The Camp

They were children. Some of them might have been nearing forty, but they had never seen even a skirmish. The rift had been silent for too long, they had gone soft. A soft riftlander was still a riftlander, not so soft as those shielded from chaos as in the west. Most of the troops had arms and armor from their lord’s cache, leather and mail. Their weapons were worn, but well kept. The knights, mounted in heavy plate and mail, mingled with footmen of their house. Steven sighed. A great many of these men and women would not see tomorrow.