For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, Thæon sent another bitten curse towards the Scorched King and his patrolling soldiers for having set up a blockade along the only road that crosses the Bekn River; the obstacle that stands as the southern border of Ered Naur.
In all honesty, the soldiers and their fickle orders hadn’t really prevented Thæon from crossing into Nadhras.
Instead, all the bastards managed, was to delay his journey, not forcing him to turn tail and trek back through the rotten kingdom to his own clanlands in the North. If he had really wanted to cross the river, then he would have.
But knowing that he would be the one blamed for having started a fight with some poorly-trained, weak-hearted soldiers that barely understood the basics of their own magic, and that would be a certainty to igniting the war that King Ruihyn has been salivating for, long before he claimed Ost’Aura’s throne.