Esbin sat in his tent on several rugs piled atop the lumpy plains grass. It was still too hard.

He secretly despised the war. The thought of bloody bodies lying everywhere disgusted him. Yet the energy inside the army camp was invigorating. The efficiency with which they set up camps, dished out food, and even washed was satisfying and made him almost comfortable.

He sat looking over maps of the woods and foothills. His spies had told him they were training the dragon in a secret location somewhere. He was trying to guess where.

The problem was, however, that he did not have a mind for army strategy, but when the Commander came to his tent, he wanted to sound intelligent. He wanted to know the perfect spot for hiding a dragon and anticipate Perceval’s next move.

“Esbin, sir?” A voice called from outside.
“Come in!” Esbin tried to sound authoritative.
“The armies to the west have retreated, sir. They are encamped a day’s journey closer to the ring fortress than the original camp, with only 40 men left.”