We returned from Thornfield territory with two formal alliances now secured, Ashgrove and Thornfield both bound to Duskrail under terms of mutual defense, and I felt, for the first time since the northern outpost, something that resembled genuine hope rather than simply grim determination, a sense that we were finally building something faster than Renata could tear it down.
That hope lasted almost exactly four days before Callan brought word that shattered it considerably.
An attack, he said, arriving at my study breathless from a hard ride, his expression carrying the particular grimness I had learned to associate with news that would reshape everything else we were currently managing. On a Thornfield border patrol, two nights ago. Three riders killed, the survivors reporting an attack
