The morning frost clinging to the courtyard of the eastern gatehouse had already begun to turn into gray slush beneath thirty ranks of military feet.
A biting wind rolled down from the northern peaks, whistling through the portcullis and snapping the blue banners of the royal vanguard against their wooden poles.
Steam plumed steadily from the nostrils of the armored draft horses hitched to four covered supply wagons parked near the outer wall.
The assembled knights stood in formation for nearly an hour, their breath condensing in thick white clouds as the harsh morning air wore their patience down to the bone.
"Thirty minutes," a veteran knight muttered under his breath, shifting his dense shield from one shoulder to the other while his armor creaked in the damp air.
"Thirty minutes past the muster bell, and the officers have us waiting in the mud for a single unranked mercenary," he grumbled, spitting into the slush with clear disgust.
