Cain Marrok stepped into the ring of standing stones, and they flared brighter at his presence, as if the old law itself recognized what was walking into the light.
He stood at the center of the Founding Moon, forty Ironfang banners at his back and every pack in the region before him, and for a moment he didn't speak. He looked at me across the floor. The bond was wide open between us, no walls left anywhere, and I felt what he was about to do before he did it.
He wasn't going to lie. He couldn't. But he wasn't going to be cornered into it either. Damien thought he was forcing a confession out of a hunted man.
Cain was going to claim it.
"My name," he said, and his voice filled the amphitheater without rising, "is not Marrok."
The hall went utterly silent.
"Marrok is the name the rog
