The sun was peak high and indifferent in a cloudless sky on the day the combined host finally crossed the border, treading upon the soil of Yarzat proper.
For the Prince of Habadia, the moment was a triumph. It had taken years of delicate posturing, honeyed threats, and exhausting diplomacy to forge this league.
To see four princes, men who usually shared nothing but mutual distrust, riding together was a sight the world had not witnessed in a century.
Nibadur thought of it a bit like a warm up. He meant for this congregation to last even after the war, of course provided his skills were apt for the task.
It wasn't an easy job, but neither was it impossible, he held enough cards to make it work.
Behind him the strength of such a work spread out for the horizon was swallowed by a sea of banners and a line of men that seemed eternal. Twelve thousand souls. All for one man.
It was a staggering number, a weight of steel that should have crushed anything in its path.
