"You are quiet today, my friend. Does my camp not please you?"

Lord Serbace cast an objective eye over the camp, trying to find something to comment on. It was hard to believe the camp on the outskirts of Elm was so close to the borders where rogue Olseck tribes continually attacked and tried to degrade the trade relations to neighbouring countries. Soldiers were everywhere, doing any number of jobs or routines. Some were polishing armour and weapons, others tending the herds of horses penned up. Every so often those who looked like medics would pass by, giving the two lords a bow if they had to cross. He spotted a green-scaled face peer from a larger tent, which quickly flitted back into hiding. He frowned.

"May I inquire the reason you allow women into a military camp? I would have thought you would have frowned upon that business." Lord Barcia laughed.

"Serbace, you misunderstand. They were brought here by one of my captains, to be trained as healers. The only relief they offer men is that from pain or wounds."

"I choose to believe you, Barcia."

"Do you truly think so little of me? Do you not believe the truth?"

"No, Barcia, not at all!" Serbace chuckled. "I must say, I am impressed. For a place so near to the borders, you are remarkably organised. You must have some very good leadership skills."

"Ah, it is not all down to me, I am ashamed to say. My captains are equally worthy of praise. I have seven in all; I doubt you have met them all."

"No, I have not, although Captain Oron was most welcoming."

"Excellent! I hope you shall meet up with the rest of them. Unfortunately one of them, Captain Driaman, is unable to be here." Serbace smirked.

"Ah, your infamous Captain Driaman. He has made quite a name for himself in these lands, I gather. I talked to some of your scouts, they hold him in high praise, though they seem reluctant to tell me much about him. They couldn't even provide me with his first name!"

"Captain Driaman is intensely private. Very much keeps the public and private image separate. Driaman was actually the one who brought the womenfolk to my camp."

"You must trust him to no end, Barcia."

"We all must trust our people to make communal politics easier, do we not?" Serbace nodded in agreement as they continued walking. He held Barcia in high regard, despite their long-running friendship. He was certainly the wiser of the two, and not because he was a few years older. He always had a way about him, a certain natural leadership that called upon his lessers to trust his decisions. A blue-scaled woman was standing at the entrance to Barcia's private quarters, talking to a lieutenant animatedly. Her wings were firmly folded up as she turned to greet them. She smiled, and bowed.

"Lord Barcia, Lord Serbace." She walked away, the young lieutenant following her lead and getting out of their way. Serbace turned his head to watch her walk away.

"I would not try anything, my friend. I recall you have a wife?"

"I am a man. I cannot help but admire beauty." They exchanged a look, and Barcia shook his head with a grin. The dirty old bastard. If only he knew who she truly was.

In another part of the camp, the blue-scaled woman walked up to another of the captain's private tents.

"Captain Xiarann?" No answer. "Captain Xiarann." Still no answer. She huffed, crossed her arms.

"Dyrchos!" Finally Xiarann pulled away a canvas to reveal himself.

"Ah, Nikai! I thought you would be lying low, what with that other lord stomping around!"

"You should know by now it takes more than a mere man's presence to cause me to show cowardice. I am quite sure he has no inkling of who I truly am in the first place. Now, one of my ladies was saying you had a man with a stab wound?"

"I'm afraid so. The normal place, usual excuse; apparently he fell on to a knife whilst he was sleeping. He seems to do that quite a lot, he's getting quite a line of scars on his thigh."

"Obviously he has not learnt his lesson hard enough. I would like to talk to this soldier."

"Of course. But wait until Serbace has gone, if you would."

"Of course." They shared a laugh.

"Well, come in, Driaman! Don't stand there looking like a phycca! You're meant to be lying low!" Nikai, for once, followed her fellow captain's orders. Her wings unfolded, and releaved the many scars and holes, and the true sign she was a fellow warrior.

"If you insist. And I hear you have some ale hidden away in here. I am keen to try it."