The sky had just begun to show the pale light of dawn when Ola Stonebeard was roused by the commotion in his camp.
The air was thick with the sour stench of fermenting cheap ale and the burnt smell of porridge.
'What a bunch of rabble.'
Ola irritably tugged at his large, braided beard.
An army of three hundred men sounded impressive, but he knew the truth. Aside from his thirty brothers-in-arms from the Rock Breaker Knight Order, the remaining two hundred-plus conscripts were little more than farmers and local thugs, just there to pad the numbers.
They were good enough for waving banners and cheering, or for hauling loot after a victory.
Expecting them to fight?
Ola would sooner believe his battle-axe could start singing on its own.
"Lord Baron!"
A Scout scrambled into his tent, a look of pure terror on his face as if he had just seen a ghost.
"What is it? Did that pretty boy get scared and run off in the night?" Ola asked impatiently.
