It didn’t take long to bring the King up to speed. An army of death was coming, destroying everything in its path, looking for a weapon that would allow the demigod Orcus to return. That very weapon was here, in this little castle wedged against the Eastern Stormhorn Mountains.

High-King Modric looked down on his brother’s second grave. To the many guards surrounding him he seemed calm, composed and deep in thought. In the privacy of his head however, Modric was nursing a deep and terrible rage.

Garrim awoke face-down in the mud. A second later the pain hit him, forcing a groan from his winded body. It took him a few moments to remember where he was and how he had got there, but when he finally gathered enough strength to lift his head and look around, he realised it was too late.