Robert rode at the head of the vanguard, his gloved hands tightening around the reins as the familiar weight of command settled onto his shoulders. It had been years since he had led men in war—true war.
The last time he had been at the forefront of an army, it had been under the banner of Prince Arkawatt. The memory felt like something from another life. Back then, he had been surrounded by knights, men of noble blood and rigid discipline, not the band of sellswords that now followed behind him like a pack of half-tamed wolves.
Seven hundred mercenaries, bought with the temple's silver, rode and marched behind him. He had paid careful attention to scouting ahead, ensuring there were no surprises on the road, refusing to repeat the mistake of Lord Ormund, who had ridden blind into an ambush and lost everything.
