Hakon studied the rolling Vale of York with eyes red and itching from fatigue and dust. Before him, the Vale"s vast fields of grain shifted and swayed in the orange afternoon light like the undulating current of a golden ocean. The air hung heavy and pungent with the earthy aromas of autumn and the unmistakable stench of far-off fires.
He lifted his eyes to scan the horizon for signs of trouble, but saw none. Somewhere close, the army of Constantine trampled and marred the autumnal beauty of York"s kingdom. For almost a fortnight they had terrorized the surrounding countryside, leaving York unscathed and unmolested. Like cowards, they slithered through the fields and contented themselves on the spoils of Engla-lond"s defenseless tuns.
Hakon"s face wrinkled in disgust at the fresh memory
