The next morning Durakel crawled out of his tent and smacked his face as he struggled to crack his dry eyes open. Dragging himself over to the fire, he added a few logs to the blaze before setting up a pot to boil some water. Durakel left the pot to finish heating up and strode a few dozen paces outside of the camp and admired the scarlet colors staining the sky between the mountains in the east. Eyeing the hills bordering the camp, he locked eyes with Relad also taking care of his morning business and waved while the old man rolled his eyes. Walking back into the camp smiling, he took the water pot off the fire and dug through a satchel nearby to find coffee grounds.

“I ought to charge you extra. I brought plenty since I knew you’d be lost without your angel of a mother pampering you in the morning,” Shegara laughed as she plopped down next to Durakel and wafted the steam from the pot over to her nose.

Poking her in the ribs with a wooden spoon handle, Durakel handed the utensil over and gestured at the pot, “Pamper me then.”

She snorted and threatened to smack him with the stir spoon before he raised his arms in defense, “I’d say it’s a fair command given my sword and coin purse have the honor of leading this warband.”

“I think my cousin is full of dung,” Murago offered, plopping down next to Shegara and eyeing the steeping coffee with greed.

Durakel and Shegara shared a glance before handing the stir spoon over to Murago. He groaned but after a few seconds of breathing in the aroma, he relented and stirred a few times to saturate all of the grounds. Bagrad joined the group next and set about dividing rations for breakfast and the march. The camp began to breathe around them as the rest of the warband arose and trickled out to surround the campfire, thanking Bagrad as he passed out bread and salted meat. Allowing time for the food and coffee to sober up the group, Durakel made his way around the circle, spending time with each warrior and ensuring they wanted to come.

Everyone assented and after Durakel spoke with them, he sent them to break down the camp and prepare to march. Striding at the head of the warband, Durakel led a twin column of his warriors through the hills and fields that dotted the landscape outside of Ironhill. A well trod dirt path wound through the countryside and the troop marched past various shepherds and flocks of rams, sheep, and cattle. Occasional copses of trees offered a border between villages and farmsteads and after four hours Durakel called a brief halt for his men to gnaw on some ration bars and gulp water from their skins. Rogden and Relad walked over to where Durakel sat staring at the trail ahead of the army, sharing a glance as they drew closer to their commander and remained unnoticed. Clearing his throat, Relad informed Durakel that Shegara knew a spot another six or seven miles away. Durakel grunted and turned to face the two men.

"Today we cover the bulk of the ground and tomorrow I want to draw near the end of Oakfield’s lands and begin scouting runs. The next day we move at night and find our targets and figure out how many men West River has stationed in their surrounding villages.”

Rogden chewed on his cheek before looking around and checking the distance to the nearest warriors, “When will you tell the men we plan to burn the fields?”

Durakel’s gaze raked across the warband before he turned and stared at the mountain ridge on the eastern horizon. He clenched his fist around the sigil on his necklace before answering, “I’ve been asking Meris for wisdom and Ospra for the strength to give the news." He clenched his teeth and worked his jaw for a minute as his gaze bored into the mountains.

"After our scouts return on the last night, I will tell them how we plan to remind West River to stay on their banks," he continued.

“A wise choice to ask the gods, lord. A commander that doesn’t ask the gods to lead his men is a fool,” Relad offered, clasping a fist over his heart and nodding at Durakel.

Rogden sighed and agreed, “I do not envy you the task.”

The march resumed and Durakel meandered among the column of men, trusting Shegara to guide the band to a stop for the night. He pointed out the local birds and joked with the men about the summers his uncle spent teaching his family to birdwatch and the following mornings where his aunt would take the boys out to hunt and return with water fowl for dinner. Drawing further away from Ironhill’s immediate lands, the shepherds and farmers peering out of their fields grew deeper frowns as they spied a larger than normal patrol on the march. Durakel opted not to fly the typical banners of his house and of Ironhill, hoping to avoid any watchers guessing either end of their trek.

