The Chronicles of Mythguard - A Newly Revised Version

Chapter 3

The road to Fren was uneventful. By the time night fell, they were a quarter kilometer from the village, camping within the thickly wooded forest. Campfires were lit and ordered to be set backwards; smaller fires for large groups of soldiers while larger fires burned near the lightly manned areas. The order was made a good century ago upon realizing that the fledgling vampires were akin to moths when it came to light in darkness. They would target smaller fires as they found less opponents to face at once, and as such it was added as a tactic to trick the Firelanders to attack larger groups, thus removing the need for guards to watch overnight.

In the middle of the camp of linen tents, tree wells and lean-to's sat the red and black pavilion of Barthanax. Inside it was plain; a brazier provided dull light while a small bundle of furs and cloth laid in a corner. His crimson red armor was placed on a stand, both showing it off and keeping it from becoming dirty on the ground below. There was no adornment or luxury besides. Barthanax felt that if there was anything his men didn't have, he would be too far placed from his own men who lived in the mud and grime. At current, Barthanax sat on the fur bed while Grungin stood near the entrance.

''Have the scouts returned with a map yet?''

''Aye,'' Grungin pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it until it was tenfold its original size, and moving to hand it to Barthanax. ''it's pretty rough though. Don't blame them fer tha'. Not many men can see in tha' dark.''

Barthanax grabbed the paper and looked over the chicken scratch images. They were very rough, not unlike a child's, though distance was exact to a T. Fren lay within a valley. A river ran down its middle, splitting the village into two parts. Mountains flanked both sides and the only way in was a frontal assault, meaning they would be spotted immediately.

''There's no way in.''

''Ya saw that too, eh? Village is in a beautiful spot. If ye were ta' put a stone wall here and here,'' Grungin pointed to two points in the valley, narrow and already nearly impossible to cross over, ''tha' village could hold longer than anywhere else I've ever seen. Even tha' Black Fortress would fall before this place.''

''So why don't they?''

''Have ya never been to tha' North? Ice and snow protects them, not stone. That's beside tha' fact they know shit-all 'bout stoneworking.''

''Could we possibly settle some of our people here who can work with stone?''

''Not if ye want a war.''

Both Grungin and Barthanax looked at the man who spoke. He was large and muscular, with golden blond hair and soft blue eyes. He was covered in a mix of leather, metal scraps and furs bound together by ropes.

''Konax?'' Barthanax asked, tilting his head to the left a little.

''Yes sir.''

''Why are you here? Did your sister's letter not get to you?''

''It did,'' Konax held up a small piece of paper, far too small for his large hands to properly grip, ''though I thought it best to speak with you in person.''

''Then speak.''

''I was hoping not to have company.''

''Grungin is my brother. Whatever you would've said to me in private I would've shared with him anyways, so there's no point sending him away.''

''If that's how it is I will not argue.''

''So what is it you have for me?''

''You asked for our plans earlier. About the North's movements.''