Twenty-eight armored warhorses thundered across the western riverbank, their iron-shod hooves splashing through the shallow shallows.
Captain Vael rode at the head of the formation, his polished mirrored breastplate gleaming with dull ash-gray light.
"Look at these pathetic timber barricades," the mercenary captain laughed, pointing his broadsword toward the dark watchpost.
"The frontier cowards abandoned their perimeter posts the moment our scouts approached the valley!"
"Lord Dreth promised twenty gold crowns for every severed militia ear," the mercenary lieutenant shouted from behind.
"Burn the clinic huts and slaughter any wounded defenders who couldn't crawl into the mountain woods!"
"Leave nobody alive to tell the tale!" another cavalryman yelled, spurring his warhorse into a galloping sprint.
High above on the jagged granite crags, Juna crouched silently, her sharp gaze tracking every horse in the ravine.
