Chapter 70. Two-River Learns a New Song

The river made a Y out of stubborn compromises. Two harnesses of stone kept its arms from strangling the fields. From the south bank, a Vesper banner moved like it liked the wind too much. They were smart—no siege, just scissor work. Cut here, starve there. Make the city eat itself while you sell it knives.

Lyr met us before the gate, mouth set to don’t waste my time. Her braids were tighter than last winter; the scar at her temple looked less like a wound and more like a crown.

“Report,” Kael said.

“Three bands,” she said, counting with her chin. “One sings at the left-hand wardstone. One fishes for cowards at the ferry. One steals—quietly—on the north road and blames it on your mother.”

“My mother’s dead,” I said.

“Exactly,” Lyr said.

Ashfall melted to our flanks without comment. The Hollow’s captains tilted their heads, listened to the land breathe, and started ending problems.

“Left-hand wardstone first,” I said. “If they’re singing, the