On the palisade, Skarn stared down with his claws still out. "You are requesting entry."
"Yes, my lord," the herald said, with dignity. "The deal between the Beastman Confederation and His Majesty-"
"I know the damn deal!" Skarn snapped. "Let them in."
What followed was, by the account of the soldiers on that wall, the strangest hour of the mobilization.
The gates opened. The mule train came in under a guard that outnumbered it twenty to one.
Dwarven crews unloaded crate after crate with parade precision, stacking them in rows and checking the seals twice. They plainly hoped an enemy would open one and judge it.
The tigerkin quartermaster, ladle abandoned, pried the first crate open, lifted out a sword blank, and went still. She bent the blade against her knee, read its flex, and dragged one claw down the length of it.
"This is excellent quality," she said. "They're showing off."
The nearest dwarf did not look up from his stacking. "That's the standard run, ma'am."
