Jagged obsidian rock tore through the thin leather soles of the Valorian infantry boots. Varis marched at the front of the broken column and struggled to keep his own balance on the slick volcanic glass. The commander wore the silver armor of the king but the metal felt like a coffin. The magical enchantments had died the previous night when the royal treasury hit zero. The plates no longer projected blinding light or reduced the physical burden of the iron.
"Keep the line straight," Varis shouted. He turned around and tried to wave his men forward. "Pick up your feet. You are tripping over your own weapons."
The fifteen thousand conscripts did not listen. They shuffled across the black plain in a disorganized mob. Men dropped their spears to massage cramped thighs. A soldier named Jarek
