The enemy was on the move. Riding in several hours before, Alaric’s scouts confirmed as much. Their breathless reports painted a vivid picture of the approaching threat, the sheer scale and might Thorold was about to throw against him. As soon as the sun had set, the enemy army began marching his way, a dark tide advancing under the cover of night.
All around the fort, his men were hard at work strengthening the defenses, their silhouettes set against flickering torchlight as they toiled away. They had been at it for most of the day and almost all of the night.
Alaric was in his headquarters tent, a sparse yet functional space where maps cluttered the central table. He was reviewing his orders to Keever, for he had a special mission for the man. They both stood around the table that held a map of the region. The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of sweat, lamp oil, and dirt. He had only one clerk currently at work, a young man named Darro, with a furrowed brow and ink-stained fingers, diligently copying orders he’d dictated onto parchment for the coming day.
The rest of the clerks he’d sent on their way, to help with the build-out and strengthening of the defenses. He’d even lent a hand himself, working for several hours, using a pickaxe to widen the trench around the encampment. It had been hard work and helped him pass the time, diverting his mind from what was coming. The rhythmic thud of metal on soil still echoed in his ears. His hands and fingers ached from the work, not to mention his arms and back.
Outside the tent, the fort was a hive of activity. Despite their weariness, Alaric’s soldiers, under the direction of their officers and sergeants, moved with purpose, their faces grim but resolute. As Alaric stood before the map, with Keever at his side, his thoughts were still a turbulent sea of strategies and contingencies, his mind working on how he would defend the fort and make the enemy suffer if they attempted to overcome his walls. The coming hours would test not only his mettle like never before, but his men as well. After a few moments more of consideration, he looked over at Keever.
“Do you have any questions concerning your orders?” Alaric asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within.
“No, my lord, I do not,” Keever stated, his tone respectful and resolute. “I am to take the entire cavalry contingent and ride away to the east several miles, making my way into the forest and out of direct observation of enemy scouts. I will make certain we are not followed before I begin circling around, moving behind the enemy army. If an opportunity presents itself, I am to take advantage of it, such as attacking their supply train, destroying what I can, and complicating their situation. Otherwise, I am to wait for your signal—should what we discussed come to pass.”
“And if it does?” Alaric asked.
“Then I will proceed accordingly, as you have directed.”
“Excellent,” Alaric affirmed, a note of approval in his voice.
“I have my doubts about that happening, though.”
“I know. You have voiced them. Only time will tell the enemy’s true intentions.”
Keever hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you sure the king’s army is coming? If Laval is leading it, that treacherous dog might just find a way to hang you out to dry. Trust me, my lord, I know. I was his creature for several years. Not only is he underhanded, but he is also one who will not forget slights. He holds a grudge. No matter how long it takes, he will look to pay you back in kind. That worries me.”
Alaric’s eyes hardened at the mention of Laval, but his response was measured, “Jasper confirmed the first landings of our king’s army several hours ago. I have received multiple reports since then and communications directly from his majesty. The king has landed several thousand soldiers on our side of the river, with more on the way.”
“That is somewhat encouraging.” A hint of relief softened Keever’s features.
“I think so too,” Alaric said and then decided the time for conversation was over. They had procrastinated enough. He extended his hand. “I won’t keep you any longer. Good fortune.”
“And to you too, my lord.” Keever clasped Alaric’s hand in a strong handshake. Their eyes met, a moment of shared understanding and unspoken respect passing between them. The mission ahead was a serious burden for Keever, but Alaric knew if any of his bannermen were to pull off what he wanted, it would be this man. He was hard, harder than the rest of his bannermen, almost unbending in his dedication to his duty. In that moment, Alaric was glad he spared Keever’s life and allowed him to continue to serve.
Without another word, Alaric’s bannerman left the tent. The walls had been rolled up, allowing the cool night air to flow through and into the inside. The breeze from outside carried the mingled scents of sweat, horses, and the strong aroma of campfire smoke, along with the latrines. Bugs buzzed noisily around the lamps hanging from the ceiling supports. Beyond the tent, numerous torches cast dancing shadows across the busy scene beyond.
Alaric moved to the edge of the tent. Leaning against a support pole, he watched as Keever moved to his horse that had been picketed just outside. Beyond him, arranged in neat, orderly ranks, was Alaric’s cavalry contingent: his original fifty, along with the mounts they’d captured and the soldiers now assigned to those horses.
