Two soldiers grunted as they hoisted a heavy stack of timber from the cart, sweat dripping from their brows in the noonday sun.
The makeshift fortifications surrounding the enemy's inner keep were already beginning to take shape—barricades, sharpened stakes, and wooden palisades designed to hold any sudden attempt at a breakout.
It had been two days since Arduronaven fell, and the soldiers of Alpheo's army worked tirelessly, fueled by both orders and their own hunger for profit.
The first soldier, a wiry man with a crooked nose, set his bundle down with a loud thud and straightened his back, groaning. "I swear, if I see another copper coin, I'll spit. Damn peasants didn't have more than a few silvers between them."
