[b]Chapter 6: Undesirable news[/b]

The streets of Lowburg branched out in various directions, nooks and crannies, both dark and filthy. In addition to his king's guard, the town guard had filed in on the left and right of Leofric. An elderly guardsman with greying hair led the way through the streets, waving aside the townsfolk as they passed. The knights kept themselves close to Leofric, they had formed up in two columns of five each on his either side, their hands resting upon the grip of their weaponry. Leofric trudged on behind the lead guardsman - they were to make their way to the Lowburn mansion, and even though he knew the way himself, it was standard routine for the guard to escort him to its premises.

They arrive at the plaza after a few minutes of navigating around the streets. The guardsmen steered their lines away to reform into a rank a distance away from the mansion as soon the king and his men had passed. They then turned on their heels to face outwards, keeping a wary eye for any who would try to trespass into its grounds. Leofric gestures with a hand as they approach the main entrance of the building, a gesture that the knights were well aware of. Five of the knights break off, with three disappearing around a corner to keep an all-around vigil, and the final two take up position on either side of the doors. They bow as Leofric push open the mansion doors and steps inside with the remaining men.

A staff member of the mansion hurries forth to greet the royal visitor, a middle-aged woman which respectfully curtsies. "Your Grace. They have prepared your chambers." she speaks up, with a well-practised tone. Leofric gave her a quick nod and proceeded toward the stairs leading up and to the halls, followed by the knights. It did not take long until he stood by the doors leading into his personal room. He nods to his knights, which steps aside and begins to take up various posts nearby, before he push open the doors and steps inside. He tugs off his leather gloves and leers around the room, it had been prepared for his arrival, just as the servant had said. He makes his way over to a delicate wooden desk and takes a seat into an equally exquisite chair. A window behind him let in the dim light from the outside and he could hear the suppressed sound from the life within town. He prefered it that way - he was not fond of complete silence, the Black Marsh was enough for that.

He lays down his gloves on the table and buckles off his cloak to hang over the back of the chair. Concealed behind the cloak he had carried a leather cylinder hanging down across his back, used for safekeeping various documents and letters of delicate secrecy. He only kept one letter inside it now, and he opened up the cylinder to retrieve it. He adjusts in his seat and then folds out the letter infront of him on the table. The message was brief.

[i]'They are mustering again. They have assembled near seven thousand men, and with their current preparations I suspect they will march within a week.'[/i]