The troops were assembled below the tallest tower of Imlad Balchorth, yet Aphar was not entirely pleased. Only five hundred? He glared at the Iron Crown priest who stood at his side.
"It is not enough. I will have to march through many fortified places to reach the one I seek, I will need at least this many to accomplish my task at the end of it."
"Oh, you will have many more....my lord has commanded it." a shadowed smile appeared beneath the red cowl.
"How? And where are they? Must I wait longer?"
"There is no need to delay. They will be added to your number as you win them."
"Win them? I go to battle, not to tourney. I must face the she-elf with at least this many soldiers living..."
The smile beneath the cowl deepened considerably, "Who said these soldiers were living? The dead breed the dead, so my lord has commanded..."
Aphar glanced from the priest to the men below.
"Then we march."
And looking away for a brief moment, he shuddered...
