![]() ![]() ![]() When the war was last this close to Tomakul, there had been no machines, just foot soldiers and cavalry only the qadir's closest advisors knew what a dragon engine was, no one had seen an avenger, and Farid hadn't yet been born. Each trench Farid's unit had retreated to had been older, shallower, and found in greater disrepair. Every illusion he had of glory, honor, and adventure was ground to pulpy meal, pressed into the mud along with honor and humanity. Life on the Mardun front was cold and boring until it wasn't.įarid's war had been one year-long walk home with mechanized death at his back and pestilence where he slept. ![]() But all that was a year and miles behind him, abandoned after the Argivians and their allies began their counterattack. Bunkers that hid heavy bolt-throwers, subterranean hospitals and mess halls, weather-sealed bunks that were lit and warmed by smokeless powerstones. Down where the Mardun river bordered Kroog, they had trench lines reinforced with squat stone towers. Their trench neared two decades old, a relic of the early war expanded into something resembling the great earthworks Farid had seen during the retreat out of the trans-Mardun territories of Yotia. ![]()
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