The moon hung high in the night sky, its pale light spilling over the hills like a silver veil. The enemy force, as anticipated, had pushed themselves to exhaustion, marching relentlessly to reach the village they believed would be the next target of the raiders, day and night they marched in order to reach it before the enemy
From his vantage point on a ridge, Egil could see their encampment nestled in the shallow valley below. Just as his scouts had reported: no defensive structures, no proper watch rotations—just tents haphazardly nailed into the ground.
It's really too easy...
He turned slightly, his sharp eyes catching the gleam of polished armor amidst the shadows. Sir Mereth had come after all. The "High Buffoon," as Egil had privately christened him, had brought his knights along, their golden finery and stiff demeanor at odds with the more rugged and practical appearance of Egil's riders.
