The stench of melting ore and burnt wood soaked the once spring smelling fields outside kindrea's gates. The lush grassy fields were now incinerated, replaced by thick, bubbling pods of mud and tar. Their black and silver tents clustered together, like a forest, banners rippling through the wind like war drums. All paths to Kindrea was blocked by the Talorans.
Approaching the camp a lone kindrean knight on horseback, dressed in ceremonial armor that gleamed despite the grim in the air.
Suddenly the sharp wisp of an arrow cut the air in front of the knight, hitting the earth just inches from the horse's hoof. The beast stopped abruptly. Its hooves kicking at the air as it neighed thunderously.
The soldiers emerged from within the camp. Their swords and axes in hand, edged closer to the knight.
"State your business?" A Taloran soldier barked.
"You ask that in another man's house?" The knight answered calmly.
"What was that?" The Taloran snapped.
The Knight removed his helm, starring down sharply, at his surrounding enemies. "I am Sir Aron of Bran, I bring a message from king Edward of Kindrea."
"Come!" The solider grunted and gestured to the camp.
More soldiers walked around Aron in a loose circle as they went deeper into the camp.
All around them war preparations shook the earth. Black smiths hammering steel, welders fueling flames, and forgers molding blades. Archers readied their bows by catching game, and knights spared relentlessly, like the battle had already begun.
"It seems you've settled in well," Aron said. "Don't get too comfortable."
The Talorans laughed, snickering in their native tongue.
"Hmpf!" Aron exclaimed, rolling his eyes.
"Here we are!" One of them said as they stopped at a massive tent stitched with the silver hawk of Talor. Guarded by two goliath sized men, arms crossed with cold eyes.
"The king is in there?" Aron asked.
They burst out laughing. "You will see," a Taloran said.
Aron's patience grew thin. "Smug bastards!"
The largest of them lunged at Aron, drawing his dagger at him. "If it is a fight you want, I Dakar, will give it to you." He pressed the edge of his blade against Aron's throat. "But do not forget why you are here!"
Aron starring dead in his eyes, did not blink. "I'm here to let you know your place!"
He shoved Dakar with his shoulder, and walked into the tent.
Aron's body froze for a second upon entering, tingles ran down his spin. The change of atmosphere felt unholy. The tent was oddly cold despite the heat of the fires, forges, and welding surrounding it. A silver hawk banner, swung slowly next to the dimly lit torches.
"Who are you?" A deep raspy voice said snapping Aron out the trance.
"I am Sir Aron of Bran," he straightened his back. "Messenger of King Edward."
An old man with long grey hair and a bald crown sat at the center of a round table. Around him were men who looked distinguished, like royalty. Different from the barbaric men who roamed the camps. Among them, a veiled mage with glowing magenta eyes, two knights in ornate armor, Grekon the brute, and Phineas, who sneered as the kindrean entered.
Aron narrowed his gaze to the old man. "Your highness!" he said bowing.
Ha! Phineas laughed. "Do you think the king of Talor as time for the likes of Kindrea?"
Before Aron could reply with a snappy comeback, the old man raised his hand.
"I am General Brask! What message does your king have for us?"
Aron pulled the sealed box and letter from his pouch, handing it to the General. "This and a written message, sir."
"So…" Phineas smirked. "After all that talk King Edward as come to kneel."
"Kindrea kneels to no one!" Aron snapped pointing his finger, warning Phineas.
"Is that so?" General Brask said. "Then I wonder what 'gift' your king as brought us?"
"Let me inspect, General." Farak, the veiled mage said. A bright yellow light spun from his mouth as he spoke. He shook the box gently, and placed it beside his ear. "I hear nothing."
Sniff! His nose wiggled. "What is this smell?"
"Open it already!" Phineas said.
Farak wrapped his wrinkled fingers round the hinges and pulled the top off, breaking the seal. A wave of nauseating rot and decay gushed out of the box.
Aron stretching his head high, trying to get a glimpse. "What on earth did I deliver?" He whispered to himself.
"What is that?" Brask shouted.
Farak with a look of disgust, "It's…it's an abomination."
He dumped the box on the table. The corpse of a flayed young hawk rolled out. It parts could barely hold, maggots wriggled from its split belly. Puss dripped from its eyes.
Curses and growls filled the room. Talor's sacred hawk, butchered and rotting. In all the kingdoms there was no greater insult.
"Let me gut him." Grekon, who never spoke, said.
Phineas mad as a dog, slammed his fist on the table causing the torches to flicker. "Skinning a baby hawk? Our pride! General, give the order and I shall burn their kingdom to ash."
"Quiet, boy!" Brask sparked. "We gave them till tomorrow."
General Brask centered his gaze at Aron. "As a knight of honor, you agreed to deliver something so devoid of honor and respect?"
Aron who was finding it hard to keep his bearings, exhaled calmly. The thought, "honor your king" ran countless times through his mind."
"I shall stand by my king, and serve him. Always." he replied.
"And what else does you king have for us?" Brask said.
Aron pulling the letter from its envelope, gasped as he read the words. His eyes riddled with confusion, he flipped it to see if there was more. "Surely this cannot be from King Edward" he thought. "A knight like me would never survive saying such to a General."
"Don't waste my time boy!" The General's voice staggered Aron's heart like thunder.
"Ha-ha!" Phineas laughed. "Is this the knight kindrea chose to represent them?"
Aron's knees trembled, he could feel himself shrinking. His limbs grew tense and his tongue numb.
His head spun in circles. Thoughts ran in and out of his mind. Under his breath, he whispered words too low to be heard.
"What was that?" Brask asked leaning in.
But, among the flood of self-doubt that filled Aron's mind, the smell of freshly cut grass lingered. He was on his father's farm again, tilling the muddy soil, moving hay and working till sunset.
"I know who I am!"
Aron clenched the paper in his fist, stamped his foot so hard the dust flew up the ground. "Fuck off…King Edward says, fuck off!"
The tent fell silent.