I just never get used to it, the young chieftain of the Voghondai tribe thought as he made his way toward the royal tent, where the war prince awaited.
Two days of marching had brought him and his warriors to the heart of the Royal Army's encampment, sprawled just outside the capital's walls.
As his feet pressed against the dirt, his sharp eyes swept across the camp, taking in the disciplined figures clad in the white and black wool of the White Army. These soldiers—Alpheo's chosen elite, his shields , his steel—were the only force permitted in the inner sanctum of the encampment, where their commander and his generals resided.
It was not the first time the chieftain had witnessed the might of the army that had secured Alpheo's rule, nor the men who wielded it.
