Broggha stared at his wrist sundial lit by a flaming torch, all
around him darkness. Hosts of mountain fighters milled nearby
generally smelling as bad as they looked. Their wives attended the
muster too, discernible from their menfolk only by the possession of
one full set of teeth between them. An inflated pigskin was being
kicked between the camps with much good natured slapping of backs and
gouging of eyes as the crowd waited. At last Broggha judging the time
right, set flames to the beacon fire. Thousands of voices roared into
the night as the hosts charged....... in every direction with much
beating of chests and bashing of heads. Broggha slapped his forehead
