The Gate of the World

The biting wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and something else… something acrid and unsettling that snagged at your senses.
You reined in your mare at the mountain crest, your hand raised to signal those behind you. Below, the forest stretched, dark and forbidding under the rolling thunderclouds. Full dark was minutes away, and the storm was coming.
A distant whistle, three short calls, pierced the wind: Calt’s code. “Our enemy is upon us in force! I will engage!”
Fear, cold and sharp, twisted in your gut. Lady Everynne urged her horse forward, confusion and grief etched on her face. “Calt!” she cried, attempting to turn back.
“Flee!” you hissed, slapping her horse’s rump, grabbing her reins. You spurred your mare, forcing a desperate, headlong race down the muddy, treacherous road. Behind you, a wailing sound echoed over the mountains—a death cry that was not human. Calt had fallen.