He was sending away two hundred twenty of his men, a significant portion of his small army. The absence of their strength was a real concern. In the hours ahead, when the enemy crashed against the walls of his fort, these were men he would desperately need for defense. The rest of the cavalry were out in the field keeping active tabs on the enemy, watching them as they steadily closed on his position. Still, if things happened the way Alaric suspected they would, he’d need these men outside the walls and free to act. He was betting almost everything on Keever. An unsettling thought.
Keever untied the horse from the post and, holding the reins, pulled himself up into the saddle with practiced ease. He took a moment to settle himself comfortably, nodded to Alaric, and then, pulling on the reins, wheeled his horse around and walked her slowly up to the middle of the first rank of waiting cavalry. His eyes swept over the assembled men, clearly gauging their readiness and resolve. The flickering torchlight reflected off the polished metal of their armor and the eager, alert faces of the soldiers, each of whom stood next to his horse, holding the reins expectantly.
“Mount up!” Keever shouted, his voice carrying over the din of the ongoing work of the fort. The men dutifully pulled themselves up and onto their horses with swift, almost coordinated movements. The horses, sensing the impending action, stamped their feet, snorted, and whinnied with excitement. Keever waited for several heartbeats, ensuring everyone was ready, then raised his hand up in the air. A hush fell over the mounted men. Even the horses nearly stilled, waiting for the inevitable order. The moment was charged with anticipation.
“Column of two,” Keever called out, his voice ringing clear in the night air. He then pointed with a bladed hand toward the camp gate. “Forward, ride!”
Alaric’s bannerman wheeled about and then nudged his horse into a trot, riding confidently toward the main gate of the fort. Ganister came next, following closely. Alaric watched intently as, two by two, his cavalry peeled out of the formation and began following after Keever, riding through the gate, out into the darkness and the uncertainty that lay beyond.
More than a few of the riders appeared uncomfortable on horseback. They bounced too much in the saddle or rode awkwardly, stiff and without rhythm, but this was his cavalry, and having over two hundred mounted soldiers was significantly better than the fifty he’d started the campaign with. Courtesy of the enemy, each new horse soldier was equipped with a lance, shield, and sword, not to mention chainmail armor that glinted dully under the torchlight.
Alaric continued to watch as his cavalry departed. In the darkness, the scene was almost surreal and magical, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced along with the departing riders. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the packed dirt became a steady drumbeat. Within a surprisingly short time, they were all gone, the sound of hooves fading into the distance, replaced by shovels and pickaxes at work, sergeants and officers calling to one another or shouting orders as the men worked on improving the fort’s defenses.
Alaric looked up at the sky. The darkness still held sway, the faintest hint of dawn yet to grace the horizon. The moon was a thin sliver. He figured sunrise was no more than three hours off. The latest reports had put the first elements of Thorold’s army arriving on his doorstep just before dawn.
Motion to the left caught Alaric’s attention. He turned to find Duncan approaching, his second in command looking as tired, dirty, and spent as everyone else. After Alaric had set the example, by bending his back to manual labor, his bannermen had followed suit.
“I didn’t think we would be able to do it so soon, but, my lord, the trench around the camp is complete,” Duncan said, his voice carrying a note of pride, mixed with exhaustion. “All you asked for is about done. The finishing touches are being put on the barricade and fighting platform as well. That should be finished within the hour.”
“Excellent.” Alaric clapped both hands together, the sound sharp in the night air, causing his clerk, Darro, to look briefly up from his work at transcribing orders. “When the barricade is emplaced, stand the men down. See each one is fed, watered, and then gets some well-earned rest.”
Duncan nodded his understanding. “It won’t be much, but it will be better than nothing.”
“I think we can allow the majority to sleep in. It will take time for Thorold’s full army to arrive, let alone deploy around the camp and get into position for an assault. At the very least, that should take several hours. And if we are lucky, they will want to talk first, demanding a surrender, wasting even more time.” Alaric sucked in a breath and let it out. He stifled a yawn. He needed sleep too. “Yes, I believe we can stand most of the men down until needed, ‘til the enemy is ready to jump off into the attack and assault our walls. Let them rest.”
“Yes, my lord,” Duncan said, though he did not appear fully convinced. “I will pass along those orders just as soon as everything is wrapped up.”
