To War!

The cold wind whips your skin raw, the rain drenches your cloak, mud sucks at your horse's feet; your father once said weather in the Frostpeaks is a daily struggle, weak men run from it, foolish men endure it, but to be truly great, you most embrace the storm.

Sir Zachary rides beside you huddled in his cloak, but steady on his horse. You recall a story once overheard, about how he won a Grand Tournament during his time in the north in a storm such as this. He held the honor of your entire duchy with him that day. You smile at the memory.

You glace back at a thousand good men marching in lockstep behind you. Cold, tired, and not a foot out of formation. These are men of the Frostpeaks. “We'll make another league before we rest tonight, Sir Zachary.”

“Aye, your Grace.” His reply is strong.

You've been on the march for nearly a month. And a hard month it has been. You left court the moment your soldiers were gathered. Lord Endwin rules in your name. Leaving your troubles behind seemed a good decision, but your mother's strange and strangely enticing offer rings in your ears each night. Your sleep is plagued by increasingly vivid dreams of sex, at times gentle, other times more... forceful. Often are the nights you awake in a burning sweat, with a cock like stone, cursing your sensual mother's name even as you imagine taking your sweet **** upon her supple-

“Magus!”

Ah the lady Adrianna, the other source of your discomfort on this march. She sways in her saddle and and nearly falls over at each bump, but her cloak is clean and her hair dry, courtesy of spell she has chosen not to share with you. Adrianna invited herself along on this trip, perhaps thinking that a soldier's march was filled with long days in the carriage and nights of sweet Kaf and conversation. Instead you've marched eighteen hours a day, studied Castle Hillgard for four and have very ambitious plans to sleep once you are dead.

“Magus!” Adrianna pulls up beside you. She is perfectly clean and perfectly flustered all at once. Women are a marvel of contradictions.

“Yes, my lady. I am Magus.” You do so love needling the poor woman. You can practically see the steam rise in her ears. Or perhaps that is another spell? Sir Zachary's lips fight against a smile.

“You have avoided me for nearly a month. You will receive my tutelage tonight in your tents.”

“Tutelage? My lady, I am flattered by your interest, but surely one of the other men can oblige you.”

“What? The other men? No. I need you.” The nature of her request dawns on her. She flushes scarlet. “For Magic! Not that-

“You think me ugly then?” Sir Zachary turns his head, his entire body shaking with mirth.

“No. I find you quite impressive. I mean, I have heard you are powerfully gifted.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“In Magic! You are gifted in Magic, which I WILL teach you tonight, in your tent. Why most you be so infuriating? I will be in your tent after we break. For STUDY!” She blushes furiously as she guides her horse back away. Sir Zachary and your laughter chasing her as she goes.

“Will you miss our briefing tonight then, my lord?”

“I suppose I had better, Zachary.”