Ida Holst sat atop her chestnut colored warhorse and stared down her troops with disdain. Her bright blue eyes seemed unnatural with the hues of the waning sun shining on them, and the scar running across her brow accented her displeasure. They had ridden hard throughout the day, her and her five hundred warriors, and the last few hours of the day gave them one choice for camping. The mountain. On the other side was a small town that had been sent word to prepare for her coming. They could send her tribute in food and she would come peacefully, or, if tribute was not given, she would raise the town. It was very cut and dry. Very simple, and that’s how she liked it. She saw to it those that abide by her will were taken care of. Sadly for them, they had not returned her message with tribute, and that meant they would be paying anyway, with the additional fee of blood. That would be taken care of tomorrow, now was the time to climb the mountain partial and make camp. They could