said Claradon, pointing. “The mist forms at the circle’s center.” He turned to Ob. “What is the hour?”Ob looked up at the night sky. “Less than one bell to midnight. Right on time.”“It’s forming too fast to be natural,” said Claradon.“So now you’re an expert on mist formation?” said Ob.“It’s sorcery,” said Tanch. “I warned you,” he said glancing about furtively. “We don’t have enough men.”“Black magic, it is,” whispered Dolan.“Mount up and form around me,” shouted Sir Gabriel.The knights scrambled to their feet.“Stop up your ears with the wax, bare your weapons, and stand ready,” boomed Ob.The men rushed to their horses and aligned them shoulder to shoulder in expert fashion, four rows deep. In moments, they were ready; a bastion of solid steel and grim resolve. The knights in the front row held gleaming pole arms honed to a fine edge. Those of the second and third rows held shorter weapons. The fourth row was mostly crossbows.An unnatural wind sprang up and the fog rapidly expanded radially outward from the circle’s center and rolled toward them like a giant wave, gathering speed as it went.“This is it,”
