The plains beyond the mountain pass should have felt like deliverance.
For the Threian column, it was the first clear ground they had seen in weeks ... a sea of golden green grasses waving under a hard blue sky. The wind moved like breath across the land, whispering over the helmets of the weary soldiers. Yet to Major Gresham, it felt wrong. The quiet was too clean.
He rode near the vanguard, his horse's hooves crushing brittle stems. Behind him came the line ... stretched thin and tired. The wagons carrying the wounded rolled slow, creaking under the strain. The Griffon Knights patrolled far above, their shadows sliding over the grass like birds of omen.
The Baron of Frost had flown ahead at dawn to scout what is up ahead of the column. That left Gresham command of the column for the day. He had ordered his men to stay alert, but fatigue dulled everything.
They had been marching for hours when his Lieutenant approached, reins slack in one hand.