Fifteen miles into the day, Shegara led the troop into a larger woods adjacent to a pond and scattering of farmsteads. Cracking open their travel bags, Durakel and Bagrad rationed out the last of the whiskey they brought for the trip. The warband lounged around the fire, wolfing down the meat and cheese Bagrad dispensed and letting the warm liquor relax their sore bodies. The talk around the flame lacked the singing and gallivanting of the night before, with the warriors instead sharing tales of the last time they marched on patrol. Several of them had yet to see combat and spoke instead of the extravagant sagas brought home by other men of their homestead. As the night wore on and many of the less experienced marchers crept off to bed, Kinsa and Agarn began weaving the tale of their last raid.

“We come from the southern coasts, where our kinfolk has to stave off the hungry lot of bastards that live south of Ironhill,” Kinsa began.

“Not to mention those fish loving boat riders from the east with their raiding parties and ships that sneak in and out under cover of the night,” Agarn chimed in.

“Before we headed up north for a change of pace, we got called by the elders in our hold to ride out on horseback and get revenge for the last raid by the murderous rats in Gullpoint.”

Agarn spat on the ground in disgust before taking over, “They sail in on their great sea ships, then the whole boatload rows to shore, laying waste to village after village. Our elders work together to drum up a force to meet them at the next village before they loot it, but alas.”

“Another boat sails upriver from the esatern side of our lands and raids all the villages surrounding our hold while our warriors are on the coast waiting for the other boat that had already turned around,” Kinsa scowled, hands clamped around a stick she kept pulling in and out of the fire.

“So our elders decide we won't suffer another raiding season. They gather a number from every village and damn near every horse in the hold. We rode the forest line, avoiding the coast, headed for Gullpoint. Took us five days to get there and we almost wore out the beasts.”

Pulling her stick out of the blaze, Kinsa eyed the smoldering end for a moment before picking the story back up, “We waited for nightfall and left the horses in the woods with a few men to watch them. We headed down to the water and over to the harbor. Agarn lifted some rocks to give us a protected spot,” Kinsa waited a few moments, watching all the eyes glued to her, “and then set our arrows on fire and we rained hell down on the bastards' ships.”

Durakel stared over at Agarn as the older man fidgeted and watched his sister share the tale. Agarn scratched at his neck and continued telling the story, “Their port was an inferno. We rained several flaming barrages down and burnt the shitheads' boats down to a floating pile of stumps. Figured if they can't sail, they can't raid.”

The warband’s collective mouths opened as they watched the siblings, riveted to the story. They held their breaths as Kinsa spoke up, “We waited til morning, figured they’d send some scouts out. We slaughtered every party, ambushing them behind Agarn’s boulders until we spotted an actual army headin' out. We ducked into the woods, grabbed our horses, and ran ass back home. Damn raiders ain't sailed by in two years.”

Roaring, the men thumped their chests and stood up cheering for Agarn and Kinsa. The shaman looked up and returned Durakel’s intent stare, raising an eyebrow and offering the mountain lord a toothy smile.

“When we returned, the elders told us one of their number had received a vision. Told us Agarn was needed up north or else Rumanka, our home, would feel wrath again. We might have followed your silver in the inn, but seeing you here by the fire, I think we knew we were following your sword, chieftain.”

The crowd dissipated after the southerners’ story, Bagrad driving the men into the tents to prepare for the morning’s march. Durakel lingered by Rogden, sitting near the fire and talking about their time growing up in Ironhill. Rogden tossed another pair of logs on the fire and sat down next to Durakel, laughing and sharing a story about how their two brothers both got rejected one after another by an older lady at a tavern in Ironhill.

Durakel gasped, choking on his cup, “By the gods, I remember my sister telling me about that. I didn’t even realize that was your brother, but every time Korgen and I would head out in town to train, I would drag his ass by that bar and ask him if he’d ever been.”

Cackling, Rogden clapped Durakel on the shoulder and raised his empty mug. They clinked cups and Rogden cheered, “To younger brothers!”

