Schroeder stepped forward. "Next, I must report the orcs' movements to you!"
The air in the study suddenly froze.
The Chief of Staff pressed his finger hard against a spot on the map. "The latest intelligence!" The old knight's voice was grave. "The orc army has already filled the entire Nerodan Corridor."
He pulled out a charcoal pencil and drew a circle around the area representing the Black Stone Plain. "Reliable reports indicate that Alba's Golden Royal Tent... has already moved here."
Victor shot to his feet. The chair legs scraped across the floor with a jarring screech, and his eyes reddened with fury. "Those beasts dare come again?"
The adjutant's fist slammed onto the table, sending ripples through the inkpot. "Wasn't the lesson they received on the Blackstone Plains last time deep enough?"
Schroeder looked at him. "What we defeated last time was merely a detached force from the orcs' westward advance, not their main army. Clearly, Great Chieftain believes it was nothing more than an accident—or perhaps a minor disturbance."
Paul stared at the route marked in pencil on the map, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the newly grown stubble on his chin.
His long life in an alternate plane had made the threat of war in the real world seem somewhat unreal, but the tense atmosphere filling the study was awakening the vigilance buried deep in his bones.
"My intelligence corroborates the Chief of Staff's. This invasion will be larger than the last."
Cecil handed over a roll of paper from the shadows. It was densely covered with records of the orc tribes gathering. "According to the reports sent back from the grasslands, at least twenty clans have answered Alba's call and sworn to follow the Royal Tent into battle."
The twilight outside deepened gradually. The last rays