"OH, COME NOW, BROTHER!" The King eased in his seat. He had his eyes turned to the Lord Commander and an amused smile playing on his lips. It was apparent in his visage, Arlon did not believe one bit of his brother's tale. Granted, they'd had problems with pillagers from the Iron Clans in the past, but an invasion from the North. . .pigs just might as well grow fur.
Latchlon frowned in his own seat at the oval table but kept his gaze solid on the King. "It is true, Sire," he maintained, and Arlon lost the smirk on his lips for a moment. His grin faded and the blue in his eyes flickered warmly.
"How so, Lord Commander?" he asked, directly speaking to the silver-armored soldier at his right.
"It came to me by night, Sire," Latchlon began. "As a script hidden under the black feathers of a raven, flown to the city from the Eracusan patrols of the northern farming villages. And at first, I didn't want to believe it because—"
