For such a politically urgent and opportune affair, it was odd to see the absence of a certain southern king amongst those gathering for the council. Though the site was scouted out by a few of his outriders, the formidable host of the [i]Bladetaker[/i] hobbled, like a sluggardly mass of spears, axes and arrowheads crawling north, a long baggage train trailing behind like an ox tail. 

The sun was up and so were the men of Lubbo's retinue. Fires were hastily put out, the rhythm of the march stepped up a notch as the order was voiced - a spectacle of sorts that the king was always keen on putting into motion. Whilst almost entirely self-taught through practice and a lot of less-than-successful probes and ventures, the greying man only recently began to see some of his work bear fruit. He picked some of the best men living under his employ for this campaign, and there was a hope that they could show their prowess to all of Thraxia. 

Turning away from the sight of the soldiers, he lazily held up the reins to his white stallion and rode ahead of a wagon, finding his son and student, Hrorek, pale and weathered from the trip, slouching in his saddle as the horse below him calmly cantered forth. The chief's light touch roused him slightly from his daydream. 

"Father," the young heir gave a smile, "do you hear the Grauglang?" 

Lubbo tried to concentrate, finding himself, for a fleeting moment, in a meditative state. Abstracting himself from all the noise and stomping of the troops, he pictured a wide, slow-moving river just waiting to quench the thirst of their steeds, to wash the soles of their feet and boil their pots of buckwheat. The sound of it was audible to the king's ears. 

It seemed as if whispered, but, alas, it was unintelligible. 

"Yes, I hear it."

[hr]

For all the great designs his mind conjured up, the circumstances of the Carogact tribe's arrival soured the commander's mood. Holding counsel with the captains of his retinue in his tent, Lubbo understood that he may have made an error by appearing late. By now the chiefs already on site would've made contact with each other, and it would be a worse error if Lubbo lagged behind in making his presence known. He sized up the men gathered in his quarters.

"Where is Oswin?" the king asked. 

"Should be arriving soon." Someone among the retainers gruffly replied.

"It's a bad time to dawdle, he ought know that. Get a couple hundred men in these woods, some should forage, others should fell trees. I want a longhall to receive guests and house my servants. I want a stone soaked in blood for good omens." He uttered the words, and little by little, some of his men filtered out, leaving the tent to carry out the commands.

"Hrorek, keep a look out for the Gwidling and take him with you. I want you both to keep me informed on anything of note. All minor chiefs you meet are invited to dine with us tonight in our camp. Go."