Lan's gaze returned to the mounted heads, the poles lined like grim sentinels over the marsh.
"Good," he said. "I want them to."
Southfang March's largest stronghold was gone, its defenders dead or scattered. The resistance was broken.
Lan stood at the water's edge, the swamp behind him and the road to Verdelane ahead. In the dark, the poles along the causeway looked like black fingers clawing at the night sky.
When they moved again, it would be toward richer lands, higher walls, and deeper spoils.
The March had been bled dry.
Now it was Verdelane's turn.
----------
The land changed long before the city walls appeared.
After days of trudging through the March's grey waters and knotted mangroves, the ground began to breathe again. Mud gave way to firm earth, and firm earth to the deep, healthy green of the south.
The contrast was almost as jarring as it were pleasant.
