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... > Charred timbers jutted like broken teeth from black soil, and the skeletal frames of villages stood half-buried in volcanic dust.

Once, these had been Ferrondel holdings, fertile, green, alive. Now, they were husks sustained only by Ignarion coin and fire-born arrogance.

Caedrion sat astride his horse, the air dry and bitter against his lips.

His officers clustered around him, a map unfurled across the back of a supply cart.

The Siege of Emberhold loomed, and wi ...

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