“Remember, the enemy will have marched all night. Thorold’s men will be spent as well. If we’re fortunate, we may even have a day before they attempt to overcome the walls, especially considering all we have done to strengthen our defenses. By then, with some good fortune, the king’s army should be here.”
“Aye, my lord,” Duncan said, his tone hopeful yet cautious. “I pray it is so.”
The camp was a hive of activity, men moving with purpose, their faces lit by the flickering torchlight. Satisfied with all that had been done and would be done, Alaric nodded and turned away, moving over to a table with the maps. He moved aside the map he and Keever had been using and placed another before him, one carefully annotated with the coming dispositions for defense of the walls.
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Alaric had drawn the map of the fort himself on a piece of parchment. His extensive notes were scrawled across them. There was also a jar of wine and several mugs resting on the left side of the table. Turning away from the map, he poured wine into two mugs, the deep red liquid glistening darkly in the lamplight. He handed one to Duncan, who had followed him over to the table. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“I could.” Duncan took the mug with a grateful nod. He brought it to his lips and drank deeply. He rapidly drained the mug and then shook it slightly, a weary smile breaking through his fatigue. “That”—he shook the empty mug again—“is good.”
“Courtesy of King Thorold’s son.” Alaric took a long sip, the rich, robust flavor of the wine a brief comfort against the night’s chill. He drank about half before setting the mug down upon the table and looked to Duncan expectantly. Over the past two years, they both had become friends and partners in the development of Dekar. “Would you care for more?”
“No,” Duncan said, setting his mug down as well. “It will make me tired, and I am sleepy enough as it is, especially after all that backbreaking work.”
The two men stood in companionable silence, the weight of their responsibilities temporarily eased by the shared drink. The wine, a small luxury, was a brief respite from the relentless demands of command. Alaric glanced at the map spread out before them. The lines and notations spoke of his planning and the battle to come.
He hoped he’d not missed anything.
“Let’s go through the plans I’ve drawn up for the defense of the fort,” Alaric said. “I’d have your thoughts.”
“Of course, my lord. I will help in any way I can.”
“Make way for the king,” came a shout from the direction of the gate.
Alaric and Duncan whipped around. A moment later, a party of twenty horsemen galloped into the fort, the thundering hooves and chinking of armor creating a sudden, dramatic entrance. Alaric could not have been more surprised had his enemy, King Thorold himself, ridden into the fort without protection.
He glanced at Duncan, who gave a shrug, and then started forward toward his king, leaving the headquarters tent behind and moving out into the torchlit night. Duncan followed. All of Alaric’s soldiers nearby had stopped whatever they were doing to gawk, their attention riveted on the unexpected arrival. The king, mounted on a magnificent horse, was at the head of the party.
“Where is Lord Alaric?” a commanding voice called out from the group of horsemen. “Lord Alaric, where is he?”
“Here,” Alaric shouted, raising a hand as he approached, his pulse quickening. He recognized that voice. As the rider turned to look in his direction, the torchlight revealed the face of Malvanis, Duke Laval’s son.
He came to a halt before the mounted party, standing back a few feet from the horses. A tightness gripped Alaric’s stomach as Malvanis and the king dismounted.
“You should have killed that one,” Duncan said quietly to Alaric as Malvanis handed his reins to one of the mounted escort. “I fear we might just all regret the fact he is still above ground. In fact, I already know I regret not pushing the issue with you.”
Alaric glanced unhappily at Duncan. He let go a low breath. “Enemy or not, his life purchased time to rebuild Dekar. It secured the peace. I’d say, so far, it has been a fair trade.”
“Aye,” Duncan breathed, “but at what ultimate cost? What will we be made to pay?”
Malvanis took a moment to glance around the fort and said something to the king. His once handsome face was marred with ugly scars, one under the left eye and another on the chin. A third ran along his right jawline. Alaric had personally given the man those, and he did not regret it.
The king turned his gaze in their direction. Alaric dropped to a knee and bowed his head respectfully. Duncan matched him.
“Welcome to Camp Hope, your majesty,” Alaric said.
“Rise,” the king said.
Alaric and Duncan stood.
The king was young, barely out of his teens, and in the torchlight looked pasty and pimply-faced, not to mention painfully thin. There was a sickly look about him.
