Lykourgos V: Thrice the Prince Did March

The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.

The Woodsroad, Southern Teleytaios, Klironomea.

It had been ten days since the army had set out from the capital, and even by his standards they were making good time. Haestinghen had passed behind them a day or two ago, the men being allowed one day to rest before continuing on with their blisteringly fast march. Even still, they would be able to catch the enemy off guard and strike them down before they could reasonably have been expected to move.

His commanders and advisors rode around him in a loose knot, as well as Dreamwulf and Eros. The two guards, despite knowing the loyalties of every single one of the gathered advisors, were unwilling to take any more chances with his life.

Still, it was moments and events like this that made Lykourgos extremely happy that he had a man as talented as Elikoidi on his side. He wouldn't say that the scarred man ran the underground particularly, but he would be very surprised if his friend didn't have his hand on the tiller of more than a few criminal groups around the kingdom. Almost every informant, spy, and saboteur in Teleytaios was on his payroll, kept in line through a mixture of promises, gold, and favours. Threats as well, of course. Subtle, but threats nonetheless. Elikoidi had come very, very far since the prince had helped him out of that hellish situation he'd been in indeed.

The man was far from here, having remained back in the capital alongside the relatively new Master of Copper, but the prince was certain his influence would be frustrating their foe even now. No-one would be able to garner any information on the Teleytaian interior without Elikoidi's say so, nor could the enemy within move unnoticed, for the eyes of his friend remained unerringly on the pulse of the Teleytaian criminal underground. Nothing happened without him hearing about it, of that Lykourgos was sure.

Nothing except things that happened to him, that was. That was the deal they'd had, after all.

He was shaken from his musings by the approaching form of his dependable and trusted cupbearer.

"Your Grace, Ser, we have word on the new commanders of Lord Blackoak's forces."

He nodded at the man, bidding him to continue. It seems my musings on the work of my friend were actually rather timely, he thought with a small measure of amusement, for just as I finish thinking of him I receive a message that will no-doubt be in his hand. His young cupbearer rose to his feet, handing over the parchment with a graceful bow.

Lykourgos read through the message, then furrowed his brows and read it again. He read it once more as quickly but carefully as he could, then looked over at Ilias in surprise whilst handing the message over to Grandmaster Romanos. This was... well, it was certainly good news. Almost too good to be true!

"He can't be serious, surely? Lord Blackoak has really given command over half of his forces to that blithering fool?"

"Indeed he has. Master Elikoidi's intelligence is rarely wrong, your Grace."

Lykourgos nodded, his mind already moving a thousand miles a minute thanks to this new information.

Marshal Crowe spoke next as the Grandmaster handed the note to Rhema.

"Who has been appointed, your Grace?"

Lykourgos answered absentmindedly, already hashing out as much of a plan as he could in the moments he had to think.

"His son and heir, a glory-hungry, self-assured prick. An excellent swordsman, of that there can be no doubt, but not a commander. This changes things; Rhema, I'm giving you command of four-thousand men and entrusting you to draw the eight-thousand men of Ser Aerna Blackoak west. Harry him, insult him, raid him, but do not meet him in battle. It's a difficult task you've got, brother, for you need to stay close enough that Aerna thinks he can trap you in a battle but far enough to get away. You do that and I'll fall on the other army, then we'll take those you've drawn west between the two of us. A hammer and anvil, so to speak."

His brother handed the note over to Crowe, a feral grin splitting his face.

"It will be as you command, brother! Don't worry about my capabilities; I'll leave a good chunk of the tactical parts to Crowe here, if you can spare her services for me of course. I know this is a delicate task, and I'm not prideful enough to think I can do it without guidance."

Lykourgos nodded at his brother, then looked at the Mistress of Iron.

"Done. Take five-hundred Men-at-Arms and an equal number of Longbowmen, then a thousand of the church's forces and Symon's Starlings. That should give you a sufficiently varied body of men for the task at hand."

Rhema nodded, but then the mercenary captain himself cut in.

