Varis stepped over the shattered carcass of a warhorse. The jagged obsidian glass crunched loudly beneath his thin leather boots. Ten thousand Valorian conscripts followed him in a disorganized mass. They marched in a tight square formation toward the mouth of the Serpent Pass. The smell of copper and dead animals filled the valley and made the starving men gag.
The silver armor they wore felt like a cruel joke. The magical enchantments had faded the previous night when Trent drained his treasury. The plates no longer projected blinding light to intimidate their enemies. The gear was nothing more than dull heavy iron that restricted their breathing and pulled their exhausted shoulders down.
Jarek dragged his boots across the volcanic rock. The young conscript wheezed with every step. He