“Camp Hope?” the king asked, his voice high-pitched to the point of being nasally. Clad in a suit of gleaming chainmail armor that fit awkwardly and seemed almost a burden upon his slight frame, he strode up to Alaric and Duncan, leaving his warhorse behind and in the care of one of his escort.
The horse, more confident than its rider, carried itself with an air of regality that the king himself struggled to emulate. As he placed his hands upon his hips, Roderick’s cloak, a rich tapestry of royal blue trimmed with silver, fluttered softly in the cool breeze, its elegance overshadowed by the uncertainty that flickered across his youthful features and in his eyes.
Alaric noted the king’s hesitant gaze as it swept over the interior of the fort. The young ruler’s crown—a thin circlet of delicate gold—rested lightly on a head of short-cropped, mousey brown hair, an unassuming symbol of his authority. His face, shadowed by the night and partially lit by the nearest torches, was drawn and tense, betraying his inexperience and the weight of command that lay uneasily on his shoulders.
The king’s movements were cautious, almost timid. He adjusted the sword at his hip, the motion betraying his nervousness before Alaric. The very air around him whispered of an inexperienced ruler, one thrust too soon into the throes of war. To Alaric, as the king’s eyes flicked about, he seemed overly nervous—like he did not wish to be here.
This was the fourth time Alaric had met his king. There were moments like this one he had difficulty believing he’d sworn his allegiance to this throne. But, just as his father, he had, and Alaric took that very seriously, no matter what others like Rikka thought. Alaric took a step closer, his expression respectful. “Your majesty, we are honored by your presence. As commanded, we have been preparing for the enemy’s arrival and are ready to hold until relieved.”
King Roderick’s eyes met Alaric’s, and for a moment, the mask of royalty slipped, revealing the young man beneath, the frightened youth. The king looked quickly away, then back again. Licking his lips, Roderick sucked in a breath and seemed to gather himself.
“Thank you, Lord Alaric,” he said, his voice steadying somewhat. “We must ensure your defenses will hold. That is why we have come. The fate of our kingdom rests on your very shoulders—that you should hold out long enough for our gambit to work.”
“Camp Hope?” Malvanis echoed, his tone laced with skepticism as he glanced around again at the rough and hastily built walls. “That is an odd name for a fort, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Duncan growled, drawing Laval’s son’s attention. “Hope that, come morning, we are not overwhelmed by the enemy. Hope also we are not left to wither on the vine before the enemy’s might.”
Malvanis frowned at Alaric’s bannerman, a silent rebuke for the man’s bluntness. “You need to better control your dog, Alaric. He should know his place amongst his betters.”
Jaw flexing, Duncan stiffened.
“He does know his place,” Alaric said simply, “which is at my side and to speak his mind to me when he sees fit.”
“And why did you not come sooner?” Malvanis countered, turning his gaze from Duncan to Alaric. “My father could have used your men sooner. This small army you have managed to gather together would have come in handy when we met the enemy in battle.”
“Yes,” the king agreed, “we could have used your men. There is no doubt about that.”
“I sent word, your majesty,” Alaric said, “explaining your messenger did not arrive.”
“I had received that missive,” the king said. “Still, I and others found it a curious thing. There are those in court who have questions.”
“I have questions, myself,” Alaric said, turning his gaze to Malvanis.
“I am sure you do,” Malvanis replied, a hint of a smile on his scarred face.
“Still, as I said, it is a curious thing,” the king repeated as he glanced between the two of them.
“I’d say convenient is more appropriate.” Malvanis extended his arms to encompass the fort. “And now, you are positioned to be the hero of the day, holding Camp Hope against terrible odds, defending her walls valiantly. No doubt you will drape yourself in glory before the sun sets.”
“Are you implying something?” Alaric asked, hardening his tone. “If so, I would have it out in the open between us.”
“Am I?” Malvanis asked with an infuriating air of innocence. “I had not noticed.”
“If you are insinuating a lack of honor upon my actions,” Alaric said coldly, “I will be forced to take issue with you and yours.”
“Will you?” Malvanis asked, his hand slipping to his sword hilt and resting lightly upon it.
“Yes,” Alaric said simply, “and we both know how that went last time.”
“I do not question your honor, Lord Alaric,” the king said hastily, holding his hands up. “You came with a significant force and that is what matters, that and you are here and prepared to fight for Kevahn. With me, your honor is more than satisfied.”
“Thank you, your majesty.” Alaric inclined his head respectfully.
