"I hear we have rights to the women as spoils of war," a mercenary muttered with a wolfish grin to the man beside him, his voice low but laced with ugly eagerness.
Eric heard it.
His helm turned slightly, and then his voice erupted, sharp and commanding enough to slice through the steady tramp of boots, loud enough for all eight hundred and fifty men to hear.
"Everything in Redwood is for the taking! Once the war is won, you are free to indulge yourselves!"
The army roared in savage approval. Shields banged, weapons clashed against armor in rhythm, and a mercenary near the front thrust his pike high into the air.
"Long live the Bar—ack!"
His cheer cut off in a wet, choking gurgle as an arrow punched through the side of his neck, the steel tip bursting out the other side in a fine spray of blood that splattered hot across his comrade's cheek.
