Duskfire Glacier main title

the black queen lives.
the words were pulled from faust like smoke from the coals—relieved, astonished, half a curse. he paced once beneath the dusk, the chill clinging to his wounds, to the breath that came sharp in his chest. it had not been hope that had kept him looking. it had been resolve. hope was too soft a thing for the glacier.
he turned fully now to face blackfell. the blood on his leg flaked like old rust. his breath came steady, though his eyes sparked like flint.
then we end it.
a nod. sharp. final. his silence had not been indecision, but thought, calculation. now he had what he needed.
he’s crippled. demoralized. it will spread. fear in the ranks. doubt. faust’s voice was low, a war drum of its own. we’ll use the dark. strike like vultures. leave no time for mourning. only aftermath.
a beat. then, more quietly: he hurt her. your wife.
the edge of his voice was steel.
i want to be gone by midnight.
his eyes narrowed toward the eastern pass.
darukaal marches.