The rain had softened into a drizzle by the time Lumberling and his three companions reached the outskirts of the battered town. Smoke still rose from collapsed rooftops. The air smelled of burnt wood, blood, and wet soil.
A weary guard stumbled forward from the outer camp, his armor dented and streaked with mud, eyes hollow with exhaustion. He raised his halberd weakly. "Identify yourselves," he rasped.
"It's me," Lumberling said, lowering his hood. "I've come to see the Duke."
The guard blinked, and for a moment his fatigue was replaced by a faint spark of relief. "Lord Lumberling!" He hurried closer and gave a slight bow. "Forgive me, I didn't recognize you right away. I thought you were protecting the city. Why have you come?"
"I left someone capable in my place," Lumberling said, his gaze drifted past the man toward the ruined walls. "Anyway, where's the Duke?"
