The first light came cold and grey over the pass.
Zekar stood at the edge of the Varnathian line and watched the Imperial camp stir below. They had regrouped through the night, those who had survived yesterday's assault. Their fires still burned in scattered clusters, their banners still fluttered stubbornly in the wind, and their numbers still spread across the valley floor like a dark stain upon the earth.
But they were hurting. He could see it clearly.
Their soldiers moved slower now, cautious in a way they had not been before. Officers shouted orders more sharply. Men glanced over their shoulders when they thought no one was watching.
Yesterday had cost them.
Today would cost more.
"Movement on the left," Ryker murmured beside him, voice quiet but tense. "They're forming up."
Zekar followed his brother's gaze.
