[h3]DUCHY OF GISOREUX[/h3]
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Forty men rode in two columns and they wound their way up the steep mountain roadway that served as the main route through the Gisoreux Gap. The air was crisp and cold, a fine spring morning, and the breath of men and horses showed white against the newly rising sun. The warmth was welcome, these mountains tended to hold the chill as long as they could but here at least they received the new rays early in the day.

Snow crunched beneath hooves and leather creaked loudly in protest at the cold air. Hands continually reached for blades, tugging slightly on the blades to ensure they did not stick in the scabbard at a critical moment. The wooden hilts were at least a welcome warmth to cold fingers, no matter how little true warmth they produced.

A yeoman scout, his kettle helm hanging from the saddle horn, appeared ahead of them and waved upward. The Duke himself, riding at the head of the column, waved in reply and kicked his mount up the last few yards to the top. He was not riding his great war destrier, instead he was mounted on a fine looking quarter horse that served him far more in this treacherous terrain than any well trained warhorse could ever hope to do.   

The crest  of the pass was a barren hundred yards of stone, not a single one left was big enough for even a goblin to hide behind. Guarding the pass, equal distance from the mountains, loomed the imposing bulk of Château de Vaux-le-Vicomte, the fortress from which the trade road was patrolled and Bretonnias enemies kept at bay. 

"My lord, the garrison wishes to know if you will be attending the castle today?" The scout, his head covered by a fur hat, rode up, bowing his head slightly.

Thommas would have loved nothing more than to enter into the warmth of the castle but that was not his goal here today. The time would come, on the way back, and he shook his head regretfully. The fortress was not a large one by most standards but its location on a rocky pinnacle in the middle of the valley made it virtually impenetrable. Even Skaven, more numerous in recent years, would find it nearly impossible to infiltrate thanks to bleedings given by The Lady. 

He glanced up toward the tall conical turrets from which his banner snapped in the wind. His critical eye could find nothing out of the ordinary with the fortress and he smiled inwardly. He has chosen the commander well.  

"Not right away, Marshall. On our return trip I am sure we would all be grateful of a hot fire and some food." Grins showed among the column of horsemen. Only a half dozen were knights, another half dozen were men-at-arms while the rest were yeomen. Taking them from their homes and into the savage peaks of the Grey Mountains required some sort of perks and he often found that a simple meal and wine they did not have to pay for went a long way.

"Right, onward and upward then, m'lord?" The scout asked, pulling off his hat now and strapping the kettle helmet into place. They would be leaving the main roads at once for more hostile terrain and it did well to be prepared.

"Aye, onward and upward. Arm up!" The last two words were said loud enough for the whole column to hear and men shrugged out of their more comfortable clothing, replacing it with proper fighting gear. "All eyes!"

The words carried down the line as the horsemen began to move westward into the Grey Mountains.