Flint's vanguard division advanced toward the timber palisades, its bronze-edged shields locked across the narrow western valley approach.
Two hundred professional infantrymen in lacquered armor marched behind a wall of tall bronze-edged shields.
The noble commander rode an armored destrier, sneering contemptuously as he pointed his saber toward the timber palisades.
"Look at those filthy dirt-scratchers shivering behind their logs!" the noble officer laughed, his voice carrying across the ravine.
"Charge the barricade, trample their wagons, and butcher every peasant who holds a spear!"
"Three gold coins for the first man who plants the duke's banner on their command post!" the officer shouted to his men.
"Show these runaway farm hands that imperial nobility rules this continent by right of blood and steel!"
The noble retainers surged forward with a confident roar, expecting terrified commoners to break ranks and flee into the forest.
