The horizon had only just turned pale gray, as though the heavens themselves feared the coming daylight.
More than ten thousand defenders stood along the crystal-clear ice wall. No one spoke. Only white clouds of breath rose through the gaps in their helmet visors, dissipating and mingling into a thin haze over the battlements.
Before the campfires went out last night, the squad leaders' warning had reached every soldier: "Put aside those idiotic feelings of pride over beating the 'naked lunatics' yesterday. That was the Empire's idea of a joke. Today... they'll bare their real fangs."
Veterans of a hundred battles and farmers newly enlisted alike gripped their spears and crossbows, waiting for the brutal fighting to come.
Then a sound broke the silence.
Thud.
The ground shook.
Coffee rippled in a tin cup and spilled onto the parchment map, spreading into a brown stain.
Veylin braced a hand against the corner of the table.
Another tremor followed.
The tremors came slowly, but each carried tremendous weight.
He walked to the lookout opening.
Gray fog churned over the frozen river, swallowing what little morning light there was. Visibility was poor.
"War drums?" Diana rested a hand on her sword hilt, listening to the vibrations drawing steadily closer.
"No." Veylin set down his coffee cup. "The rhythm's wrong. Too erratic."
He rose and lifted the windproof door flap. Bitterly cold air flooded the tent, which still held a little warmth.
Diana followed close behind, and they stepped one after the other onto the frost-covered lookout platform.
Ahead, pale gray fog roiled violently over the frozen river, as though something enormous were stirring the morning mist.
The heavy thuds drew closer and closer.
A moment later, the swirling fog tore apart.
A gigantic claw covered in rock-rough scales crushed the floating ice