Lord Asag of Helvia, Third Legate of the Yarzat Legions, wore no armor the day he was to meet the princes of the South.
When the great iron-studded gates of the Bastion groaned open to disgorge the small party that had thwarted the League for two moons, the lords of the South were prepared for a sight of martial splendor or at least the grim dignity of a high commander.
Their imagination did not meet reality.
Asag rode a sorrel stallion, his hands nowhere near the reins; he guided the beast with the subtle pressure of his stirrups alone. His breastplate seemed as if it had just came out of battle, dented and scarred, but it was the helm that arrested the eye. A massive cave-in sat just below the right temple, a blow so savage it seemed a miracle of the gods that the man's skull remained in one piece.
The closer he drew, the more the miracle seemed a curse.
