The Kingdom of Liticea: The War in the Westland

Chapter Three: The Siege of Raingard

Another day has come. 

Bartera Noc awoke in the lumpy feather bed provided to her by the the good will of Horith Ryden. Muscles in her back screamed their discontent at having to be active after a short, uncomfortable sleep. She stretched her arms and rolled her neck, letting loose a chorus of cracks that reminded her every morning that she was not getting any younger. On the table by her beside was a small jug of ale that brought relieving moisture from the dry, cold air. Noc slept in old white undergarments. Over them, she slid her leggings and put on her leather tunic, which bore the symbol of her rank as captain of the Brukalil. She then checked her hair. She preferred to keep it short, and the time appeared to be drawing near for another haircut. But not today. She brushed it out of her face and straightened it as best she could. Strapping on her belt and sheath, she was ready to begin morning rounds. 

Her quarters lay in the castle barracks. Seven thousand men within the castle meant that space was precious and privacy non-existent, save for a privileged few like Noc and her superiors. Already, the morning garrison was out and about, putting on their leather shirts and taking their spears to go and relieve their peers from the nighttime watch. Soldiers saluted Bartera as she passed by, even the Westlanders to whom a female commander was even more alien than to their Litici Counterparts. They learned quickly not to question the authority of Bartera Noc. 

Outside was an irritating dichotomy. The ground was wet, muddy and mounds of snow were piled into corners after ever fall. The air however, was increasingly painful to breath. Each intake brought a cold chill to the lungs. Bartera grew up and fought in the warmer regions surrounding Raenna. Why Litici Kings poured endless time and manpower into trying to conquer this region over the centuries she will never understand. 

As the morning garrison left, the sleepy, droopy-eyed evening watch approached the barracks to finally get some sleep. One sergeant approached and stated they had nothing to report. 

"They just sit out there on their asses," he says before he leaves for his bed. 

That's all they've been doing for the past week. Looking down at the white and grey forest beneath the great walls of Raingaurd, across the great river, Bartera could not see the bulk of the army, but she could see the smoke from their camp rising above the canopy and a few scouts scurrying about on the opposite bank. 

The only way across was the bridge. A great stone, covered bridge. Everyone knew that when the attack came, it would be there. Bartera kept a contingent of her finest Brukalil soldiers there, in the case that the Morcars grew a backbone and decided to attack. 

"Checkmate," Nicholi Gramman spoke as he moved his rook to corner Tauron's King once again. 

"Damn it," Tauron said as he tipped his conquered king over.

"You're getting better, my Prince. It took me twenty moves to beat you this time," Nicholi said slyly. 

"Your encouragements are bemusing, Lord Nicholi," Tauron spoke as he held his cup out for Robert to refill it with wine. Both the Prince and the elderly noble were wrapped in fur blankets.

"I do my best, my Lord," Nicholi smiled, his deep wrinkles hid much of his face in the dim candlelight and covered it with shadow, "Another game?"

"Thank you, but Noc should be reporting any second," he spoke as he heard her heavy footsteps approaching the door. If there was one thing that could be counted on, its Noc's routine.

"Prince Tauron!" she saluted him. 

"Captain Noc," he nodded a greeting to her, a luxury of his rank.