Twenty riders in black rode on undead horses, trampling just-harvested fields and sending clumps of soil flying from their hooves at each step. Ahead of them was a tiny farming village. In the early morning, its people had only just begun leaving their homes and leading their farm animals to pastures…
One of these cattle herders was the first to notice the riders. He was just a boy, but he still knew that riders like these could mean nothing good.
"Look out! There are people on horses!" he shouted, running back to the village and forgetting all about his goats. "They aren't like royal soldiers!"
"What?!" his mother gasped, running from her house's porch. "No… I thought we were safe on this side of the river! Hurry, son—get our goats… No, forget it—let's just hide in the cellar!"
