Even High Commander Ulresh could feel the disturbance in his bones. The very Weave had been torn asunder here almost four centuries ago, yet suddenly, it was so much worse. The enemy had done something to the Weave, the very fabric of the world, and whatever that something was, Ulresh had charged his army right into the aftermath.

“To me!” He screamed over the chaotic noise of the battlefield. “Rally to me!” His horse was mad with fear, sweat foamed its sides as it whirled through the tall grasses, searching for escape. Ulresh kept a firm grip on the bridle and spoke soothing words to the poor animal between shouts. He needed to be a beacon to his soldiers, a point they could fix on amidst the chaos.

Some idiot had woven a spell in the Wild Weave and it warped and frayed out of his grasp. Magical fire, brilliant blue in the darkness, ignited the dry grasses of the savannah, quickling becoming a roaring inferno. “Sound the retreat!” Ulresh shouted toward one of the buglers.

The bugler, the white rims of his eyes clearly visible even at this distance, stood staring at the battlefield. Another frayed weave grabbed soldiers of both sides and flung them skyward. Fighting with his mount for every step, Ulresh rode over and smacked the bugler on the back of the head. More forcefully than he had intended. “Sound the retreat, gods damn it. Get our soldiers out of here.”

The bugler looked up at the commander, red-brown eyes wide and uncomprehending. Ulresh, out of patience, smacked him again. “The retreat, soldier, now.” The bugler shook his head and then raised his horn to his lips.

The call screamed out over the battlefield, piercing the cacophony and grabbing attention. Ulresh watched the tide of battle turn suddenly as his troops took flight, disengaging from combat and fleeing back toward the camp they had left only an hour ago.