Darion walked out of the treeline and the knights came with him.
He summoned as he walked — the wolf first, appearing at his left side, the green eye catching the distant firelight from the settlement. Then the bats, released upward into the dark air above the column.
Then the undead knights, thirty of them materializing in sequence behind him, the green light of each revival fading quickly into the dark, until there was a column of bone and dead flesh moving across the open ground toward Gonnb's outer edge that hadn't existed thirty seconds ago.
The living knights came behind. A hundred and fourteen of them. Garren was at Darion's right.
Nobody spoke.
The settlement was in the specific state of chaos that happened when a threat had no shape.
People were moving between huts, calling to each other, trying to locate the source of whatever was happening to the men around them.
