Nothing would grow. House Xerion of the Dead Guard had offered to share some of their more sophisticated farming techniques if the King would accept a marriage arrangement between the daughter of their greatest sage to his eldest son. But what little hope that offered was quickly squelched when he refused, saying “We made that mistake once with the Corvids! I’ll never offer my first born to a witch!” The negotiations were ended on the spot. Xerion had not made another offer, and suddenly the merchants trading Xerion’s surplus foods were marking their goods up considerably. The house was not well loved due to their continuing practice of the old Faardish traditions, but Keld could not deny that their methods brought far more effective results than anyone else, and only fools discarded their aid. The lands under their protection continued to prosper, yielding their bounties while the stretches of farmland granted too many of the other houses once arable and rich had become barren from overuse.

Keld always laughed at that bitter irony. In a few months King Gerrard would have little concern over the dead eating his people since the living would soon become hungry enough to oblige that role. Part of him wondered if that might have been the king’s unspoken objective. March out the the better part of his kingdom’s strength into the blight then return with a few less mouths to feed. Although that would also be a fool’s errand seeing how most of their infantry was made up of farmhands. The image of King Gerrard forced to till his own field did bring a smile to Keld’s face. Thankfully Runa, the Lady of house Geatsmead had been smart enough to listen to Xerion’s advice on crop rotation and browbeat her husband into putting it into effect so they would not have to starve, but he wondered how many knights would need to be taken away from their posts to pacify the inevitable glut of emaciated corpses made up of their former countrymen.

Galloping hooves brought Keld back to the present, and he already had his shortsword halfway out of it’s sheath scanning the area around him. He turned, pointing at the figures lurching their way down a hill to the east, outlined against morning light. The scouts were part of the King’s army and not of the guard. Keld had begged the King and his advisors to allow more of his men on the expedition, but he was thoroughly rebuffed. Keld had cursed them for fools when no one could hear, and did so again under his breath. The scouts had returned, grinning like idiots. They’d led the damned blight right back to their column.

There were two of them, both dressed in light leather armor and carrying crossbows and the same short swords as him. Keld might not have been able to impress on them how dangerous this mission was, but at least they were used to traveling light and fast, something he sorely wished was not the case now. Keld bit his lip as the shorter one of the pair with a shoulder length mop of brown hair reined his horse up near the king. He’d been unable to convince any of them to shave their heads, “Your grace! We’ve spotted the city, but a pack of thirty blighted has seen us and are in pursuit!” Gerrard grinned at them before answering.