V
Lord Cleis of house Avelore observed the training of his men at arms in the courtyard of his family seat, the Ironvale, and from its walls hanged its sigil, a scale with a sword on one side and a shield on the other, at the tip of the scale, a six-pointed star, resting on a dark blue background.
He was the firstborn of his father, Rickard, the sixth of his name, who was currently away in the capital, leaving him to rule in his stead. His father was a tall, broad-shouldered man, in his youth, few dared to cross his way in battle, but as he grew older, he grew fatter and was but a shadow of himself.
In contrast, they called him to be the living embodiment of his father in his early twenties, he knew his way with both word and sword, with men and women alike, and he knew the price of ruling.
His father knew it too, thats the reason he was in the capital currying favor with the new king, the last wars had left many men dead, and a handful of keeps deserted, it was a fool business not to take advantage of it.
"My lord?" Puther, his maester at arms called for him.
"Yes Puther?"
"The riders we sent to deal with the bandits have returned, they found the camp empty, they were in a hurry to leave apparently" Puther said.
"Alert the nearby towns just in case" Puther nodded "And tell the maester to send a raven to my father."
"Will do my lord."
"How is the training going?" Puther was about to answer when a loud sound interrupted him "What in the name of the seven?"
He looked at the skies and saw a dim figure, it made a buzzing sound, it was still in the air, almost like it was observing them, it was small, no bigger than a regular shield he guessed, it remained still for some minutes, and then flied rapidly out of sight, the whole courtyard was confused as he was, but for not, there was nothing he could do about it. Except mayhap send a raven to the capital.
Lady Alaynne of house Mooton moved silently along with her retinue of twenty men, she had finally gotten leave from the king to resettle on her ancestral family seat, Maidenpool. It was one of the big castles in the Crownlands, and her family an influential one.
Her father successfully brokered alliances and deals that would increase their influence, mayhap even rivalling the capital, but the last wars made all that for naught, her parents and brothers laid dead, burned by the mad queen. yesteryear they could muster five thousand men, now she estimated few hundreds, they were the richest in the Crownlands, now their coffers were empty, sacked by the mad queen armies.
She was the last of her house, young, unmarried, and at the mercy of others, how far the mighty had fallen, said many when she was delivered as a hostage, imprisoned by her supposedly loyal bannermen, how far they had fallen indeed.
"My lady!" Ser Wynter, captain of her guard approached galloping hard "You might want to see this."
"What is it Wynter?"
"The men found something" he looked confused.
"Again I ask, what?" she said, irritated.
"It's better if I show you" he said and ordered the whole retinue.
They galloped in silence, she rode Crab, her fathers stallion, an old but proud one he was, and she felt the tears running down, a lot of good people would never come back.
They eventually left the Kings road and began moving into a hill, they entered a forest, and she held her horse harder, and felt the dagger in the hip, she knew much of treason.
"Look my lady" Wynter pointed to a clearing, and gasps were heard along the whole group.
A big oval, of black outline, mirror-like, except it reflected a deep jungle in the middle of the night, not the sunny day in the Crownlands.
"The fuck is that?" a soldier asked.
"I know not" Wynter pointed out.
"By the seven" she looked at the other side, "Is it magic?"
"Not quite" an unknown voice said.
They looked around, and they were surrounded by men dressed in olive green, with irregular patterns on their clothes, they held some sort of metal object with both hands, elongated, but shorter than a spear, or bastard sword, some were pointed at her retinue, and they all wore some sort of helmet, and a black mask, with a large circular shape at the side of the masks and their faces.
"Who are you?" Wynter demanded, sword raised.
"Your jailers" he raised his metal weapon "And it would be wise to surrender" the man spoke common, but had a thick accent she never heard before
"You jest, she is the lady of these lands, bestowed upon her by his grace, king Bran" a soldier said.
"I know no king whose name is Bran; in fact I obey no king" the man gave and imperceptible nod to the rest of the camouflaged men.
Three men raised they metal arms, and with a light sound, three of hers fell lifeless, but there was no blood in any of them. Wynter and the other moved to attack and they fell swiftly, but she saw no blood.
As she moved Crab and prepared to run, her horse also fell after staggering when the men used their weapons at the horse, she fell hard, and one of her legs was trapped.
Is this how I end? She thought.
The man that looked like the leader approached her, and bent to get a good look at her "You are now in custody of the Colombian army."
PD: Buckle up, the amount of everything will increase exponentially