Ahead of the green plain, warmed by the gentle kiss of sunlight and brushed with flowers swaying in the breeze, the great beasts of Yarzat advanced.
First came the Prince's Right, their ordered ranks surging forward like the head of a spear that would pierce any armor. The centre and the left were soon to follow, led by Shahab and Xanthios , respectively.
The speech Alpheo had given them still clung to the air, heavy and electric. It had struck not only the ears but the marrow of his soldiers.
The old memories, of Oizenian raiders torching homes, of stolen harvests and slain kin, rose in every breast, mingled with stories carried by refugees who had fled with nothing but their grief.
Their war of conquest suddendly started to become a war of rightful revenge.
