Howe turned to his trusted aide, who was standing quietly near the door.
"Prepare a fresh horse," Howe spoke. His voice was low, rough, and filled with a quiet, dangerous energy. He adjusted the thick collar of his military coat. "I need to see someone."
The aide bowed his head deeply. "Yes, General."
He quickly turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Howe looked at the map of Daril. His eyes rested on the capital city, surrounded by its massive stone walls. He unbuckled his heavy sword belt and laid his weapon on the table. He did not need his war sword for where he was going. He needed to move quietly.
After some minutes, the aide came back into the room. He bowed again.
"Your horse is ready, General," the aide reported.
Howe nodded his head once. He grabbed his riding cloak from the wooden stand, wrapped it tightly around his broad shoulders, and left the room.
