Morning light struggled through the lingering smoke, staining the land outside Carnford City—land that had only just changed hands—a sickly gray-yellow. Harald stepped onto the ruined outer earthen wall of Carnford, won by the lives of countless soldiers under his command, his boots sinking into mud still warm and soaked with blood.
The walltop was a scene of utter devastation. Snapped spears, shattered shields, scattered shot, charred timber, and the countless overlapping corpses of soldiers from both sides together formed the footnote to this "victory."
The air was thick with the mingled stench of blood, scorched flesh, and gunpowder smoke, enough to turn one's stomach.
Under their officers' barking orders, the surviving Sauron soldiers numbly cleared the battlefield, throwing their comrades' bodies from the wall or piling up the remains of Carnford's defenders for burning. Now and then, the faint groans of the dying could still be heard, but they were swiftly cut short by the sound of a finishing blow.
Harald paid none of it any mind. His gaze passed over the earthen wall's narrow crest beneath his feet—only a few meters wide, and only just seized—and fixed itself farther ahead.
About fifty paces away lay a broad, deep moat, its bottom glinting with cold light.
Beyond the moat, Carnford's main city wall towered high, its more than ten-meter-tall body built from enormous dressed stones. Its surface was dotted with firing slits, casting cold shadows in the morning light.
The wall did not run in a straight line. At intervals, sturdy bastions jutted out abruptly like the savage fangs of some colossal beast, glaring down in menace. Figures could be faintly seen moving atop the walls, banners fluttering, while the muzzles of Cannons protruded from behind the battlements, silently aimed this way.
This new defensive system, stronger and deadlier