The Golden Warriors slowed their approach to a walk as they entered the thickest part of the forest. Morningstars, lethal spiked balls dangling on chains, hung loose in anticipation. Every trooper felt it. Battle was about to be joined. The forest had grown deathly quiet. Even the wind stopped blowing. The Golden Warriors knew all too well the tactics of the former Aragothian army. They also knew that the advantage would remain theirs, so long as the troop remained mounted.
Patting his horse’s neck in reassurance, more for his own sanity than for the horse, Aron lifted the face piece on his helmet. He swore he spotted the glitter of gold dangling from distant trees. Perhaps he was tired, allowing fatigue to influence his mind. Mistakes were commonplace in military operations. He stopped his horse and gestured Amean forward. Together they stared into the deceiving forest. Pale rays of sunlight threw light where otherwise dark would be, while casting shadows into the visible world.
“I may be old, and a bit of a fool, but that looks like armor,” Amean said, without humor.
Aron closed his eyes. His worst fears were being realized and now collided with the quiet urges of sleep already taunting him. “I feared this. Get five men to come with me. I don’t want the rest of the troop seeing this.”