Stanick sighed as he listened, and considered the sullen grey skies above. The elves, dwarves, and men about them now appeared grim and determined. At last, a rare, wintry smiled touched Stanick's features as he considered his old friend, his craggy features a bulwark of rueful valour. "It is in my heart that you would lead your soldiers even down the throat of a dragon, and call it victory, and either you would make it so, leading them in the forefront, or die in the attempt," he said, and found he was unafraid. "Let us go then, and make the Demon King Himself fear us."
Three thousand horses led by a solitary wild bull thundered past the startled goblins, trolls and fell creatures that hauled the heavily laden carts and wagons, the first of which was almost at the second narrows. The horses bore two riders each; foot soldiers, mostly archers, were borne as passengers in order that they would secure the narrow pass. Already, three thousands that remained on foot were rushing to engage the wagon tenders, many of whom were unarmed. The remaining thousand soldiers rushed to secure the narrow bottleneck nearest the east entrance to the Valley of Baruk.
Akaru's eye flashed in momentary surprised anger as the enemy rear-guard executed a defensive manoeuvre with smooth, cold efficiency. Orders were barked, and four arrowhead-shaped phalanxes instantly formed, with narrow gaps between whose purpose Akaru grasped instantly: the formations were designed to force the defenders into the gaps in files, that would then be cut to pieces from both sides!