PREVIEW

... h them, the Wendish warriors moved, slow, silent, their breath steaming in the dawn.

Iron gleamed where there should have been only leather and bone.

Mail shirts whispered beneath wolf-skins; helms of blackened steel caught the first glint of sunrise.

To any Roman scout, they would have seemed ghosts: men of the forest turned to iron.

At the front crouched Dobroslav, a chieftain once of the Polabian tribes, now bound to a greater banner, the white wolf sigil hamme ...

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