The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Seven

The winds were fierce, the light breeze of the morning had turned and in its place a foul storm was beginning to brew south of Cerran. The messengers had passed along notes, the latest stating that the winds and storms were coming across from the sea bringing with them terrific crashes of thunder. Commander Azin sat quietly watching as his men hurried along the stronghold walkways, ensuring that the hatches were tightly locked and that the flames were protected, ensuring the communication between the strongholds was kept at all times. As the men ran around him, he lit his pipe and smoked thoughtfully. Commander Azin was perhaps the fourth or fifth most decorated officer within the Kingsmen of the West. He had seen service across the Continents, first with explorations into the Further West under the guiding hand of The Welling as they attempted to discover more about the forgotten lands that lay beyond they're own borders. He had seen two tours of those rocky outcrops, six months each time in which the Kingsmen offered little in terms of a military outfit, and were moreso workhorses used to carry the scientific equipment of the Maesters. He had craved exploration beforehand, but soon found himself aching for the West. Upon returning he had been stationed in Mormo, an intermediary posting for a man of his experience and seen by many as an easy place to get back into the ways of the West. He remembered the Further West now, the silence that had surrounded them as they collected samples of the flowers and trees that lined the mountain ranges, and found himself craving for that more than ever.
He blew a long thin veil of smoke into the air as his eyes rested upon a young man standing at the end of the walkway looking out into the distance. Azin stood, and lumbered his way towards the man, if you could call him such, he was barely more than a boy. His hair was a long mop, untrimmed and wild and his body skinny with skin soft that showed his lack of experience and years. Azin struggled, the shooting pain along his side causing him to bite down on his lip with enough force to draw a little blood. He'd get used to it, eventually. He stood beside the boy and looked out into the same general direction, the sky was darkening in the distance, with storm clouds slowly rolling over the cliffs in the East.
'Scared of storms boy?' The Commander asked, still looking out into the storm.
'Something like that Ser, I'm sorry.' Replied the boy with a quickly quivering tone. The boy looked at his Commander, he was a fairly tall man with short black hair that came down into sideburns, joining into a thick mustache. His skin was rough, there was a small scar across his right temple that fell into a tattoo of a red tailed swallow bird. It was the mark of the Brothers Azin, a house crest dating back even before Brodon I conquered the West. Now, as the boy stood staring at his Commander, knowing full well the fate of the house of Azin, he felt that perhaps the man was purposefully taunting death, waving his heritage in its face, awaiting the final blow.
'Nothing to be sorry for son. How long have you been with us?'
'Six months, just over, Ser.'
Azin nodded slowly. 'This is your first posting then? What a shit hole as well.' He said laughing. The boy laughed too. A vicious wind blew across the stronghold, leaving the men silent once again.
'What's your name son?' Azin asked, turning to face the boy for the first time. His hair was a messy shone brightly in the darkness.
'Enrin Ser. Enrin Greynire.' The boy replied. Azin's mouth opened slightly, but he stopped himself. The messanger had arrived earlier in the day. Azin had read the scroll, stamped with the seal of King Brodon of Ceraborn, but had neglected to tell the boy just yet. There were more pressing issues at hand, Azin had received several scrolls from command at Korgen, all stating that the pirating along the coastline was severely depleting the Eastern trade vessels. Azin was commanded to allow men to travel to Ceraborn, where they would be tasked and appropriately outfitted in order to patrol against the pirates. He was less than impressed with this, least of all because Command had not taken into account that Azin's forces had been ravaged not three months earlier as some were sent to the Eastern Edge.
'Get some rest lad, its a precious thing amongst the strongholds.' Azin said with a parting smile to the boy, as he walked back along the walkway and into the darkness of his commander tower.