The first scream came from behind them.
Maevra twisted in the saddle.
A Ravaryn scout disappeared over the edge of the ridge.
His horse reared, reins snapping loose, while the ground beneath him collapsed in a shower of dirt and broken branches.
“Stop!” Rhydan shouted.
Too late.
Another rider hit the concealed trench.
The horse stumbled hard.
Its rider flew over its neck and struck the ground.
Maevra jumped from her saddle.
“Don’t move forward!”
Taven hauled his horse sideways.
Rhydan scanned the road.
“What is it?”
“Traps.”
Maevra crouched beside the path.
Fresh soil had been scattered over branches and leaves. Whoever prepared the pits had known exactly which route they would take back from the eastern ridge.
Someone had not merely watched the border clash.
They had pla
