The Betrothal

Prologue

"Soldiers, halt! Weapons at the ready!"

The sounds of an army drilling outside could be heard within the tent of the infamous dark warlord. While the sounds of clanking metal and the repetitive calls from the commander drilling the troupes might've annoyed anyone else, these noises were like music to the ears of Zagan Ruthvien, as these noises were the sounds of his impending victory.

The confidence the warlord had in his men were beyond any form of confidence that other rulers and leaders could have for their armies. Zagan never had a reason to doubt the skills and capabilities of his men, as they had helped him win battle after battle, war after war - it was how his name had become a feared one in kingdoms near and far.

You don't just earn the title "Ruthvien the Conqueror" by doing nothing, after all.

The dark lord folded his hands together, his elbows leaning on his table as he gazed down with that intense gaze of his at his map, his next target easy to find by the knife he had stabbed smack in the middle of the territory. 'Brimsano' was the name transcribed underneath the northern kingdom's illustration. This territory would be vital for Ruthvien to seize command of, as the mountains the kingdom rests nestled on are rich with metals, perfect for mining and melting into more weapons. If the warlord could capture Brimsano, then it would only be a matter of time before the entire continent was his for the taking.

And once he had Brimsano, Zagan was confident that nothing would be able to stop him.

"Bring in my messenger," Zagan ordered after hours of quiet intense studying of the map. The guard posted near him nodded crisply and quickly left to fetch the poor messenger, whose had his life threatened one time too many because of his job description. Soon the boy entered his tent, quickly bowing and already shaking in fear, which Ruthvien ignored and instead patiently held out a letter to the boy, staring at him without any decipherable expression. "Saddle your horse. I want you to deliver this to the ruler of Brimsano."

Once the boy snatched the letter out of the warlord's hand and scurried away, Zagan leaned back in his chair, a slow smirk at last growing on his usually cold and expressionless features.

Let Old King Orobus know I'm coming. It only makes the victory that much sweeter.