For the first time in three generations and nearly eighty years, the great, tough, gray war drums beat a slow, rhythmic beat that echoed across the grim courtyard. Rain was starting to fall slowly, drearily from the gray sky above. A tinge of red was in the dull clouds, the twilight now overtaking the world of the north.
Gaeljwen looked up at the Vadirska House banner, fluttering half-heartedly in the sky over his head and the heads of his hundreds of fellow warriors. His silvery helmet and armor dripping wet, he grunted and looked straight ahead again as Huscarl General Aaron strode slowly by. Striding easily through the ranks of his men, the general studied them with his experienced eye. Here and there captains and huscarl warriors shouted commands and rapped out encouragement to their battalions, the echoes of men sounding faintly across the courtyard.
"Blast this weather." Next to him in the ranks, Jyonahal muttered. It was a weak muttering, as though even he was far away daydreaming. Gaeljwen wasn't surprised...the world seemed half like a dream all of a sudden. It was as though someone had come to their castle and reported the sky had fallen. One of the Six Spires....fallen? Was the world real anymore?
All of those men gathered there was just as stunned, spurred into action to forget it for the moment rather than ponder it, as though it scared them. The young warrior had no doubt it did many of them. He wasn't entirely sure about it himself.
"...I know it." He replied in a low tone. Thunder rolled somewhere distantly, like a dull bell.
Jyonahal, usually so optimistic and happy-go-lucky, shook his head as though it wearied him.
"How...?"
"I don't know that." Gaeljwen shrugged.
"Silence in the ranks!" A huscarl commander somewhere nearby barked, and both young recruits quickly quieted. Another voice was heard over the dull rain and general dim clanking and clattering of an assembling army, standing at attention that gray, grim evening.
"Carls and huscarls of House Vadirska!" The loud, commanding, strong tones of Huscarl General, Aaron, faintly reached him from the front dais. His strong, tall figure, armored out entirely for war, could be seen vaguely through the sea of men in front of Gaeljwen.
"Heed me! Tonight we have recieved the most dire and impossible news...Kire'falraedis, long protected by this house and one of the six pillars of our Savarica, had fallen into enemy hands." He paused uneasily, worry written across his face. "We know not what enemy."
Murmurs ran through even the disciplined ranks. When they died, Aaron went on. The rain poured over his helmet and streamed gently down his steel armor and fur cloak, dripping off of him as he faced his men grimly.
"We are going to march with all forces there, while our Lady and Countess India, will remain her and rally our lands against this...this threat. But since we know not against what numbers we march, or even what they are, we're going expecting anything and ready for any fight. Kire'falraedis must be recaptured. At. All. Cost. No exceptions. If every man here will die in reclaiming the Fourth of Six Spires, than so be it."
The war drums still beat out a dim, steady tune. Aaron went on.
"We're not sure, but...this is a kingdom-wise crisis. Speed is everything. We will march double time non-stop until we get there, regardless of any obstacles. It will be a hard road, gentlemen of Vadirska." He stopped and looked up at the castle towering above him, and pointed to a high, lone balcony in the east wing, on one of the slender, dark towers of the keep. Many faces looked up with him as he pointed. A flicker of a blue could be seen up there, just barely, looking down on them.
"We'll fight for our Lady and Countess, the Lady India! We'll fight for her house, the House Vadirska, our home and land! And most of all, we'll fight for Savarica and all its people...that and the God who placed us here. May He guide us."
"Amen." Someone near Gaeljwen breathed grimly. The boy didn't note who it was.
Aaron took a deep breath, and scanned the formed columns of men with a sudden practiced, critical commander's gaze. "First column, exit the gateway and march northwest! Second column, prepare to follow suit! Third column, prepare to follow second column! All columns reform on the road, and march northwest! Move!"
And with that, as if on queue, the silent, gray, grim courtyard sprang to life, as men called, shouted, organized, and marched into place. Armor clanked and spears rattled, and a few officers' horses snorted and stamped. Men marched. An air of grim determination settled over them all, the air of an army marching to war.
"God keep them." Countess India, high up on the balcony above, noted with a mixed look of sadness and worry as the men marched out, rank upon rank, file upon file, column upon column, out her gates and northwest. Though by now it was too dark to see them well down below, the sound of their marching could be heard dimly up in the highest tower. House Vadirska was marching.
Sesircas nodded grimly, behind her, leaning on his walking stick as though it was his third leg. "Yes, God keep them. God keep us all." He tacked on almost with a grunt of weariness, more like a wishful thought than any real conviction. Muttering, he turned and slowly hobbled back into the tower room, out of the rain.
The water streaming down through her hair and across her eyes, the countess watched the men file out for a long time, until the last one had exited her gates, and the great metal clang of the portcullis reached her ears, locking them out. The gates themselves closed with a groan and distant boom, and the House of Vadirska was closed. The distant drums could still be heard, disappearing to the northwest. They would march well into the night.
"Come in out of the cold, my lady." Sesircas kindly offered from inside, bringing out a cloak for her, "Your men will do you proud and well...House Vadirska is not to be trifled with." He gave her a smile encouraging smile.
Turning, the countess tried to smile briefly back, and strode wearily inside again. As he placed the old cloak around her shoulders and led her to a chair, he sighed.
"You know, the Council at Ilelphosta is still going to be expecting you in two weeks. And me too, for that matter." He noted wryly as he sat down opposite her, near the large fire on the hearth. It burned and crackled red, a welcome sight against the cold and gray weather.
The countess looked about idly at the room, decorated with furs and luxurious trappings. Tapestries and carvings hung and stood on the walls. "That was before this happened."
Sesircas, the political counselor, looked up abruptly at this remark. A frown was on his face. "My lady, you surely don't think this changes that?! By all accounts, we should leave all the faster to get there...tomorrow if possible! Or someone has to go, its not just important now...its vital! The Council must know this tidings immediately!"
India pondered this. "Yes, I suppose." There was little conviction in her voice. "Forgive me, Sesircas...I am just tired. Yes, we'll go to the Council. As soon as possible."
The frown quickly faded, and was replaced by a gentle smile. "I know, my lady...we're all tired. This is...tiring news. To say the least." He chuckled grimly. "I suppose some rest might do us all good."
"There's hundreds of my vassals and good fighting men who won't get rest tonight." She replied grimly.
"....No, probably not. God keep them."
"God keep us all." The countess replied wearily.
