Garrok heard the grinding from the throne room.
The warchief sat on the Threian throne with the specific awareness that the sound he was hearing was not the sound of his army's victory continuing. The sound was the sound of his army's victory being contested by a force whose presence inside the capital's walls the victory's celebration had failed to detect and whose advance through the capital's streets the celebration's impairment had failed to prevent.
The sound was the grinding. The deep, rhythmic percussion of two thousand boots striking cobblestones in synchronization, the percussion underlaid by the sustained wet sound that spear points produced when the spear points found flesh at the cadence that the spear wall's advance dictated. The sound carried through the palace's stone corridors and through the throne room's doors and into the space where the warchief sat and the sound told the warchief the specific thing that the sound told.
