17
The Bootlicker
Aiden envied those with the incredible honor to watch him arrive at Termonglen at the head of his glorious cavalry. All men behind him were bedecked in the crimson and gold of the Easterlands. He donned the same colors, but there was no mistaking their rank versus his, not with extravagant plume upon his helmet that stretched so high into the air others joked he might swipe birds from the sky. They were a vision, glimmering in the last sun of the day, which was precisely the time he planned to arrive for this exact reason.
None would offer him the praise he deserved. They loathed him. But he’d see it in their eyes, the dark tendrils of jealousy, and perhaps even fear, at how they’d neglected to melt the fat and rust off their own men while he’d been training something
