The claxon shrieked, vibrating the whole of the tower complex. Intruders! Heavy booted feet were pounding down the hallways, setting up a thunderous counterpoint.
Draknar flailed awake, the shreds of a dream dissipating around him. Steady, steady, he thought. Just the expected attack, those so-called rebels. He peered around. Some ungodly hour of the night. Wasn’t supposed to come for two more days. Have to fire the scrying-pool operator.
He heaved himself upright. One thing at a time. He fumbled for a shirt, then the Eboncloak. The black helmet and Soulreaper stood by the door. Did I feed the Fellsteed?
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