Somewhere to the north, General Aelric Snowe was riding toward a battle that would determine whether the Threian frontier held or fell. And behind the stone walls and earthen berms of Thornfield, the Yohan First Horde waited for him with the patience that Khao'khen had taught them was their greatest weapon.
The Baron of Frost saw the orcish position first.
He was flying at the head of his griffon squadron, nine riders in the attack wedge that had become their standard formation since losses at Lag'ranna reduced their number to less than a third of the original company. Stormclaw's wings cut the morning air with powerful strokes that carried them above the low clouds, and from that altitude, the terrain unfolded below like a map drawn by a god with an interest in the arrangement of rivers and ridgelines and the forces that small creatures placed upon them.
