[b][u][center] Adjutor Insula[/center][/u][/b]

[center][b]A Problem of Logistics[/b][/center]

"No logistics train?" Marcus squawked. "How does the Home Guard not have a logistics train?"

Field Marshal John Strongsun bowed his head for the fiftieth time that hour. "My men are designed to fight on home soil, where the Hero's Road would supply them via our networks, 'Lord."

Of course Marcus was more than aware of this, but when dealing with his senior officers, he had to make them think he was a little more backwards than he was. "Well, yes, the Hero's Road will have to come with us."

The Field Marshal shook his head. "Can't be done, 'Lord. The crops need harvesting, and the men we'd pull away from that would cause an uneasy winter."

Marcus laughed. "An uneasy winter, Field Marshal? Really? This is your concern?"

"I have many concerns about this, 'Lord, but that is chief among them," John said, fixing his "King's" incredulous gaze with his famed thousand-mile stare. "A victory that leads to widespread suffering of those I intend to defend, is no victory at all."

Time to charm the old bastard, Marcus thought. He sighed, and nodded. "You are right, Field Marshal. It would not be a victory, and I cannot expect you to stain your conscience with such things. This is a war afterall, and you are ill suited for its demands. You are a good man, full of honour, and have served me well for many years."

"I appreciate your understanding, 'Lord," John said, with yet another bow.

"Which is why," Marcus continued, "I am relieving you of your post."

Now it was John's time to squawk, but Marcus silenced him with a wave of his hand. "You have served the Insula loyally for many years. You are tired, and old, Field Marshal, you have long since earned a comfortable retirement. Leave me, and find yourself a happiness that will carry you into Faran's arms." 

John was flabbergasted, and it took him a minute or so to find his words. "But my King," he allowed, "I can yet still serve." 

"Nonsense," Marcus proclaimed, spreading his hands. "You've said yourself that this campaign will weigh heavily upon you, and I will not allow it. You are a good man, and by my power, you shall remain so." 

"Please, 'Lord, drillin' the boys is all I know," the Field Marshal said, getting onto his knees. 

Marcus stifled a laugh. Drilling the boys? Faran be spared this man's lack of linguistic awareness. "Very well, Field Marshal. If drilling boys is all you know, then you have a place in our new Kingdom. I take with me the Insula's standing army, leaving her defenceless - and if the war goes ill, Karkarth will roll over it without resistance. We need a new army, and we need one quickly."

John nodded his agreement. "Where should I find recruits, 'Lord?" 

Marcus thought for a few moments. "Ensure the Adjutor Order is fully disbanded. Draw every able bodied man - and woman - and assemble them into a host. What's left, can tend the fields. Scribe, scholar, doctor and foreman. I don't care what their station is, if they can't defend our country, then they can at least feed those who can."

The Field Marshal sighed. "Your logic is sound, but many will not be happy with this rash changes to our centuries old ways. If I am met with dissent?" 

"I like you, Field Marshal, you're not like the others," Marcus said with a smile, "no morals, besides the alter of bloody war, unsettles you. If there is dissent, then fill the jails - find the ring leaders, and have them separated from the populace. I'll deal with them all upon my return." 

"Yes, my King," the Field Marshal conceded, and with a bow, he marched off with a squadron of Order Guard. 

[center][b][u]Peace Keepers[/u][/b][/center]

"We have trouble, Sire," said Infantry Captain Grimspire. The man was an ugly thing, like many of Marcus' secret merceneries. All scars and fat, but with hidden muscles willing to tear a man in two.

"Trouble, Scoundrel?" Marcus replied with a raised eye.

Grimspire moved his bulk to the side, and pointed a hand to a docking ship. "Gryphs. They wish to dissuade you from war." 

Marcus laughed, and laughed hard. Dozens of soldiers going about their business stopped to spare him a brief glimpse.

"By Faran, what - wait, are they armed?" Marcus asked gleefully.

"Yes, Sire," Grimspire responded, with equal happiness.

"Excellent. Ensure everyone sees. I can't remember the last time armed foreigners spurred happiness into any good patriot's heart. I'll meet with them soon, but be sure their commander is brought here, to the army camp, so that his build, nor his air of authority, can break through the sheen of ten thousand plated warriors."