As scattered cavalry squads continued gathering in Lurens to join the cavalry force and complete their preparations for battle, several birds defying the seasonal patterns came fluttering back from across the Redwater River, bringing intelligence that greatly interested Allen.
It concerned precisely which tribes Bal's messengers had visited to negotiate over Dwarven slaves while Firentis was mustering the army.
From the many sheets of parchment, Allen picked out one that happened to mention a silver Cold-drake, matching what Thar had reported to him.
This was the Easterling tribe that had attacked Thar while he led his people toward the Lonely Mountain. Some of his people had died in battle, while others had been captured, probably around fifty in all.
With a specific target identified, the rest naturally became much easier. This tribe would mark the beginning of the war.
That night, the faintly glowing moon adorned the spring sky and barely illuminated the wasteland where the snow had already melted. By now, the year had reached New Year's Day, the first month.
Because it lay close to the frigid Northern Wastelands, Rhûn at this time of year could not compare with Calenardhon, where the Rohirrim lived, or even Rhovanion along the Running River. There was still no sign of grass sprouting.
Vast patches of black broke up the endless dull yellow of the land. The Easterlings had driven their slaves to gather every usable bit of fuel and fodder nearby and carry it back to the tribe, leaving the landscape like a middle-aged man's head, with a conspicuously different patch on top.
Unless a large force of warriors was organized to protect the slaves, small groups would not venture too far from the tribe into the more distant areas during the bitter winter. No one knew what might lurk