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toward the foothills that spanned both
territories.
Thousands. Five, ten, fifteen thousand.
More.
Again and again, she stumbled on counting.
Twenty, thirty.
Lysandra rose higher into the sky. Higher,
because winged ilken flew with them, soaring
low over the black-armored troops,
monitoring all that passed below.
Forty. Fifty.
Fifty thousand troops, overseen by ilken.
And amongst them, on horseback, rode
beautiful-faced young men. Black collars at
their throats, above their armor.
Valg princes. Five in total, each
commanding a legion.
Lysandra counted the force again. Thrice.
Fifty thousand troops. Against the twenty-
five thousand they had gathered.