"My father's final decree," Owain announced in a firm tone that made the assembled court sit straighter in their pews. "Concerns the defense of the march."
He broke the seal and unfurled the parchment with a snap that echoed off the vaulted ceiling like the crack of a whip.
"In light of the growing threat from the demons of the western wilderness," Owain read, his voice filling the cathedral with the weight of a pronouncement that would reshape the lives of every person in the room.
"And in recognition of the urgent need to prepare for the coming campaign to secure our borders and rid ourselves of the threat posed by the nests where demons breed, the Marquis has decreed that each baron of the march is hereby permitted and required to raise a levy of soldiers numbering no fewer than three times their current standing forces."
The words landed like a mace strike to the chest of every lord in the cathedral.
