Dawn broke over the Winters camp with the sound of war horns.
For the ninth consecutive day, the orcs came.
Countess Aliyah Winters stood atop the command platform, her frostforged armor gleaming in the early light, her eyes tracking the mass of green-skinned warriors emerging from the tree line two hundred yards distant. Behind her, officers relayed orders in calm, practiced voices. Below, soldiers moved to their positions with the disciplined efficiency of veterans who had performed this same routine every morning for over a week.
"Numbers?" she asked, her voice carrying just enough to reach her senior officers.
Captain Matthias, her chief scout, squinted through a brass spyglass. "Estimate three to four hundred this time, my lady. Mixed clans by the look of their banners. No unified formation."
