Footsteps behind him were heavy, deliberate, and armored. Garrick didn't turn. He knew the weight of that mail.
"You're going to wear a groove in the stone if you stare any harder," Maric Oakenshield said. Lord of Oakenshield Hold and commander of the Armoured Knights, Maric came to stand beside him, his full plate catching the torchlight from the battlements. The oak crest on his helm was scuffed from the ride, and his cloak was dusted with road dirt. He'd brought his order three days ago, three hundred knights in steel, their lances stacked like a forest behind Redkeep's walls. Maric was broad as a door and twice as stubborn, but his eyes were tired. "Ravens said Dragon's Teeth held. Because of a kid with fire in his veins."
Garrick nodded once. "Keiran Vexar. Ember's Fury."
Maric let out a low breath. "Harlen's blood. Never thought I'd see the Vexar name mean anything again. Kid rode alone. Split Ravenna's line. Burned them." He spat over the edge. "Makes you wonder what we're doing here, waiting for Valen to knock. I didn't drag my knights across two counties just to watch."
Garrick finally looked at him. "We're holding the pass. If Redkeep falls, the west opens. If it holds, Valen bleeds."
Maric's jaw tightened. "Ten years you've waited for this. I remember your outpost. I remember the bodies."
"So do I," Garrick said. "Valen didn't stay. Didn't even give us the courtesy of a fight. Just fire and retreat."
Maric followed his gaze down to the marching torches. "He's here now. And he's brought enough to burn us all. Good thing I didn't come alone."
Garrick's grip on his axe shifted. "Then we make him pay for every step."
A second set of footsteps, lighter but no less armored. Ryker Blackwood appeared on Garrick's other side, Lord of Blackwood Keep and commander of the Blackwood Knights. His order had arrived at dawn, two hundred riders in dark cloaks and blackened steel, their horses lathered from the forced march. Ryker was younger, leaner, his eyes sharp from years of scouting the hills. He'd been Garrick's shadow since the outpost fell, and now he'd brought every sword Blackwood Keep could spare.
"Scouts back from the low ridge," Ryker said without preamble, his voice low but carrying the authority of command. "Valen's vanguard is three leagues out. Siege towers rolling. He's not rushing. He wants us to see him coming." Ryker's jaw was tight, anger under the calm. "Saw banners with the ash-crow. He hasn't forgotten you either."
Garrick's mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "Good. I want him to remember the name Garrick Blaze when my axe meets his throat."
Maric glanced between them, his gloved hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Talk like that will get you killed before the first arrow flies."
"Talk like that kept me alive for ten years," Garrick replied. He turned to Ryker. "Any sign of Ravenna's army? Lilith?"
Ryker shook his head. "Nothing. Vanished after Dragon's Teeth. Like they fell into the earth. But Valen's not alone. He's got sellswords from the coast, and I saw standards I don't recognize. Old houses crawling out to back the crow."
Maric grunted. "Vultures. They smell blood. Let them come. My knights haven't drawn steel in earnest in two years. They're itching."
Garrick looked back down the pass. The torches were closer now. He could hear the creak of wood, the rumble of wheels. Behind him, the Armoured Knights and Blackwood Knights stood in formation along the walls, banners snapping in the wind. Oak and blackwood, side by side.
"Ten years," he said again, quieter this time. "Valen burned my men. Burned my ground. I've dreamt of this night more than I've dreamt of sleep."
Ryker stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And when it's over? What then, Garrick? You get your vengeance. Then what?"
Garrick didn't answer right away. He watched the valley, the slow crawl of fire, the promise of steel. He thought of the knights behind him, lords and common men alike, who'd ridden to stand on this pass because they'd heard the name Valen Ashencrow.
"Then I make sure no other outpost burns like mine did," he said finally. "No other captain drags himself from the rubble with nothing but hate to keep him warm."
Maric put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "We'll hold, Garrick. Armoured Knights don't break. Or we'll die trying. Either way, Valen won't walk away clean."
Ryker's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, though his bow was still unstrung. "Blackwood Knights ride for you, Garrick. Let him come. We'll give him the war he's been asking for."
Garrick's jaw clenched. The axe felt heavy. Right.
"Let him come," Garrick said to the wind. "Let him see what ten years of sharpening looks like."