“That scoundrel!” Cried Knight-Captain Glorifeld, smming his gauntleted fist against the table as he did so.

  Niks had just finished recounting to him the tale of his meeting with the Lord-Mayor Borney, followed by his sudden and rushed departure to Coronton and his ensuing hurried escape from it. The good Ser Glorifeld had stood stoically before him as he absorbed Niks’ tale, his arms crossed, not allowing a hint of emotion to break through the shell of his calm exterior until Niks had drawn the tale to its conclusion. It was only after that point that his anger burst out of him like a tea kettle left boiling on the fire for far too long.

  “Allow me to apprehend this rogue Mayor, my Lord–I and my men shall see it done without fail!” Pleaded Ser Glorifeld, beseechingly putting his hand upon his chestpte just over his heart.

  “As much as I admire your enthusiasm, Knight-Captain, I do not think even the Knights-van der Leigh could take on a whole city, and what’s more, one which has recently been reinforced with an unknown number of brigands, with a force numbering just twenty-four men in total, no matter how well-trained and well-equipped it is.”

  Ser Glorifeld grit his teeth but begrudgingly relented, recognizing the truth in the Count’s words. “Is there truly nothing we could do? You do not currently have any men under your command?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Niks replied. “Aside from the Monster Hunters of the Old Fort who patrol the nds to the West, Petrice has never had need of a standing army. After all, who would even want it in the first pce?”

  The Knight-Captain opened his mouth to speak again, but Niks put up a hand to abate his response before it could even be spoken. “And before you ask: no, the Fmberges would not come at my call. They are apolitical in their nature and extremely reclusive. The Countess, who is one in her own right, has told me as such many times over.”

  Suddenly then a thought came to the young Count. As the two men were currently holding their conversation in the Office of the Countess, Niks only had to reach to one side to dig through one of the stacks of papers sat upon her desk. From there, it was only a few moments of searching until he came upon the thick ledger wherein he had recorded the information about many of his desired reforms for the County.

  He hurriedly flipped through several dozen pages of it until he finally nded upon a particurly brown and crumpled page. Without even a moment’s hesitation he roughly tore it out and proudly held it before himself, his expression lifting into a mischievous grin.

  “Actually, Knight-Captain, as it turns out there is something you and your men could do for me…”

  “My Lord!” Finona greeted Niks with enthusiasm when she noticed him marching over, though she cowered a bit when she saw the Knight-Captain behind him.

  “Miss Finona. Lads.” He addressed her and the rather young group of Thuud vilgers whom she had chosen to accompany her as part of an entourage. “As you all know, the County faces a crisis. I find myself in need of young and ambitious hands, ones who are willing to trust in my vision and follow my instructions. I immediately thought of you all, anomalies that you are amongst the vilge representatives.” As he met each of their eyes with a conspiratorial grin he handed the young Elder a neatly-rolled scroll containing several pages, one which had been freshly sealed with wax just a half-hour prior. Finona just barely held in a giggle at the sight of the poorly-scratched rendition of the Seal of Petrice that Niks had made using the tip of an old, blunted quill while the wax was soft.

  “A-as you are aware I do not have my Seal at the moment…” He muttered, a hot, pink flush of embarrassment crawling up from his neck to his cheeks. “...Just read it, damn you.”

  “Yes, sir–Sorry, sir.” Finona replied, avoiding the glowering eyes the Knight-Captain had trained upon her then. She promptly cracked the wax and unrolled the pages. Her fellows looked on quizzically, as they were unable to understand more than one or two of the words written within apiece. Meanwhile, Finona’s bright and sharp gaze swept back-and-forth over the contents of the page, moving each page to the back of the stack she held as she finished reading them. As she scanned through the final page in particur, her eyes widened, and she briefly looked over at Niks again with wide, shocked eyes before continuing.

  “My Lord this is… I mean, of course. Of course! I-I will need to d-discuss it with my friends-my colleagues, but I am sure that they will agree that this is… wow!”

