Lord Harroway's Town was unusually deserted that day, shrouded in an invisible pall of tension. Most of the shops lining the streets had closed their doors. The usual bustle of trade had vanished, leaving only signs and their shadows swaying in the wind.
Fortunately, the inn near the ferry crossing still had its doors open, like the last spark of life in that deathly silence. Even there, however, business was painfully slow. Only one or two tables were occupied, their guests warily surveying their surroundings.
The streets were empty. Even when an occasional passerby appeared, they hurried along with their heads lowered, seemingly desperate to escape this eerily quiet place. No one spoke to anyone else, and even eye contact was rare. An oppressive atmosphere hung over the entire town.
The docks, which should have been bustling, were deserted as well. The usual stream of vessels and the lively loading and unloading of cargo were gone, replaced by a handful of boats moored forlornly along the bank.
A gentle breeze stirred the sails, but that faint movement only emphasized the stillness and emptiness.
Lord Frey and Earl Blackwood walked slowly through the streets with their men, their measured footsteps echoing in the silence. People hiding inside their houses cautiously watched the party's every move through gaps in their windows.
Fortunately, though the inn was humble, its food tasted quite good, and Lord Frey and his companions enjoyed a hearty lunch.
The crafty Lord Frey, however, sent his servants outside Lord Harroway's Town with supplies to set up camp and make a conspicuous show of cooking. The curling smoke was clearly visible even several kilometers away.
"My lords, House Blackwood's force has already reached the outskirts of town. House Brune's force is now ten li away."
Riding her Mastiff, Dorea Sand