[right][h3]Musselia[/h3][/right]
[hr]

The Talinese camp had sprawled out across the hills that rolled and undulated about Musselia. The late summer grass, browned now beneath the heat and lack of rain, crunched beneath thousands of feet and a fine dust cloud seemed to hang over the camp everywhere a man looked. 

Even the greatest of lords were not spared the inconvenience as Grand Duke Avidor found himself drawing small nothings on the top of a black leather chest. Someone else, possibly one of his footmen, had drawn a penis with testicles in the dust and he had chuckled quietly before wiping it away. An army with a sense of humour was an army that could win battles. 

He has chosen his position carefully. The bulk of his army was a half hours march from the city near the river. This would ensure a steady supply of fresh water and hopefully everyone would remember to shit downstream. The city itself was vested with two sets of heavy siege works from which the sound of hammering and the curses of engineers alternated as several trebuchets began to take shape. 

Cavalry crawled over the landscape beyond the walls, keeping messengers out as much as it did the garrison in. Several thousand civilians had tried to leave the city in the dawn but Avidor had ordered them to be driven back against the walls. It was better for the defenders to have to feed so many. The gates had not reopened however and the refugees, mostly women and children, now sheltered in the shadow of the wall. Soon they would begin to starve. But that was war.

He erased his own idle markings and stood. It was hot inside the tent, despite the time of year. The sun baked the earth much of the year here and only in the winter would the rains come. He still had time, and even then, Musselia could remain under siege for months for all he cared. His army had caught much of the fall harvest before it could be added to the cities granaries and his own soldiers ate well. The real trick would be avoiding disease that always seemed to appear where armies gathered.

A gust of wind rattled the canvas of the tent. It was his own small space, attached to the main command tent and separated from all that went on beyond by a heavy curtain. The entire structure took a dozen cattle to move and more than thirty men the better part of the morning to set up. The plain white canvas was dirty from the years campaigning - Avidor had never been one for wasting money on "gussying" things up. The tent, like his armour, was plain in appearance but of excellent quality. He had ordered the same man who had built his tent to outfit the army. It had cost a pretty coin but the gratitude of soldiers who could sleep dry at night even in the winter rains was worth far more than some silver.

He picked up his sword and slid it into the scabbard. A full length mirror stood near the curtain and he quickly checked his appearance to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything important. Satisfied, he swept the curtain aside and called for for his council.