  Niks grinned at her exuberant reaction. “I suspected that you might feel this way. Keep that, talk it over with your people, and then spread word of it amongst any others you think you might be able to convince. Those who are not too set in their ways.” Finona and her flock all nodded their heads in acknowledgement, and with that, Niks departed.

  After they had put a small distance between them and the group of youngsters, the Knight-Captain gave voice to his thoughts. “I did not expect them to be so… enthusiastic. From what I have witnessed from most Petricians thus far, they are by-and-rge sullen, indifferent, and traditional folk.”

  Niks grinned. “Aye, but Finona and her people are different. They appear to hold a vast appetite for progress, and I suspect, even amongst the various other vilges and towns, others of their generation do as well. They simply do not have the foothold or opportunity to express it that Finona found for herself.”

  Then he stopped and produced another sealed scroll, which was a copy of the one he had given to the group from Thuud, and he handed it to the Knight-Captain. “Now, if you would, please present this to Lady Merida in my stead. I think she should also find it most agreeable. I believe that Stoppridge had already been well on their way towards such a development anyhow, but they might appreciate a more… official amendment, and the added boons which come along with it as well.”

  Ser Glorifeld put a hand to his heart and bowed respectfully. “It shall be done, my Lord!” And with that he made his own departure.

  As Niks watched the other man go he sighed and scratched at the back of his head. He then turned to the rest of the courtyard, where the gathered citizens were now all bustling about as they unloaded and organized the contents of the many wagons, having been offered rewards for their assistance.

  “I hope I am making the right decision, and that this does not lead to more suffering in the long run…” The ambitious young Count mented aloud, yet still only to himself.

  The Sergeant of the Men-at-arms of Coronton shivered in his boots even as he stood there before the gathered force of his many loyal men, holding his back stiff and his arms crossed, and altogether projecting an air of mighty indifference. After a day’s march they finally stood at the opening to that unsettling and unearthly groove which appeared to stretch on forever towards the horizon. It was hard to tell how far it truly went, however, due to the ever-present thick, clinging veil of mist. While foggy weather was nothing new for the people of Petrice, what was truly unnerving about it now was how this particur fog seemed to coalesce only as one approached nearer the entrance to the trench, even while the weather was quite unchanged for anyone who stood to either side of it.

  He could feel the heavy weight of the eyes trained on his back. Young men, loyal men under his charge, looked towards him with unsure expressions, or peered about at their surroundings with clear anxiety and trepidation. He felt the same as them, but he could not show it. He must serve as their pilr, or morale would be sent crashing down with every step they took further Westward.

  “W-we shall set up camp here for the night, I think.” The Sergeant could not help but stammer at first, although he quickly recovered control of himself.

  Calls of acknowledgement promptly sprang up from the lieutenants, and very quickly the nd about them was dotted with groups of tents and modest campfires. His men–few in number as they were– were diligent and competent, most unlike those rough-hewn and unlikeable fellows with whom the Mayor had recently swelled the ranks with. Those men stood in entirely separate Companies with their own Sergeant to lead them, and were supposed to have met up with them here at the same time they arrived, but had apparently encountered some dey. If he were to hazard a guess himself, it was likely due to a severe shortage in discipline.

  Nothing we can do now but wait and rest, I suppose. Perhaps we should be grateful for their bumbling… Thought the Sergeant to himself, shooting one st look of concern down the shaft into the trench.

  Despite the dour setting–or, perhaps, because of it–the Soldiers appeared more merry and lively this night than most. They took the major share of their ale rations at once and made hearty stews with their portions of jerky, adding rootpnts and herbs foraged from the surrounding wilderness As night set in properly outside the glow of their fires the camp became abuzz with chatter.

  Even after several hours had passed, there was still no sign of the Second Company. If they had not yet arrived by the following morning, their orders were to begin down the trench towards the West at first light.

  I suppose I must cut them the barest amount of sck. Their Commanders appear inexperienced, and their number is double our own. Thought the Sergeant. However, that is no real excuse for such unprofessionalism.

