[Manôphazân]

Lan’kâsh emerged from his former headquarters building precisely as the last rays of the sun were absorbed into the western horizon in a great aura of red and yellow. The heat of the day still hung like a woolen blanket on the border town, but a cooler breeze was rising with the approach of night. As expected, Sergeant Benel was in place, along with the Harnen Crossing platoon. A scowling Gimilzôr stood before his own dangerous looking soldiers, and to either side stood the newly formed peasant platoons of Jinan and Frôzhal.

Gimilzôr stepped forward and announced that everyone was prepared to march.

Lan’kâsh scanned the assembled troops for a moment and then said quietly to the man before him, “Gimilzôr, I am glad to have you and your men along on this mission, but not the inclusion of your new recruits, your greens. They are poorly equipped and will likely run at the first sign of the enemy.”

Gimilzôr nodded, grunting an agreement.

Lan'kâsh continued. “Your men, as well as mine, though you think them only merchant patrollers, will see us to victory. But because you bring these settlers, you are responsible for them. Your new corporals are going to need your leadership. They must know that their number one responsibility is to do whatever it takes to have their greens hold the line.”

“Or plug the line,” growled Gimilzôr. “If there is one thing a green is good for, it filling holes in the line."

It was Lan’kâsh’s turn to grunt an agreement. “Have your men put the fear of the Dark Lord in them, because if I see any of them turn in battle, I will crucify them, if they survive.”

He looked at the gathered soldiers again and told Gimilzôr to get them moving.

~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later, 130 soldiers and 50 new recruits crossed the ancient stone bridge that crossed the river Harnen and marched northward into Harondor.