A giant chunk of cliff-side had fallen across the dry moat that separated the palace of Hartla from the rest of the city. One at a time, Gunnar, Lycon, and Adonica climbed atop it and hurried across.
As soon as Gunnar's feet hit the other side, he raced toward the outer wall, ducking low to stay in the shadows. He strained his ears, but all he heard was the far-off cawing of seabirds.
Lycon and Adonica took up positions beside him. For the sake of remaining undetected, only the three of them had entered the city. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that there was nothing to hide from. Only corpses in the streets and the crows and vultures tending to them.
Adonica nudged Gunnar and pointed. Scattered around the caved-in palace entrance were several dead soldiers in white-trimmed armor. Some had been caught in the cave-in. Others lay at the edge of a large, charred crater left by a cythraul's daemyn attack.
"Yordar's men," Adonica whispered.