On the fourth day of the new phase, Khao'khen sent the entire Horde forward.
Not to attack. To sing.
Eight thousand warriors advanced from Millbridge in full formation at dawn, the column moving north on the valley road at the standard march pace, shields positioned, weapons secured, the Snarling Wolf at the column's head. They advanced to the three-mile mark, the position where the combined force's forward pickets could observe them clearly and where the combined force's main body, encamped at the valley's northern approach, could hear them.
And then the column stopped, and the column sang.
The song was the Horde's marching chant, the deep rhythmic cadence that the Ironmaw tradition provided, adapted by warriors who had been fighting together for three months into something that was both military and personal, the sound of an army that knew its own voice and used it.
