When all lords met once more upon the central tent of their camp, they did so as men at the ends of their wits.
They had though victory so close that it seemed divine punishment for it to be taken from their right when they were about to bite down at the sweet morsel.They looked upon one another, in each of their gaze, weariness and awareness both for a war that they all knew had been underestimated, both in length and effort.
They found out that even without the Fox, there had been trouble in Yarzat, namely one of their servant.
And now all they could do was grind their teeth and ready themselves for the next assault.
"How long?"
The question came from Lord Domiek of Mandigan. His long, skeletal fingers clawed incessantly at the clean-shaven skin of his gaunt almost starved face, leaving angry red tracks upon a white field of pale skin.
