Rhys takes off towards Threshold. About a mile from the causeway, the mystic is alerted by faint sounds from the undergrowth; over a score of goblins are crouched in the brush on either side of the road, armed and watching the road with ill-intent. As with the other goblins, many have the shriveled heads of their enemies dangling from their belts. One goblin bears a standard, festooned with at least a dozen grisly trophies.
At the causeway, two orc heads, freshly taken, are on spears in the middle of the village. He counts 17 orcs with the blood-stained mouths; an additional dozen or so orcs stride amongst them with the air of conquerors. These new orcs have cascades of ravens feathers woven into their matted hair. It appears as if the orcs stationed here have undergone a change in management.
On the other side of the river, the besieging armies have consolidated somewhat; large groups have massed before the gates of Threshold and the Keep. Savage drumbeats and the shrill call of horns assail Rhys's ears.