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I broke into the courtyard, into the frigid day, my gaze immediately shooting to the skies. Clouds and fog. Fog and clouds. Just the usual. No winged brethren anywhere in sight.

Several fleeing bodies jostled me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Regaining my balance, I rotated in a swift circle, dodging a goat as I peered up and spotted warriors assembling along the battlements. I noticed several of them pointed to something in the distance. Something unknown and out of my range of vision.

Determined to see for myself, I raced toward the nearest tower, pushing through the crowd. I was almost there when I was met by a wolf. Or a dog, I supposed, but there was definitely some wolf blood mixed in there. The beast lunged for me, snarling and snapping its jaws, foaming at the mouth, going feral at the sight of me. I fell back on the ground, scurrying to get out of the way, crying out as rushing feet slammed down on my hands, crunching bone, grinding my knuckles.

The owner of the wolf-dog wrapped an arm around its furry neck, pulling desperately, hauling the beast back even as the man lifted wide, bewildered eyes to me. Clearly the beast wasn’t known for violence.

But then the beast has never known you.

Shaking my head, I clambered back up onto my feet. Cradling my wounded hands close to my chest, I told myself what I knew to be true: they would heal.

I took the winding stairs to the top of the tower. It was just as crowded up on the wall as it was in the courtyard. Warriors were everywhere, taking position, archers readying their bows. No one spared me a glance. I was a ghost, free to look, free to move about with no one paying me any mind.

I spotted Fell down along the wall, directly over the gatehouse, dead center, staring out from the fortress with a sharp gaze. He stood with his legs braced wide, as though at the bow of a ship.

He propped his hands on the edge of the wall, looking across the Borg, gazing out into the distance, at the snow-covered horizon, as though he alone had the power to see what others could not. As though he alone knew what was coming.

Frowning, I followed the direction of his gaze. And saw nothing.

Nothing beyond mist-shrouded hills and the not-so-distant mountains. I waited. We all waited, peering into the opaque air.

The Borg quieted, falling into an eerie silence. As though the world was holding its breath. The only sound was that of the whistling wind and settling fog.

And then I heard it. Another sound. A steady beat. A staccatoclomping. Even and unvarying and in perfect rhythm. Like a heartbeat.

We heard them long before we could see them. Long before they crested the rise, the silver of their armor glinting like mirrors. Soldiers. A large contingent of cavalry. Hundreds and hundreds of riders.

An army was marching on the Borg.

I DIDN’T THINKit could get any quieter, but the sight of that army silenced even the wind.

The fog hushed and held still, simply thickening, spreading, growing denser, almost as though it were a living, breathing thing intent on taking over the land, covering everything, devouring everything.

The air grew so thick, it gobbled that army up, wiping it from sight. Presumably wiping us from sight, too. It was still out there. I felt it, that force of soldiers, a beast looking for its next meal, but we could no longer see it. Just as it could no longer see us.

Moments ticked by, rolling into minutes, and then more minutes and then more.

Fell’s warriors began to shift restlessly on the battlements.

We could hear them still marching, the clop of hooves falling in steady rhythm, unseen in the impenetrable fog.

We listened, tense, on edge, the army close now, winding its way like a snake through the grass, out of sight but there, sliding closer through the Borg, finally stopping at our gates.

They emerged into view, finally close enough to see again, the faces of every soldier obscured beneath the visors of their helmets, only their eyes visible.

Realization flashed through me. I knew who they were. I identified the cut of their armor, the red and blue pennants, the royal coat of arms, and the markings on their shields.

I searched for and found him, recognizing him riding front and center. His visor was already lifted, and my heart leapt at the sight of those familiar brown eyes across the distance. I saw him, but hehad not spotted me. His gaze was elsewhere, on the Beast of the Borderlands.

Stig brandished his sword in the air, his voice lifting in challenge: “I’ve come for Dryhten’s head!”

My gaze swung down the length of the wall to Fell.

Fell’s hands gripped the edge of the wall tighter. He grinned. Actually smiled, lips peeling back from his teeth in a snarl. He loved this, I realized.Fighting.Battle. This was his element. What he knew. What he did well.

He leaned down, his voice booming through the air: “You’ve come to the right place, then.”

Stig pointed his sword directly at Fell up on the wall. “We received your message!”