A
tiny length of bright steel flicked in and out of the dark wool as Cynara, Lady
of Thorncombe and wife to Ser Maelgrim Crowther repaired a winter hood. She leaned closer
into the window arch, her eyes bleary from the work, to catch the last rays of
a hazy winter sun before it melted into the trees.
Her
gaze strayed to the darkling forest visible through the arch, and she watched
intently for a few moments. No flash of reflected sunset betrayed the presence
of armor there within the thick black branches, no
curl of smoke signaled the location of an enemy camp.
Not
yet. But they were coming.
Sighing,
Cynara cut and knotted the thread. She did not look forward to a winter battle.
Indeed, seldom did she leave the walls of her manor these days, when the cold of
the season lingered in her joints. She thought she would almost prefer siege to
open battle, where she and other archers might send their arrows from the walls
rather than to risk the grit and gore of the field. If the lines broke, the
enemy would make short work of exposed archers.
But
they needed her for this. They needed all the remaining who were
yet loyal. Frost War, they called it, for who in their right mind would send an
army out in mid-winter? But then, she chuckled ironically, who has said their
enemy maintained a right mind?
So
many were lost, or had fallen. Where were Eric Blood-Axe and his friend Vlademir Ylseniv? Or Sir Flynn Sure-shot? No word had been returned from Ser
Maelgrim’s summons. The ranks of the Mercenaries numbered too few, and the
enemy’s too great.
And
yet…..and yet…..
Ser
Owen, a bear of a man, had been known to fight four at once and emerge
victorious. Her husband, Ser Maelgrim, plied his blade with the grace born of
long practice, and there were others to stand firm against the horde – Sir
Trian, newly knighted this year, and Herr Lantz, Sir Ralamean, Sir
Gengulphus and Lady Faelan of the swift blade.
If
luck was on their side, perhaps they would hold against the enemy.
Resolved,
Cynara stood, stretching her shoulders, and walked with purposeful step toward
the armory. No matter what the outcome, she would be
prepared. She would see that her arrows were plentiful, straight and
sharp. She would make sure that when loosed, every one would count.
