As Camio rode by the fertile lands along the Alluin River towards the front lines of the rising flames of war, the sounds of the marching guards filled his ears. His knights rode beside him, their armour glinting under the Lone Star, but their faces set in grim determination.

As they neared Marchoss, Camio’s thoughts turned to the battle ahead. He knew that the enemy awaited, but he was determined to fight now for all that needed to be set right, for his people, and for the truth that had been hidden for so long. He thought of his father and his mother, and the injustice of their deaths fuelled his resolve to win – and to be the one to march further, to Alluin’s spring.

Marchoss had no cities to speak of. It was a simple domain bordering the Kingdom of Tabris, fertilized by the river Tabris and the forest that it pointed to the north. The capital of the domain was thus a medium town with a calm folk, who did not hear tales of days when they were not under the rule of the Schameisters – and the Schameisters were not under the rule of the empire, if it had ever been so. No conflict had come for their lands, as the conquest of Estragon had not filled history’s pages with defensive sieges, trenches and such landed strife. And no trade passed much, as Estragon used ports and Tabris… well, that kingdom was not known for merchants crossing any forests for.

The town itself had wooden walls, the least a lord would possibly have to secure his keep – which was nothing much and did little to make the residence itself deserve the formal name castle. It would be more proper to say it was a large house, annexed with a court of justice, cells, stables, and the town hall. Needless to say this was not a setup for siege warfare.

Most of the streets of Marchoss were muddy throughout the year, as it rained much when the winds came blowing from the coast, and even when there was no rain the River Tabris had more than a little mind of making the land humid. Indeed, the outskirts of the town were filled with crops. The vineyards had grown famous in the empire and beyond, which had shaped the lord’s tastes – and secured a good supply of booze for the conquering force.

In a word, Marchoss was thought to be prosperous. A frontier domain, with many faults for the cosmopolitan spirit, but a breadbasket Alluin would not forget.

Losing the domain would hurt the logistic operation the duchy needed and would block the path towards the imperial capital.

The mud had slowed down the duke’s march, and there was a mist in their path. Three days had passed since the departure from the duchy’s capital. The men were tired, and confessed to hearing curses coming from the mist.

The horses dragged their feet.

Advisors flocked to advise caution and predict rain.

This was, after all, the rainy season, and their delay had already afforded Estragon’s forces the time to build minor defences.

As they approached the front lines, the march became quieter, giving away the tension that brewed in the soldier’s head before battle.

A total of five days had passed between leaving the heart of his duchy, and the time Camio finally saw, with lighter mist, the town of Marchoss.