Page 190 of Salt Between the Wolves

Soren felt something dark shift inside him. It was not surprise, and it was not even anger. It was recognition.

Vargan was moving.

The old bastard had finally stopped shouting across borders and had begun pulling at the foundations beneath them instead, weakening them one village, one road, and one alliance at a time.

The realization settled heavily in Soren's chest, almost as heavily as the pain itself. Almost.

By the time they reached Ironfang, the mood had darkened considerably as the gates opened and the patrol rode through in silence.

No one spoke, yet the news spread quickly anyway, as it always did.

Soren had barely made it halfway across the courtyard before another wolf intercepted him.

It was Garrick, one of Ironfang's oldest captains, with grey threading through his dark beard and a fresh scar crossing one cheek. He looked exactly as Soren remembered, which was unfortunate.

"We need to talk."

Soren dismounted and gave him a dry look.

"I'm certain you believe that."

Garrick ignored the answer.

"The southern crossing."

Of course it was another problem.

Soren handed his reins to a stable boy.

"What about it?"

"The lord of Black Ridge postponed the meeting."

Soren stopped for a moment before resuming his walk.

"Why?"

"He claims there are complications."

"Meaning?"

"He didn't say."

The answer lingered between them, and both men understood perfectly well what it meant.

Vargan again.

Garrick followed him across the courtyard.

"The western villages are asking questions."

"People always ask questions."

"This time they're asking whether our allies still stand with us."

That finally made Soren stop. He turned slowly, and there was something dangerous in the movement.

"And what answer did you give them?"