They watched the fire die down for an hour before Rogden bade Durakel goodnight and ambled off to his tent. One of his guards creaked up from his spot across the fire and followed his lord. Pursing his lips, Durakel watched the charred logs burning down to ash and wrung his hands. He stood with a sigh and turned to find his own tent, but caught sight of Vuk, one of his cousin’s farmhands, watching him. The tanned and weathered farmhand walked over and scratched his cheek, eyeing his chief.

“Story’s true. I rode with them to Gullpoint, watched it burn. Bastards had it coming for trying to take what’s ours.”

Durakel’s eyes widened and he grunted, looking from Vuk to the fire and back.

“No elder sent me up north, but I kept having these dreams and so I hit the road and landed in Westhill. The dreams stopped and so I settled down on the farm.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Durakel asked after a pause.

Shrugging, Vuk looked away from the flame and out at the woodlands surrounding their camp. He sighed and returned his gaze to the ground, again scratching his cheek.

“West River strongarming your farmers just reminds me of back home, I s’pose. You gotta hit them hard enough to make it stop.”

Camp broke faster the next morning, Bagrad's harsh tone whipping the band into shape and teaching everyone their morning role. They marched past larger farms and dwellings as they left the scattered singular farms behind and entered Oakfield's domain. The sprawling town controlled some of the most fertile fields in the region, but their proximity to the warlike northern holds gave them reason to cling to Ironhill for military support in exchange for tribute. Durakel guided his warband several miles west of the town and into a shallow ravine obscured by several boulders and oak trees. Inspecting the clearing, Shegara began preparing guards to keep an eye on the surrounding landscape as Bagrad hooked a few warriors into helping him erect the camp for the night. Scouts received their orders from Relad as Durakel's fervent study of his maps revealed a few spots he wanted to check for enemy warriors.

The men gathered in smaller groups that night, Durakel eschewing a fire to avoid any unwanted attention. After nightfall, the trio of scouting parties returned, all reporting not seeing anything other than shepherds watching their animals. Subdued conversations petered out as the warband attempted to get enough rest for the next day's night march. Bagrad allowed them to sleep in the next day and Durakel announced the plan for the trek.

"We march only a half day today, passing Oakfield and hitting the river. We find a safe spot to camp, dig in, and began sending out scouts when the sun falls to find our targets for tomorrow night."

Nodding in assent, the group packed up their gear and filed out of the ravine following Durakel and his lieutenants. They weaved in and out of oak covered hills, the woods becoming more of a true forest as they neared the river dividing Ironhill's domain from West River. The end of the day brought them to the verge of Oakfield's land and the expansive river giving West River hold its name. Camping a half mile south of the river, the warband settled in for the evening near a pair of boulders. Durakel signaled Bagard and the quartermaster began distributing dinner rations to the thankful warriors. Rogden, Relad, and Shegara circled in front of Durakel as the four discussed the composition of the scouting parties. After a brief discussion, Durakel gathered four sets of three scouts to cross the river after sunset.

"Eaglecreek is the largest settlement between here and West River. It's surrounded by several farms and smaller villages. You are to identify the closest farms, villages, and patrols to the river and report back tonight. Bows only and wear your traveling clothes. If you are noticed, you are travelers passing through."

Durakel gave separate charges to each group, sending some to watch for enemy patrols, some to gauge Eaglecreek's security, and some to find the closest farms on the way back from the town. He sent them out of the camp in spurts to limit visibility before calling Kinsa over. Waving to Rogden as he peeled out of the camp, Durakel drew Kinsa out of earshot of the warriors left on guard duty.

"After we strike tomorrow night, I'm expecting a response. Tomorrow morning I want you to come with me and find a few spots we can ambush the bastards as they try to retaliate."

She grinned at Durakel, giving him a wink and a salute, "I would love to. Agarn has a few talents that might be helpful in setting up an ambush."

"Hmph. I've been starting to realize that he might be more than a cranky old man."