The cold stone beneath his feet rang with a hollow, metallic click as the soles of his boots came down upon it. Vilon walked the grand avenue of what had, until a month ago, been the absolute seat of power for the Oizenian royal house.
He had never been in a city this massive. For four weeks, he and the rest of the ragged remnants of the army had been stationed here, and every man among them was more than glad to have a proper roof over his head and a hearth to warm his bones. But this comfort was a fleeting thing. Soon, the order would come to march, the army would disband, and these months of blood and mud that had felt like a century would finally grind to an end.
But a sharper, uglier doubt was whispering in his ear, time was running short, already the cold was settling in.
It was either now or never if he wanted to find him.
