Before dawn, Wind's Breath Keep was shrouded in an eerie silence. The eastern sky had just begun to pale, and the defenders on the walls leaned against the crenellations, their eyelids as heavy as lead.
Yulgar leaned beside the arrow slit, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the wilderness outside the city as it gradually came into view.
His rough fingers unconsciously rubbed the fresh marks on the stone bricks—the groove left when a Solid Shot had grazed past the previous night. Brock slumped at his feet, the young orc warrior hugging his battle-axe as he yawned incessantly.
The clatter of metal came from beneath the wall. Several laborers were dragging a waterwheel around, distributing black bread and weak ale to the defenders. When Yulgar took a wooden cup, he noticed that his hand was trembling slightly—the aftereffect of a night spent wound tight. The ale had long since lost its foam, and it tasted bitter, like rust.
In the morning mist, the bell tower in the inner city struck five times, but the tolling sounded unusually muffled, as though it had come from the bottom of distant waters.
Yulgar saw the knights of House Bradley inspecting the city defenses. The captain who had reprimanded him the night before now wore two dark circles beneath his eyes, and his gleaming breastplate was covered in blackened stains.
Brock suddenly nudged his arm guard and handed him half a hardened loaf. As Yulgar took it, he noticed that blood scabs from carrying the wounded the previous night were still embedded beneath the young warrior's fingernails. They chewed in silence, and neither of them mentioned the gold coins scattered outside the city.
The eastern sky gradually brightened, but everyone knew this brief calm was merely the breath before the storm.
The Crystal Radiance Legion