31
In the large open courtyard within the castle walls of Sontair, soldiers struck and parried, stepping back and forth through the training regime that was becoming so familiar to them all. They had been drilling for weeks now, their muscles aching, sweat dripping down their faces as they moved through the motions. Ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day, more than any of them ever expected to have to perform when they first signed up for duty. Yet none complained. The deep grooves cut into the high stone walls where the gloomclaw had perched gave each of them a daily reminder.
They would not be caught out again. Next time, they would be ready.
The clash of steel and grunts of effort rang out through the darkening dusk, now and then a human voice calling out a word of correction or encourage
