Salvation glanced up from his divan at the first of his generals. He wore a long white cloak that draped from his broad shoulders to his heels. With his left hand he fingered the tip of the shaft of an arrow held in the quiver at his hip while his right hand saluted.
"How long until your men are mobile?"
"At your word milord, and we ride for the pass."
"Very well then." said Salvation as if dismissing a child.
The general did an about face and left the tent. His men stood in a column of four across by ten deep, each with his helmet in his left hand and his horses rains in the other.
"Mount up!" commanded a Lieutenant as the general took the rains of his own stead. The stallion was as white as snow.
"Move out!" ordered the same Lieutenant.
Once the column was out of the camp they broke into a gallop. Soon the border would be in sight. And soon Osceta would know true Conquest.