Chapter 67 The Twins

The night seemed endless, as if there was no end in sight.

Foam spewed from the mouth of Winters' black warhorse, its ears pinned tightly back, its long neck thrusting forward, its heart seemingly ready to tear through the ribs and leap out.

Winters, on the horse's back, struggled to keep his body steady, gasping for breath, his boots planted deep into the stirrups.

With each encampment breached, the number of followers behind him dwindled; each hill crossed resulted in a rider's body swaying, then falling rigidly from the saddle.

The thunder of hooves by his ears grew sparser, while the rumbling thunder ahead became increasingly deafening.

Perhaps Winters still held a hint of surprise when he burst into the first two campsites.

But the farther he moved forward, the better prepared the Terdun people were. They knew what had happened from the mouths of those who had fled. Even without informers, the clash of blades would have reached their ears long ago.