by Belinda Roddie As she looked across the battle lines at the invading horde of Lord Darkmoor, she couldn't help but be glad that, while cruel, vile, and destructive, the enemy was honest, unlike her fellow generals. When he said he would send ten thousand of his beastly men to battle, he meant it, unlike someone like General Houndstooth, who claimed that he would lead five thousand men to refuge but wound up abandoning a good half of those troops in hostile territory. That, and when Darkmoor talked, each word he let loose from his clustered rows of large tooth was something he actually believed in, or committed to doing. Darkmoor was a doer, not a sayer. General Kagrian patted down the collar of her uniform, which had becomesimultaneously rumpled and stiff in the stormy weather. Soon, the clattering noise of sword upon sword, axe upon axe, would fill the air. Atop her horse, Bloodeye (General Astakon had claimed the steed's name was Nectarine, which Kagrian ignored), she ...
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