[i]"You would do well not to disappoint me, boy." Foltest said. 

The King stood within his own personal library, though in truth he mostly used it to store old ledger and gifted books and things of that nature. The day was hot, but a cool breeze kept the worst of it at bay, and Balidvar had the distinct impression it was a trick by Triss to temper the King's mood. The sorceress stood at the ready a few paces behind Foltest, eyes as sharp as a sword and hair as red as blood. She could speak up when she wished to, but she had seen Foltest and his bastard fight enough to know when to let them talk. 

"And we are to meet them at the fort itself? Why is that again?" The bastard asked, callused hands turning the pages of the book he was skimming. He had the look of a hardened sailor and a swordsman you didn't want to meet on the streets at night, with an oft-broken nose and hard eyes. And yet he was considered comely all the same to more than a few women. Those that enjoyed fine cheekbones and a lean fighters physique.

Foltest let out a grave sigh, looking away from the product of his seed as he gazed about the room, no doubt wondering why he had not yet burn this place down yet. "Because a large force entering Nilfgaard will draw attention. Attention you don't want. All of them have been handpicked by me and examined by Vernon. A traitor couldn't slip past both of us. You'll be in good hands. The question remains on if you're up to the task of managing them."

Balidvar had curbed his worst impulses this day, keeping his tongue behind his teeth for the most part. He had thought to read a few of Heinsht Vorkenragh's books on siege preparations and logicists when his father had come in to discuss that very subject. The King continued. "How do you expect to learn anything from these books, hmm?" He grabbed the open book from the desk, closing it and holding it aloft. "Haven't I told you that experience is the best teacher?" 

"Well since I have no experience, I thought I might learn beforehand until I was interrupted." Balidvar replied coldly. 

"No experience, yes." Foltest replied snidely. It was one of the great mysteries of the cosmos, why the King treated his soldiers like his family and his family like soldiers. Then again that would imply he thought of Balidvar as his kin in the first place. The bastard pushed his chair back and stood up as the King asked. "Remind me again why I chose you to lead?" Face to face they looked quite different, except for the royal nose and their relative build. 

"Because I am expendable." Bal replied, and walked passed his father. The King laughed at the answer. He remembered a time when he once craved that laugh. Now it was simply a nuisance.  

"With an attitude like that, you just may well survive." 

As Balidvar entered the circular stairwell, his shirtsleeve was gripped by a slender hand. His toned body halted midstride, and he turned to look back at Triss, her beautiful face a mask of concern and sympathy. He relaxed and straightened himself, and she leaned in to speak to him. "You know your father is right." She said, eyes boring into his. She didn't need enchantments to gain men's attention, but Balidvar wasn't in the mood. 

"And you know that's the wrong thing to say to me right now." He said, turning to leave once more.  

"Bal..." Triss said. 

"Don't call me that." He said, though his tone wasn't harsh. He was taken by surprise when she placed a brooch in his hands, and to his surprise it was the coat of arms worn by crown princes. He looked at her in abject shock, but she merely placed a finger to her lips, and said. "I'll see you once the snows thaw." The Witch smiled, and turned back around and walked back into the library, speaking to the King the next moment to keep his temper down.

He left her and his father there at the top floor, travel worn boots thudding on the carved stone as he descended. The Temerian Coat of Arms hanging upon tapestries overhead, the blue and gold echoed on the Blue Stripe he saw at the bottom step, just heading up past him. Vernon Roche looked up, and gave a grim nod. "Fair travels boy. Set things up right, and we'll be on schedule this spring. Fail, and if the Nilfgaardians don't execute you, I might need to. Nothing personal."[/i] 
 
[u]2 Weeks later...[/u]

The smell of crisp smoke permeated in the air, stretching the allure of the freshly cooked sausage to the surrounding woods. A few scores of miles past the rift at Sodden, the forest was thick about them with little visibility. It seemed the directions had been impeccable though. Balidvar counted four masons, twelve laborers, a Tanner, and two cooks as of yet. Thanks the Gods the cooks had gotten here relatively earlier. 

The meeting place had been set up by the stone that looked like an upside down boot the size of a man. Walking anywhere 50 yards west off the main road would be able to spot it. The bastard had been waiting for near 36 hours now, with his 10 men he brought having gathered much of the supplies they would need for the first week, along with two mules. The sun's rays peeked even through the brush, and Balidvar enjoyed the sun's warmth as he finished the sausage and took his leave from the fire, going to wait by the small path for any newcomers. 

With any luck, the ones his father had summoned would arrive shortly...