The problem with fifty terrified, untrained men is that panic is highly contagious.
As I marched down to the main courtyard, the green recruits were scrambling around like headless chickens. Spears were being dropped. Shields were clattering against the stone. Quartermaster Koji was yelling orders until his voice went hoarse, but the sheer, paralyzing fear of facing corrupted ice beasts without the Vanguard was completely taking over.
"Quartermaster," I called out, my voice sharp and entirely calm, cutting through the chaos.
Koji stopped yelling. The recruits froze, turning to look at the Warlord's Consort.
I didn't look terrified. I didn't look like a capital lady about to faint. I had my sleeves rolled up, my hair tied back tightly, and I was holding a heavy wooden bucket completely overflowing with coarse rock salt.