“We have come to see your preparations for defense,” the king said, attempting to project authority despite the uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced almost nervously in Malvanis’s direction. “I will not have my own fight amongst themselves. There is enough of that as it is, isn’t there, Malvanis?”
“Aye,” Malvanis added, his tone clipped, turning his gaze to the king and then back to Alaric. “We want to make sure you can hold until we come in strength.”
“Just as long as you are prompt,” Duncan said sourly. “I suppose we will hold long enough in such an event.”
Speaking his mind or not, Alaric shot Duncan a warning look, silently urging him to hold his tongue before the king. He then turned back to Malvanis, adopting a more cordial tone. “So good to see you again, Malvanis. I have missed your company. It has been far too long.”
“Not long enough,” Malvanis groused. Though his face was expressionless, Alaric could read the hatred in the other’s eyes, the pure loathing. “My father sends his regards.”
“And where is your father?” Alaric asked, his tone carefully neutral. “Instead of sending you, I would have expected him to come himself to survey and assess our defenses.”
“At the crossing,” Malvanis replied curtly. “He is overseeing the movement of the army. That is his priority.”
“Already we have four thousand men over on this side of the Sken,” the king announced, a note of pride in his voice. “Soon there will be more, many more, and the enemy has no idea.”
“How large is your army, your majesty?” Alaric inquired. “How many have you brought?”
“About eight thousand men,” Malvanis answered for the king. “With yours, we have over nine thousand.”
“Less than the enemy,” Alaric noted, his brow furrowing in concern.
“We were compelled to leave a substantial force guarding Cret’s Crossing, in the event Thorold turns back and tries to force his way over to the other side,” Malvanis explained. “Surprise is what we are looking to achieve here. That will even things out and weigh them in our favor.”
“Yes, surprise,” the king echoed, glancing around the camp once more. He turned his gaze for a moment to the gate and looked at it longingly. “We must have surprise on our side. They cannot learn we have crossed over the Sken.”
“We will surprise them completely, you majesty,” Malvanis said.
Did the king even realize the enemy got a vote when it came to battle, a say in how things went down? Alaric thought that a good question.
“Since you are here to see our defensive preparations, would you like a tour of the fortifications, your majesty, see all that we have accomplished in the last few hours and how we will defend this position, hold it until your army arrives?”
“I would,” the king said and glanced once more in the direction of the gate, “then we must be back to the army. I cannot tarry long here. There is much that I must oversee, much that Laval needs my help with. Our scouts have also reported enemy cavalry in the area. I believe we saw such a column riding off to the east when we arrived.”
“It seemed like a rather large force,” Malvanis admitted. “When we leave, we will have to be on guard and watchful on the way back to the army.”
Glancing at Malvanis, Alaric wondered if the king was overseeing anything at all. It seemed more likely Laval was running the show. He did not mention that the cavalry the king and Malvanis had seen was likely Keever moving to carry out his orders. Alaric saw no need to tell them either.
Instead of responding, Alaric gestured toward the north wall. “Shall we begin the tour?”
“Yes, please.” The king turned in the indicated direction.
“I will keep it as brief as possible, your majesty, and have you on your way posthaste.”
“I appreciate that, Lord Alaric,” Roderick said.
As Alaric was about to lead the way, he caught a look from Malvanis directed toward the king, one of undisguised disgust, before it shifted to Alaric. Their gazes locked. In the other’s eyes, Alaric again read hate and a promise for vengeance—a coming reckoning.
Perhaps Duncan had been right, that allowing Malvanis to live was a mistake? How would that come back to bite him?
“Now, let us see this fort you have constructed,” the king said, drawing Alaric’s attention once more.
“Yes, your majesty,” Alaric said. “I learned how to construct such defenses during the Crusade. They proved their worth there, especially toward the end, when the heathens outnumbered us. This way, please.” Alaric extended a hand and began leading the way. “I will show you the walls, and from there, under the moonlight we will be able to see the trench my men have dug.”
Alaric led the king and Malvanis away, Duncan following closely. After a few steps, Alaric saw Ezran trailing just behind Laval’s son, his eyes wary and watchful of the man. The ash man’s hand was hovering close to his dagger, as if ready to draw it in a moment’s notice.
Alaric’s gaze met Malvanis’s again. He could feel the tension simmering beneath the surface of the man, the pure loathing. There would be blood. At some point, Malvanis would see it come to that.