The two scouts lucky enough to make it back were supported by their comrades as they staggered toward Roderick.
Their faces were smeared with their companions' blood and mud, their chests heaving violently. The terror of being hunted still lingered in their eyes, along with the immense shock of watching their comrades die beneath thrown spears.
One of them had trembling lips, his voice warped by fear and lingering dread as he blurted out incoherently, "C-Captain! The Sauron... there are thousands upon thousands of them! They're all over the mountains and plains! We'd barely slipped past that ravine ahead when we ran straight into their vanguard cavalry! Hans and the others... Hans, he..."
The words "thousands upon thousands" made Roderick's heart tighten, but as a commander, he immediately forced himself to calm down. Such vague reports, exaggerated by panic, held no practical value on the battlefield; if anything, they could shake morale.
He took a deep breath, suppressing both his grief for the fallen soldiers and his anxiety over the enemy situation. Stepping forward, he gave the two scouts a firm pat on the shoulder, his strength steady as he tried to pass some of that calm on to them.
"Steady yourselves, brothers. Catch your breath and speak slowly. You are scouts—the army's eyes—not rabbits scared out of their wits. From now on, report what you see. Hundreds means hundreds. Thousands means thousands. Leave 'thousands upon thousands' to the bards. Tell me: how many organized formations did you see? Roughly how many banners? Were they mainly cavalry or infantry?"
Roderick's calm manner and precise questions were like a bucket of icy water, helping the two terrified scouts regain a little of their senses. They exchanged a glance and struggled to recall that brief, horrifying encounter.
After a moment, one of