at a new braid, weaving bits of fresh lavender into her gray hair.

“Avoided me the whole voyage through,” she said. “You’re lucky I am forgiving.”

In spite of himself, Andry barked a dry laugh. “You’re lucky I don’t chain you to my arm. You’re not disappearing on me again, and especially not here.”

“My Jydi will fight, with shield thick and steel bright.” She raised her gaze to survey the city around them. “And the rest—they will give up the branch living.”

Andry could only shake his head. “I don’t know what that means, Valtik.”

She grinned in reply, and tightened her grip on his arm.

Forever the dutiful squire, Andry let her lean on him.

“Come, Andry,” she said, patting his hand. “With me.”

The familiar cry was an arrow through Andry’s heart. His throat tightened.