"And what about my opinion on the allocation of my men?"

Lykourgos raised an eyebrow at the drably-armoured man.

"I thought you'd enjoy the chance to be paid to not fight on the battlefield. Your men aren't being paid per battle, after all."

Symon's face lit up with a smile as he chuckled a little, and Lykourgos realised the man had been toying a little with him there.

"You're as fun as ever. No good for an argument with me. Well, you're the boss, your Grace. I'll get the boys and get ready to split off with the rest of the lads under this one."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Rhema before continuing.

"I take it we know where this army is headed? They're obviously splitting, since why else appoint two joint commanders, but where are they going?"

Lykourgos held out his hand and the note was handed back to him.

"Nine-thousand men under the command of Ser Aerna are apparently splitting from the army and heading west towards Carthos where, I assume, they'll be moving along the northern shattered coast. It's likely they're heading for Brycgestow, since that's the main settlement in the south of Teleytaios. If nothing else it seems I was right in one regard; they're completely unaware that we've managed to move so fast. The other nine-thousand men, the ones not under the command of Lord Blackoak's son and heir, are heading towards the charred ruins of Ousdaal. They'll be there in a few days, then they'll probably follow the road north to Haestinghen."

"But we'll be in their way."

"Aye," he said, dangerous smile on his face, "that we will be. It's mostly open plains there, no cover for the foe to speak of. Since they've split in half we'll outnumber them slightly, even without the four-thousand who will split off and move as fast as they can towards Ser Aerna's army. Draw him on a wild chase and keep him away. In two weeks we'll have struck such a blow to the forces of the traitor and the invaders that even the venerable Lord Aertax will feel fear."

Rhema grinned madly at him as Crowe spoke.

"In the event Ser Aerna does as we hope do we have your permission to guide him to a fortress or castle of some description? He'll lack the men to assault us, after all. Three to one are the odds he'll need if he wants to go about it conventionally, and Ser Aerna is nothing if not exceptionally conventional. We can hole up in a fortified position and whittle his army to nothing if needs be, by which I mean if it looks like he might catch up to us at one point or another and you're still too far away to reasonably be expected to help us."

Lykourgos nodded. It was a good point, and one he really should have thought of.

"Granted. Lead him all the way to Brycgestow if needs be, just so long as he's kept away from Lieutenant Isen and you're not at risk of being overrun."

As he made to dismiss his commanders and advisors Symon spoke up again, this time an expression of easy curiosity on his face.

"And who is this second army led by? Some snot-nosed lordling?"

Lykourgos felt his lips curl into a hateful, vile snarl.

"The second army is led by Lieutenant Isen himself. I will be commanding the force that kills him."

His brother's grin somehow grew wider whilst simultaneously turning to a rabid snarl at just the mention of the man who had tried to cut Lykourgos down, and both Crowe and Romanos seemed understanding of his desire to see Isen laid low before him personally. The Marshal nodded at him and spoke her parting words before she made to ride back down the column.

"Understood, your Grace. If this is where we part ways then may Arnka be with you. Normally I would beseech Anawroth to assist you in battle, but this will not be a battle. This promises to be little more than a blood-hunt. Happy hunting, your Grace, and try to leave at least a few Owkrestan castles unstormed by the time we catch up with you."

He nodded at her, scowl being replaced by a smirk at her somewhat humorous tone.

"Will do, Marshal. All the best in carrying out your tasks, and for the love of the Angels please don't beat them too soundly if you do get caught by the enemy. It might make my own victories look bad in comparison."

A Lieutenant barked out a laugh at that a few paces away, but Lykourgos wasn't sure of his name. Most of the Lieutenants he'd known were either dead or traitors now. Wulfstan and Ingfred were dead, and the less said about Isen the better. Marren wasn't with him at the moment either, since he was busy ministering the siege train several weeks behind, and he just had never needed to get to know the rest of his Lieutenants. They were sound enough men, that much he knew, and there was little risk of one of them pulling a knife on him since he had no intention of being alone with them and none of them were stupid enough to try anything with the scrutiny that had been placed on them as a result of Isen's little ploy.

