Urdon Pov
Freda stayed tight against my side, her hand gripping the middle of my leather belt to keep my balance steady while my right boot slid through the broken glass. My right arm was still stuck inside the tight cloth sling, cold and entirely heavy from the fever. The air smelled like freezing mud and the damp wool coats of thirty men standing in the yard.
"Keep your hip against the post, Urdon."
"I have the post," I muttered, gritting my teeth against the pull in my ribs.
The line of iron shields stopped exactly ten paces from our bottom step with a loud, synchronized thud that made a loose pine board on our porch floor bounce twice. The steel spears stayed upright, a wall of gray metal points that caught the last purple glare of the sunset.
