Within the Sauron army's formation, the heavy drumbeats that heralded death's advance rumbled once more. This time, what appeared was a disorderly force, low in morale and equipped with a motley assortment of weapons.
They were the "Goldflower Puppet Army," composed mainly of surrendered remnants of the Goldflower Kingdom's Border Army and northern slaves plundered over the years.
Sauron's elite troops had suffered grievous casualties and taken a blow to their morale in the previous assault. Harald had no choice but to push these cannon fodder—trained for an entire winter yet never truly tested by blood and fire—onto the frontline, using their lives to wear down Carnford's defenders' dwindling ammunition and strength.
"Forward! You cowards! For the Great Chieftain's reward! Anyone who retreats dies!"
The crude roars of the Sauron supervisory team and their flashing scimitars forced these pale-faced, terrified puppet soldiers into a poorly ordered square of spears, which began slowly advancing toward Carnford's position.
The forest of spears swayed slightly in the chilly early-spring wind, reflecting the dim daylight, yet carrying the fragile air of an empty show of strength.
The road was narrow and rugged, with shrubs and loose rocks on either side.
Most of the puppet army's frontage had no choice but to crowd onto the uneven road. The terrain naturally split the formation apart, slowing their advance to a crawl. Soldiers stumbled through deep and shallow footing alike, constantly tripping or colliding with one another; from the very beginning, their ranks could hardly be called orderly.
When the first square finally shuffled into two hundred paces, it was forced to halt and reorganize, trying to restore order to its already scattered ranks. That pause gave the four-pound cannons atop the fort a perfect opportunity.
Boom! Boom!
Two solid iron cannonballs came whistling in close succession,