Snippet #2076339

(Cralix Wuthrad)

I rode through the village, sitting atop my horse. My mind was ablaze with thoughts.

"Arn, have we collected the taxes from the lands?" I asked looking at him briefly with nonchalance. I would need the funds, my force required training and more men if I would claim lands for my people in Rome.

"Yes, sir." He answered riding at my side, the rhythmic clacking of hooves on the dirt paths was comforting. I closed my eyes for a moment with visions of blood disturbing my moment of peace.

"Do we have enough to recruit and equip as many as perhaps fifty men?" I pulled gently at the reigns halting my horse. He stopped with me if not a bit ahead, pulling at the reigns of his sickly looking, frail horse. Arn was a man of relative build. He was of low significance, but he mattered to me, and was a beloved friend from dark times. He was aging, with a balding grey head and goatee. A gruff man.

"I'm afraid not, sir." He said with a grimace, pulling at his fur coat. It was a crisp fall afternoon, that was for sure.

I made no attempt to hide my displeasure. "Well then, I ask that we distribute some of the gold to helping the village council. We'll spend the rest on supplies, but do not cut into my funds." I said it sternly and Arn pulled at the reigns of his horse, trotting silently away.