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He also knew that his Armsmen were eager to prove themselves to him again. For years they'd enjoyed a position as his favoured fighting force, but with several of their own killing Lieutenant Ingfred and one of their leaders attempting to kill him they seemed worried they might have lost that spot back to the knights. They hadn't, but he'd wait until after this war to let that be known. There was little sense in throwing away their need to prove before it had run its course, for their determination to do just that little bit more than they had previously meant that they were marching along at this really quite brutal pace with almost no complaints. The knights were grumbling a little and the sellswords more so, but there was nary a whisper of discontent from his Armsmen.

A few of them seemed to be trying to organise into their own groups outside of their thousands and companies, swearing oaths to him personally and doubly binding themselves to his will. There weren't many according to his remaining Lieutenants, but they were there. Scattered throughout the thousands, but still there. One particular report had made him chuckle a little; apparently one of the veterans that had served under him as far back as Seastream had formed one such group with his squad mates, calling themselves the 'Bastard's Boys'. The name might have been a little on the nose, and a more respectable and noble man would certainly have shunned such a vulgarly named group from even associating with him, but Lykourgos was not such a man. If this was how his men wanted to show their devotion to him, to proudly display where their colours and allegiances lay, then he was certainly not going to be the one that made them stop. It wasn't like they were actually doing any harm to him, if anything it was surely the opposite! He hoped they did well and didn't grow too disillusioned with him before everything was said and done, but if ever their loyalty did begin to flag then he knew that it would surely be more his fault than theirs. They were good men, his armsmen, and he was proud to lead them. Prouder still was he to know that they were not forced into this life, but had chosen to fight for him and make a career of it to boot. They were good, good men and women.

He just needed to do right by them. That was why he was to rule, after all. It was his duty to do right by the men and women of his kingdom, to protect them from outside rule.

Lord Blackoak was going to regret invading the lands of his people. Lykourgos swore that the man would regret it, even if he had to tear Blacktree Hall down to the last stone and rip up it's foundations. Lord Blackoak would regret his invasion.

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"They're where you thought, your Grace. The enemy are marching up the road. They'll be here by tomorrow."

Lykourgos nodded at the outrider before holding up his hand, signalling a halt to his men's advance as they reached a shallow ridge on the road. It had been three days since his brother had split with his four-thousand men, and already battle was to be the business of the next day.

"Romanos, get the Lieutenants ready. I want the longbowmen out the front when the time comes with stakes driven into the ground in front of them. Leave the road itself clear; we'll want the Blackoak forces to think there's a weak point in our defences they can exploit and it'll make setting off again afterwards easier. Have those amongst your knights who will be fighting on foot anchor the flanks of our formation and keep the thousand church-forces that remain with us ready to reinforce the frontlines at a moment's notice. The two-thousand Armsmen with billhooks will take the flanks alongside your knights on foot; we'll try for an envelopment of the enemy's flanks. The boys have a night to rest and a few hours in the morning to prepare, so let's get the majority of the defences made before the evening ends."

Romanos nodded, clearly having expected to end up as his second in command given his seniority.

"Understood, your Grace. What of the knights who will be remaining mounted?"

"How many are there?"

"Half of the total number of knights, your Grace. Two-thousand."

Lykourgos thought for a moment, weighing his options.

"Hold them back for now. When the envelopment begins and our flanks begin to squeeze around the side of the enemy have our heavy horse ready to charge at any Blackoak soldiers that may try to reinforce their comrades and counterattack our flanks. If we can break whatever reinforcements they send in then our envelopment will go off without a hitch."

"Only if Lieutenant Isen acts as you think he will."

Lykourgos shrugged. He knew pretty well what Isen would do.

"Lieutenant Isen was a commander of longbowmen, not massed levies and knights. He'll not be as experienced with this sort of formation. He's a commander of Armsmen with no Armsmen to command; Owkrestos isn't exactly renowned for its standing army."

His old friend nodded.

