Herds of goats grazed on the grasses clinging to the hillside, watching the visitors with indifference. The village itself could house perhaps three or four hundred people. A fortified manor house and a domed church stood at one side of the village, and a low stone wall encircled the entire top of the hill.Morsen was a strong place. Not as strong as the ruined castle in the Great Southern Forest, and certainly not as strong as Castle Cravenlock, but strong nonetheless. A hundred determined men could hold the village against a powerful foe.An excellent place to surprise and destroy Corvad and his Malrags. Mazael's men, along with Gerald's and Kjalmir's, reined up at the foot of the hill. “A good place to defend,” said Kjalmir, scratching at his beard. “I would not want to assault it, that much is certain. Those walls are shorter than I might like, but thick. Aye, give me some doughty lads, and we could hold it against half the Malrags of the Great Northern Waste.”“Thick those walls may be,”
