The last of the smoke drifted away to leave Malick and his forces clearly visible. She hurried to the shelter of the damaged tree. The sight of the full army took her breath. Row upon row, weapons in their hands, hair whipping in the wind, ancient faces set in cold determination. She tried to count the heads and stopped at fifty. Their years hung over them like an oppressive cloud, and their resolve burned. What Malick had assembled wasn't an army. It was an annihilation ...