The king's sword carved a furrow across Garrok's jaw.
The blade's Sixth Realm edge split the iron chin guard and opened the flesh beneath from ear to chin, the cut deep enough to expose the white ridge of the mandible through the curtain of blood that sheeted down the warchief's throat and soaked the leather gorget's inner padding. Garrok's head snapped sideways. His eyes whitened for a fraction of a heartbeat. His massive frame swayed, the seven-foot body in its custom-forged dwarven plate tilting like a siege tower struck by a catapult stone.
He did not fall.
