Borek Ironvault sat on an ammunition crate with a tankard the size of a large warhammer's head cradled in both hands.
"One hour," he grumbled. "One whole hour sitting in a field doing nothing." He took a drink. A long one. The kind that required tilting his entire torso backward and letting gravity do half the work.
"I was given the glorious duty of bringing Elvardia its golden age. I was supposed to be hearing the choir of my field cannons blasting enemy walls into rubble. Instead, I'm sitting on a box, staring at an ice barrier I don't have the permission to shoot at."
When he resurfaced, foam clung to his mustache and his expression hadn't improved.
He looked into the tankard and frowned.
"Doesn't even taste the same anymore." He took another sip. Frowned deeper. "Is it because we're in the human backwaters?"
Thorga folded her arms. "Commander, should the army's leader really be drinking right now?"
Borek looked at her as if she'd questioned the rotation of the planet.
