As Tovrunn's awareness swept away high above the camp Corson and Erron (why the man had chosen to hang back wasn't clear) were both left with little to do but wait. It had been a long time since he'd endured the tedium of sentry duty, fighting to remain attentive to nothing at all was one of the truest tests of a good soldier.
The sun was all but gone and the night was darkest after dusk and before dawn, but the orderless squire couldn't just switch off his instinct and so he considered the battle to come. These men knew that they outnumbered their foe, and that might make a force complacent, but they'd also been beaten by a lesser force on this very border a mere seven years ago, and the camp seemed watchful. Tense even. The elites weren't holding the perimeter then, nor the mercenaries. If the veterans were being held back that suggested a prominent commander who needed protection.
He focused on a group of unmounted sentries who were watching the road. He could just make out maybe six armed men and women, young, in full armour with bows strung. Resting a strung bow was bad for the weapon's power. That meant they were ready. Even expecting attack. But even a young soldier wouldn't fear the night without some cause. Was it Ruornil's wrath that made them so watchful? Or something else?
Corson scanned the surrounding hills. Rough country, grassy, full of shallow gullies and skewed boulders. Plenty of places to hide. If he were a Medoerean scout he'd be in those hills the moment an opportunity arose. An opportunity, perhaps like a party of strangers riding straight up to the camp... And what might he do with such cover? Taint their water? Scare their mounts? He'd make them put off their attack by a day, two, more time to reinforce their defences and pray for reinforcement...
Someone was out there right now, watching them. Corson was suddenly certain of it. But could he turn that certainty to their advantage should the need arise? That was harder to know.