They came with the dawn. The relentless march of the Rending's forces. They stretched from horizon to horizon. Every surviving man, woman, and child in the traitor kingdoms must have been conscripted into the army.
Despite their size, we were well prepared to meet them.
The Tumen's soldiers, both chosen and not, stood at attention, in their formations. The scouts had returned, and joined their regiments.
The black calvalry stoood in perfect silence. These were no normal horses.
A silence settled in the ranks.
And then a hymn.
A battle hymn that started from everywhere at once began to swell in the army.
I didn't know the words. It was in Duhiran, but anyone that's ever stood on a battlefield knew this hymn. A prayer to the gods of battle. A prayer for their cause. A prayer for their souls.
The song swelled as though the very desert itself sang with them. I wouldn't be surprised if it did.
