Thread: Spoils of War (DareToDream and Nightingale)

Marcus was the first to cross the threshold into the part of town that had been set aside for Narvashal and he quickly scanned the perimeter of their encampment, looking for anything of immediate concern. Their space had been well marked by the citys troops, sporting the kingdoms Crest of Arms at each corner of the encampment, and appeared to be safe enough at first glance. He stepped aside then, letting his troops file past, counting heads as they did. The men knew their jobs well and they spread out along the perimeter with ease, their wary gazes facing out into the town, fully prepared to take on any threat that might come from those quarters. He stayed where he was, his own gaze traveling everywhere, always leery, always suspicious. There were many kingdoms in the city now, all there for the Festival, and any one of them could be planning chaos on his camp. Once the High Lord was safely in the camp, Marcus began giving out orders, watching as the camp began to unfold around him, soldiers and civilians moving at a brisk pace to get all of the tents set up and the rest of the encampment secured. Posts were brought out almost immediately and a picket fence was built along the sides of the perimeter, giving the camp a little extra security. It wouldnt stop an all out assault but it would any attempt to breach the camp that much harder, giving his men precious time to react if necessary. Looking around at the buildings that surrounded them, he barked out a few more orders, sending archers to the roof tops, where they would rotate in shifts, providing coverage from the air. When he was finally satisfied that their camp was as secure as it could get with troops on full alert, he began to wander the grounds, making sure that all the necessities that went into running a camp were moving along smoothly too. The cook already had a meal cooking and the groomsmen were in the process of brushing down the cavalrys horses. Nodding at each station he passed, he finally made his way to the High Lords tent, saluting the two guards standing in front of it before pushing through the flap. The High Lord was sitting in a chair, reading some correspondence, when Marcus showed up. He glanced up and nodded at the High Knight, motioning for him to take a seat. Welcome, Marcus he said as he looked up from the papers. You made good time bringing us here and the men seem on high alert. He set the papers down then and stood, stretching. Was that the Greymere camp we passed on the way in? The question sounded innocent enough but Marcus knew better. Standing at attention, he gave a curt nod. Yes, youre Highness. We passed them within an hour of entering the city. They were on full alert and heavily armed. Well aware of our presence, as we were of theirs. He paused then to glance around the tent for a moment, his eyes coming to rest on the High Lords sword, propped against a trunk still in its scabbard. The weapon had never been raised in battle, so far as Marcus knew, and for the first time in a while, he gave thought to the needless bloodshed that occurred at this mans hands. Perhaps it was that thought that empowered him, giving him the strength to ask what he did next. Bringing his gaze back to the High Lords again, Marcus continued speaking. The Festival will be a time of peace for both Kingdoms, your Highness. Perhaps it would be a good time to discuss a permanent truce? The minute the words were out of his mouth, the High Lords gaze snapped onto him, his eyes narrowed in obvious anger. The air inside the tent began to stagnate, almost as if the High Lord controlled it, becoming malevolent and charged. Marcus held his ground, his gaze locking with the High Lords, prepared for whatever backlash came. After a few moments, the High Lord spoke, his hand rising and pointing at Marcus. Those could be considered words of treason, High Knight. Be careful what you speak while in my presence..or even outside it. With that, the High Lord turned his back on Marcus, making it clear that the soldier was dismissed. A sharp salute later, Marcus had exited the tent, meeting the eyes of the two guards who had no doubt overheard the conversation. Neither man dare say a word of it though, fear of both the High Knight and the High Lord obvious on their faces. Anger reverberated through his body as he left the tent, leaving his limbs twitching in anticipation he did not understand why the High Lord would not consider peace. The war was tearing both kingdoms apart from the inside out, decimating their citizens and destroying families. Marcuss own family had been killed in the fighting, his only sister raped by the enemy soldiers before having her throat slashed. He had seen enough death and destruction to last him a lifetime yet the High Lord refused to budge. War was the only option to that man and, not for the first time, Marcus wondered if it was personal. The very notion that there were spys within the Narvashal camp also surprised him. With a shake of his head, he pushed those thoughts from his mind and grabbed a horse from the stables and two cavalry guards, riding out of the camp at a gallop. They needed to scout the town, to learn the layout of the city, and then was as good a time as any. Two hours later, Marcus had the layout of the city mapped in his head and had stopped at the edge of a field to let the horses graze. Voices floated to him on the wind and he looked up, noticing a young woman and an older man in the distance. He let his gaze wander over them for a moment before they snapped back to the woman, his eyes widening. She was the beauty from the Greymere camp. Though he knew he should look away, he found that he couldnt the pull that he felt towards her was simply that strong and that surprisedand scared.him. Who was she and why was he fascinated with her? They were questions without answers unfortunately.