TWENTY-TWO
The Border
Fall 964 MC
The mist drifted across the land, settling into the lower pockets, while a wolf, tearing the meat from a hare, looked up, his attention caught by something in the distance. The noise drew steadily closer, and then the creature smelled horses in the air. Many, many horses. Suddenly, hundreds of horsemen emerged from the fog, their trappings jangling as they trotted. The wolf rose, then ran off, leaving its carcass unattended.
Lord Hollis halted, letting his men carry onward while his aide, a dour man named Finlad, rode up beside him.
"Trouble, my lord?"
"How far to the border?"
"We'd see it now if it weren't for this cursed fog," his aide replied.
"And you're certain Wickfield is just beyond?"
"I've ridden this part of the country many times, Lord.
