The carriage careened toward the open gates of the obsidian base, its wheels splintering against the stone path. Three feathered arrows jutted from the rear chassis.
The horses foamed at the mouth as the driver yanked the reins, bringing the vehicle to a violent halt in the center of the courtyard.
The man tumbled out of the carriage door and collapsed onto the black glass floor. His coat was torn and covered in soot. He gasped for air, looking up as Iron-Scale and Krax approached him.
"They are burning my towns," he choked out, grabbing Iron-Scale's boot. "The neighboring army did not march on the capital. They followed the tracks your raiding party left behind. They found the safe routes and assumed I am harboring Voranthar's forces."
Krax crossed his arms and looked down at him. "Our tracks were meant to point toward Aethelgard refugees. Your neighbor is just using the raid as an excuse to seize your land."
