The screams filled the air, mingling with the grim sight of enemy archers retreating in disarray. Some lay motionless where they had fallen, lifeless forms scattered across the battlefield. Others crawled feebly toward the safety of their lines, their movements slow and desperate, like worms writhing in the dirt after a heavy rainstorm, ready to be stepped on over by the heels of the men above them.
Inor's gaze shifted upward to the architects of this music that filled his ears —a group of one hundred women, their slings whirling overhead in perfect unison before unleashing a deadly rain of stones onto the enemy. Some of them had lost husbands and sons in the previous night, as such their slings were given extra strength
