Five years after the Great Coronation, the Frontier Citadel of Stonegate stood as a proud, open fortress guarding the trade crossroads between the northern valleys and the southern plains. In the vast sand-covered drill yard of the citadel, fifty young recruits—twenty-five northern wolves and twenty-five southern youths—were practicing sword-and-buckler footwork under the midday sun. At the head of the yard stood Grand Marshal Rowan Blackwood. At thirty-eight winters, Rowan was…
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