The drowned waters rise. Haven is landlocked, far from any sea, yet the sea comes anyway. War barges break across flooded plains, dead navies climb the walls, and a tide that does not stop at the shore swallows the fields where Haven’s new farms stand. The walls were never shaped to hold against an ocean. Death’s Champion stands on the wall. The vow that raised a nameless skeleton in a field of broken banners carries him into the flood, and through it, and south. The tide is only the herald. Something larger moves in the demon lands. The Dukes have gone quiet. The road south is empty. The vow that has carried him this far is approaching the thing it was made for. The skeleton walks. Some debts are paid at the wall. Others wait at the end of the road. Some vows do not end.