[b]Chapter 4: Return[/b]

The march continued onwards at a steady pace, the rain had begun to ease and soon enough subsided as a whole. Leofric renewed his grip around the reins with his right hand and leered skywards at the dark and threatening clouds which rumbled still on frequent occasion. A drenched rider appeared at his side, a solid steel barbuta helmet upon his head with its visor up. "The men found a resident within the house, Your Grace. A woman. They say she spoke into thin air, calling for someone named Walter. They apprehended her under the assumption of witchcraft."

Leofric turned in the saddle to look over his shoulder down the ranks of men marching behind him. He briefly caught sight of the raggedy, upset looking woman standing out from her guarded escort. He twitched a frown and turned his gaze back to the road infront of them. He was well aware that some of his men were almost too paranoid when it came to witchcraft and sorcery, but most of them had reason to be. He shook his head to himself. "Very well. Keep an eye on her."

The soldier raised a clenched fist to his heart in salute and then turned his horse around to gallop back down the lines. Leofric dragged a gloved hand through his soaked hair and then dragged the black hood of his cloak over the head. He turned his attention to the east, gazing out over the expansion of a gloomy landscape with clusters of leafless trees. They were relatively far away from the Black Marsh now, but its darkness and inhospitality stretched much further away than just the bog itself, and they were still many miles away from the greener pastures of the central Northlands.

His mind fell back upon the letter that he had read and he silently resented each step his army took on their march to the north-east, but it was necessary. Their destination was Monarch's Rise, the capital. Once he was back in the city he would rally his council and inform them of what has happened, and damn what they all thought - he had already made up his mind on the matter.

Far in the distance he saw lights floating above ground. He studied them with an idle thought and blank expression. After all, he already knew what they were. The watchtowers dotted around Lowburg's walls kept a stern vigil on the lands around it. The people living there were of the rough stock and distrustful, at least toward foreigners and strangers. He frowned, recalling the grim task that he had assigned to a handful of knights dispatched to the town. They were to persecute any suspected magicians or walkers and carry out the ultimate punishment. Leofric wasn't certain how the people there would handle it. Executing the penalized in the middle of the street was bad for everyone, and Lowburg hardly required more reasons to dig themselves deeper into their unwelcoming and resentful nature - but the inhabitants were loyal, and he was positive the knights would carry out the deed on remote locations.

He could hear the angry muttering of men behind him, cursing the incessant storm above them. They were rapidly approaching the town and Leofric could just barely make out the silhouettes upon the walls and in the towers. From there it did not take long before the sound of a long horn blast echoed throughout the land, signalling the approaching army. A guardsman leans out over his post in a tower and cups a hand around his mouth.

"It's the king! The king is approaching! Open the gates!"