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. A few thousand ragged warriors
and their tired, dirty families, waiting for the Queen to do
something before the final attack.
Huma, his army spread out on the hills overlooking the
black tower, climbed from the back of the silver dragon he
rode and studied the scene below him, looking for the trap
he knew to be there. The Queen's line of retreat had been
straight, as if this had been her destination.
Glancing to his right, he could see the movement of his
men, the knights on horseback, and the bowmen in front of
them but behind the pikemen, as they formed just below the
crest of the hills. Long, straight lines, marked by colored
flags. The movement of their feet, the pawing of the horses,
stirred the dry soil, creating a choking cloud of dust that
engulfed them like a thick, morning fog. Slowly, their
equipment rattling as the metal pieces struck one another,
they fell into a strict military formation. They were a silent
group, tense and strained, waiting for Huma to order them
forward to the attack.
The scene to the left looked much the same. The men
were moving forward. Their weapons, held at the ready,
flashed in the afternoon sun. The women and children
stayed at the rear of the battle line, setting up their camp and
preparing bandages and splints, preparing to clean up the
battlefield after the fighting
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