In the Naemarys camp, beneath banners that snapped in the acrid wind, two figures sat before their family's command tent. The elder was Daerius Naemarys, heir to the Naemarys patriarchy and a man whose ambition was matched only by his ruthlessness. At twenty-eight, he possessed the classical good looks of his bloodline—sharp features, golden hair, and eyes the colour of winter ice. His sister, Lyralei, was two years younger but arguably more dangerous. Where Daerius was direct in his hatred, she was subtle, her beauty masking a mind that calculated advantage in every conversation.
These two clans were the only ones who had entered the dreadlands, and other clans and armies of the empire were still at the borders.
Even the Great General Remin was stationed at the border. He had let the two clans take the lead and observed from the sidelines for now.
There was one more army which was on equal footing with the two clans.
