The heavy iron boots of the dead guards hit the stone floor like a beating drum, shaking the dust from the high ceiling of the First Vault. They charged forward in a perfect, silent line. Their rusted, curved blades were raised high to execute the exhausted humans.
Raven did not take a single step backward.
He stepped directly into the red light of the burning fires to meet them.
He was a master of war, a hardened man whose raw power and fighting experience were matched only by Morcant himself. Normally, a dozen walking dead would not have been a problem for him. But escaping the burning ruins of Ravenspire and dragging himself through a freezing snowstorm had taken a terrible toll on his body. His arms felt as heavy as lead.
Still, Raven fought exactly like the beast he was.
