Rowan and Wade urged their horses forward, hooves clattering against the packed dirt road as the noise at the gates swelled.
The closer they drew, the clearer the scene became.
A caravan sat in ruins before the gates, its wagons half-burnt, wood splintered and blackened, and wheels shattered like brittle bones.
Merchant banners hung in tatters, edges curling from fire.
A few oxen lay dead, stiffened in the dirt, while others were being untethered by shaken survivors.
The guards had formed a rough cordon around the caravan, shouting orders as they tried to maintain order.
One guard poured water over a charred beam still smoldering. Another crouched to check the wounds of a bloodied driver.
The survivors of the caravan sat in shock, their clothes torn and faces streaked with ash.
"They came out of nowhere!" one of the merchants cried, his hands flailing as he spoke. "A horde! Dozens, no— hundreds of them! They poured out of the forest like a tide of claws and teeth!"
