Two weeks had passed since the fall of Thegolontia. The city, once proud and defiant, now lay in the hands of Prince Maesinius. His banner flew high over its battered walls, and a garrison of 300 men had been left behind to secure the streets and maintain order.
For some that had been a hefty prize enough but the head of the campaign, Maesinius knew the city itself was not the end but just the mean, it was the battle yet to come that would decide the fate of the province.
The prince, flanked by his commanders, led an army of 7,300 soldiers, marching steadily through the open countryside beyond Thegolontia. His men moved with a disciplined pace, their morale high by recent victory and the following loot, contrary to his worries, their awareness of the enemy force advancing toward them did very little to damp their over all excitement.
Scouts had been sent in all directions, scouring the land for signs of the opposing army, while Maesinius himself studied the terrain.
