In three months, even a dog could learn routine, much less men.
As the horn's brassy wail cut through the humid night, the garrison moved like men who had lived this nightmare a hundred times over. There was no need for shouting; archers unslung their bows in a single fluid motion, and the watchmen atop the battlements began hurl torches into the abyss below to illuminate the killing fields beneath their feet.
It was like throwing a speck of light inside a bottomless well only to see the monsters rummaging where the eyes could not see.
Asag tried to match their speed. He attempted a sharp turn, putting weight on his mangled leg to reach the gatehouse, but a white-hot spike of agony shot up his spine. He bit back a curse, his gait breaking into a jagged, uneven wobble.
