Page 195 of Salt Between the Wolves

"If Frostvein marches south..."

He did not finish because he didn't need to. The image already existed in all their minds: burned fields, dead sons, and empty homes.

Soren understood, and that was the problem. He understood too well, which made the next part worse.

"Then stand with us."

Hakon looked away, and in that moment Soren knew this was not betrayal, at least not yet. It was the beginning of it, the first crack, the first retreat, and the first step backward.

Vargan had not taken Black Ridge; he had merely made them hesitate, and sometimes that was enough.

The silence stretched between them, long and heavy, until movement caught Soren's attention.

One of Hakon's men entered quietly through a side door, almost too quietly. He crossed the room, leaned toward his lord, and whispered something.

Hakon's face changed only slightly, but it was enough for both Soren and Garrick to notice.

The man stepped back.

Hakon swallowed.

"My lord..."

Soren's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

The hesitation returned, as persistent as before.

"There has been trouble on the western road."

Something cold settled in Soren's chest.

"What kind of trouble?"

The lord looked suddenly reluctant to answer.

"An Ironfang patrol was attacked."

The room became very still.

"And?"

Hakon looked away again.

"They did not win."

Soren was already on his feet when the chair scraped sharply across the floor.

"Where?"

Hakon blinked before answering.

"The western road."

"I understood that part."

The lord swallowed and shifted uneasily in his seat.