  Only once had he met his equal, the Sergeant of the Second Company. He had been a young man whose accent and mannerisms suggested a direct Otkornian descent, much like the other brutes under his command. He was of an average stature, and therefore stood noticeably shorter than most of his men, yet he held himself with the composure of a career soldier. Truthfully, upon meeting his counterpart the Sergeant had been put at ease by his demeanor, but by now it had become painfully clear that it was simply not within the man’s capabilities to instill order in such an unruly band all on his own.

  This feeling must be schadenfreude, I suppose…

  With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, the Sergeant took to patrolling between the tents, keeping a careful eye on everything to ensure his own men did not go overboard with their drink. Plenty of ds with happy, reddened faces raised their tankards with cheers to his good name as he passed them by, which he returned with a raised hand and a tight smile that just barely masked his anxiety.

  Strangely, the Sergeant found he could not turn his attention away from the opening to that ominous trench for very long before turning back to look at it again. It felt as though within it, beyond the fog, there was someone watching him from just out of sight. Nonetheless, he had a duty to maintain the wellbeing of his men, and so he did his best to ignore this perturbing feeling.

  After the evening’s ‘drinking party’--for ck of a better term–began winding down, and the men had tucked themselves within their bedrolls in as comfortable a fashion as they could atop the hard ground, the Sergeant finally drew his own bnket up to his chin and y still with his eyes shut, although could not fall asleep. For as he rested there, the feeling of someone staring at him from the trench persisted for more than an hour, and his body would not let him fall into so vulnerable a state as sleep because of it.

  Suddenly his instincts fred in warning and a rush of abject terror flooded his mind. Whatever had been watching him up until this moment was now right on top of him, leering down over his bed! He did not know how he knew this to be true, but he felt a harrowing certainty that if he was to open his eyes and look upon whatever it was that stalked him, it would mean his doom!

  So the Sergeant y unmoving, pretending to sleep, yet with his true status betrayed by the cold and violent shaking of his body as he was overtaken with an all-encompassing terror. For whatever reason, although it surely knew that he was awake and aware of its presence, it made no move to harm him in any way, almost as if it needed its presence acknowledged in order to proceed with its assault.

  Crack!

  From somewhere further off, what sounded like twenty meters or so, some poor fool had stepped upon a dry branch! Just as suddenly as it had appeared, that feeling of attention was gone. The horrible… thing was gone, and after whatever fresh prey had just caught its attention!

  A feeling of absolute weariness overtook him then. He knew not how long he had id there shaking in fright–it could have been a minute or it might have sted the entire night. Perception of time had been the first thing to leave him after he’d closed his eyes.

  The sudden ck of adrenaline sapped whatever of his strength was left, and he quickly fell into an uneasy slumber. In his dreams, he saw out of many eyes as he stared down upon the sleeping faces of his men. He could see every one of them individually at the same time, despite the fact that there were dozens of them present in the camp. Under his gaze many of them perspired heavily and shook with fright, just as he had done. Then, although he looked through so many eyes at once that he felt overwhelmed with everything he could see, he found his attention drawn to one particur viewpoint, wherein he watched a deer gallop as fast as its hooves would carry it, while he somehow kept perfect pace with the creature.

  Hungry. He thought to himself, and he reached out a hand that was much too rge and bony to pluck the creature up even as it fruitlessly attempted to flee–

  –Then he awoke. His clothing and bedroll were still damp with sweat around him, causing him to shiver. As he raised his head and looked about, he confirmed that he was still in the camp, and he also noticed the heads of many others peering around from inside their shoddy tents along with him.

  Thinking no more deeply into his night-terrors and his strange dream, the Sergeant rose from his spot and went about ordering the cleanup of the camp and preparations for the day’s march, once again putting on an unbothered air. His men attempted to act nonchant as well, but he could tell that they were much relieved and grateful as they witnessed his confidence, for something had spooked them all terribly during the night. There was, however, still no sign of Second Company, and first light had long since broken over the mountaintops. Now dutifully stood in their rows, the lieutenants at his back looked to him for their orders. As the Sergeant stared once more down the mouth of that eerie trench he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Let us march… j-just off to the right. Not down the middle, shall we?”