The cliffs of Silver Moon Canyon glowed with a cold light in the dusk, like two rows of silent giants looking down at the valley bottom. The wind stirred up the gravel and dead grass, making a whining sound, and blew over the worn leather armor on Chu Dong's body. He stood on a raised rock and scanned the sparse array below. Five hundred tired human soldiers, their armors damaged and their faces stained with dust and wet sweat, lined up in the narrow open space at the bottom of the valley, tightly holding the spears and shields in their hands. The air smelled of rust, sweat and a tight, almost frozen silence. Everyone knew that the three thousand forwards of the elves, the assault force known for their swiftness and precise archery, were like a silent tide, approaching quickly from the other end of the canyon.
