A map lay on the table, held by glass weights. Steven traced a line from the Rift to the bulwark. The Lord-Captain of Alandren, Alaric, stood opposite, clad in mail. Steven made strange contrast; Cavaliers did not wear armor.
“How many?” Steven sighed.
“At least a hundred thousand,” Alaric shook his head.
“You scouts are sure?” Steven met the younger man’s gaze. Alaric nodded. A hundred thousand riftspawn; twenty thousand men at the bulwark. “You have sent to the other Riftlands.”
Alaric set his jaw, “Messengers left a week ago. At best, the closest will reach us in two weeks.”
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