Idris and I spent the better part of two weeks riding the border, mapping exactly how thin Marisol had left us.
It was worse in person than it had looked on paper. Whole stretches of territory that should have carried out regular patrols saw a rider, maybe once every three days, gaps wide enough that a determined force could cross undetected and spend a full day into Ashgrave land before anyone noticed.
Watchtowers undermanned by two or three warriors each, small enough deficits that no single post had ever raised alarm, large enough combined that the entire eastern boundary functioned more like a suggestion than a defense.
"She didn't do this all at once," Idris said, on the fourth day, standing at the edge of a ridge that should have held six warriors and held two. "Look how gradual
