Day Three-Thirty-Six: Time for a good 'ol siege

We could use some of those tents, diary. We really could. I'm tired of sleeping under a shamble of wood.

Libby prodded me out of bed (really just a pile of sheets) this morning and pointed at the edges of the forest. After blinking the sleep and crust out of my eyes, I focused my gaze to the borders of Pubton, wondering what the hell she was on about.

I saw tents. Rows and rows of tents. And where there weren't tents, there were tiny people setting up tents. I won't lie, diary, my first memory was of my old castle, and the many petty sieges we suffered from attacking armies.

I bolted out of the covers, apologized to Grayson for waking him up, dressed and stormed out of the enclosure, mindless of my lack of shoes and the dew chilling my legs. I was one of only three people actively investigating the tent city, as most of the town was still huddled in wrecked buildings and trying to sleep.

I approached my mom, who was standing on the porch of her house, and gestured crazily to the tents. "Wh… what the hell is that, ma?!"

She sipped a mug of hot chocolate and shrugged. "Don't know. Aren't you going to greet your mother properly, kiddo?"

I growled, but kissed her cheek. "Hi, ma."

She beamed. "Hi, Dragomir. How's your whore wife?"

"FORGET THE WHORE!" I screamed, waving my arms. "I MEAN FORGET LIBBY! SHE'S NOT A WHORE! YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE SUBTLE ANYMORE!"

Mom smiled and sipped again. "Sorry. You're right. She's not a whore. Not compared to that Bora, anyway… gods, the racket from her and Robert most nights… would you like some breakfast?"

My eyes bulged. I waved at the tents, silently demanding an explanation.

"Oh, right." She shrugged again. "I don't know. They've been settin' up for at least an hour. I think I saw that Pagan fella you keep mentionin'… old guy, has a long, white beard? Wears armour?"

I slumped on the railing of the porch. "FUCK. Yeah, that's him. Must be aimin' to drive us out. Did you see any weapons…?"

"On them, or 'round here?"

"On them, ma."

"Oh, sure." She scanned the tents, then pointed at one. "See? That man there has a spear. Think it's a spear, anyway. Could be a big stick. 'n you know, a big stick's as good as a spear in the right hands. When he was younger, your dad - "

I didn't care about dad. I jumped off the porch and ran, full-tilt, towards the line of tents. My mother's departing yell of 'You know we don't have any weapons, right?' faded in the distance. Yes, mom, I know that all too well - we have barely any way to defend ourselves.

A group of Pagan's slaves, outfitted in soft leather armour, came at me as I charged the tents. I recognized some of them from my stay in Pagan's manor, and that probably saved me from being speared on the spot. They formed a circle around me, and I held up my hands, desperate to talk to Pagan but not wanting to fight.

The old knight came out of his enclosure, a large, scarlet war tent you'd normally find occupied by a chieftain or a general. "Ah. The venerable Mayor Dragomir. Come to apologize and agree to a migration order?"

I shook my head. "No! What the hell is this? You trying to kill us or something?!"

"Not if I can help it. You wouldn't listen to my messenger, you failed to leave when I sabotaged your shitty town, and you had the gall to flout the law by ignoring my commands. This little war band is one final warning before I unleash my blade on your sorry behinds."

I looked up and down the tents, watching as slaves peered out. There were a lot more of them than I'd seen at Pagan's estate, probably enough to match the population of Pubton. None of them looked ready for a sustained scrap, but their weapons and armour made them more than a match for my nobles and workmen.

"You have until Wednesday." Pagan ordered his slaves to step aside, giving me room to leave. "If you aren't gone by first light on Wednesday, we will charge your ramshackle village and slit your throats, one-by-one. Consider yourselves warned."

"But…!" I flailed. "Can't we at least have until Friday?! Everything important -"

"WEDNESDAY."

Pagan went back into his tent, armour creaking. My limbs numb I turned to Pubton, painfully aware of the eyes and spears at my back.

I'll talk about what happened after that tomorrow. I'm… I'm still too stunned to write much more than this.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Doomed