His lips were so parched that he could hardly push the words out. After swallowing several times, he managed to rasp, “The enemy presses upon us! Lord Taranath says a regiment at least!”

A regiment. Two thousand minotaurs.

Exhaustion weighed on Kerian like a thick, heavy cloak. She still commanded almost eight thousand elves, but the enemy was well-supplied and fresh. Her elves were all but spent.

Her officers collected around her. She questioned Hytanthas openly for everyone to hear. This was how the Lioness led, not from some lofty position, but as a comrade among equals. For this and other reasons, she was respected by her warriors almost to the point of adulation.

According to young Ambrodel the horned enemy was coming straight on, in battle array.

An elf, his sword arm in a sling, exclaimed, “Afoot? Perhaps we could just ride away from them!”

“Ride where?” said another injured officer. “The only thing in front of us is wasteland!”

“That’s what they want,” the Lioness said. Absently, she stroked Eagle Eye’s feathered neck. “To drive us out and let the desert kill us.”

“Let’s stand and fight, then!” said the first elf. Others, despite their hurts, loudly seconded this declaration.

Kerian shook her head. Even if they managed to wipe out the attackers, they’d lose half their strength in the battle. Each and every warrior was precious these days. Expelled from their homelands, the elves had only the resources they’d been able to carry with them. Horses and trained fighters were more valuable than any amount of steel or precious jewels.