"You have the right of it this time, Lyk. I'll send off the orders."

He smiled at his friend and respectfully dipped his head a little.

"Thank you, Ser. I know I can count on you no matter what."

"You flatter me, your Grace. Come, lets get you some rest. Angels know you need it."

Lykourgos thought of arguing for a moment before nodding. He didn't want to admit it, but Romanos was more than correct in this instance. He was almost back to the state he'd been in before the failed attempt on his life, but if he wanted to take part in the fighting tomorrow then he'd need to rest at least a bit. He doubted he'd be getting much sleep tonight, not with so much anticipation and so many thoughts for the day to come rattling around in his head, but at the very least he could get something to eat and lie down for a little, even if sleep would be a fleeting thing.

"That may not be entirely incorrect, yes. Come, walk with me; there's still one or two things I want to look over before tomorrow comes, and if I'm to rest then I'd rather be doing something meaningful at the same time so as not to waste time."

Romanos gave him a very exasperated smile.

"You have a very skewed perception of what 'rest' means."

Lykourgos shrugged at his friend in an exaggerated manner.

"My brother gave me some advice to use when you disagree with me, something to say when I don't wanna listen to you."

His friend tried and failed to keep a grin off of his face, no doubt knowing exactly where this was going already.

"Your brother gave you some advice, did he? I wonder what words of wisdom he bestowed upon you?"

"Fuck you, I'm the king, I can do what I want."

Romanos laughed a little at the words, shaking his head with a large grin splitting his face.

"Not quite yet you're not, your Grace. Unless you've forgotten to tell me that you've been coronated in secret?"

He snorted at his friend's words as he began to trot slowly back down the road behind the ridge where a few tents were already being erected in orderly rows.

"As if I'd be willing to pass up on the pageantry. I need the people to see me, Romanos! I'm a vain and prideful man, don't you know that!"

His friend laughed again as he followed him to what would, in an hour or two, be a camp for ten-thousand men.

"You've not changed that much, Lyk. You're still you, and for that I'm glad. Just don't go actually getting yourself coronated in secret; that'll raise all kinds of problems if people point to it and start denying your legitimacy."

He nodded at his friend's words.

"I know, don't worry. Really this war is to be a surer way of cementing my legitimacy than any other however; people love victorious monarchs. They despise ones that bring them defeat. I don't intend to return to the capital in disgrace."

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He'd dreamed that night. Sleep had come fitfully and was mercifully short, but oh how he'd dreamed. He'd dreamed a very vivid, very real dream; he was on the battlefield that lay in front of him in the real world, save this was underneath a balefully glowing moon, one that appeared far larger than was normal and dominated the skyline. He looked down at his hands and arms, at his body, only to find he was completely drenched in gore from his boots to his breast.

None of the blood was his.

He looked back up and across the field at the man who he knew, on an instinctual level, was to be stood in front of him. He didn't know where his army was, nor if any of them even lived around him, but that didn't matter; Isen was some fifty feet away, the knife that he'd stuck into his prince's ribs bloody in his hand and a wicked smile on his face, one that fell as he beheld the gore-drenched form of the aforementioned prince.

There must have been half a hundred hazy, half-formed men stood between him and Isen, but that didn't matter. He stood atop a mound of the dead and bellowed out a challenge to his foe, the words leaving his mouth before he'd even realised he was speaking.

"YOU FAILED, ISEN! I'M STILL HERE, YOU COWARD! I'M HERE, AND SOON WHAT LITTLE I DIDN'T TAKE FROM YOU BEFORE WILL BE LAIN BEFORE ME AMIDST THE DEAD AND THE DYING OF THIS FIELD! COME AND FACE ME, LIEUTENENT ISEN! COME FACE ME AND DIE!"

He gripped the sword in his hand, only to feel his grip clench nothing but empty air. He looked down in confusion to see that his sword and shield were gone, his slaughter-soaked hands empty. No matter. In any other sort of dream such events would be frightening, even terrifying, but not here. Not now. He didn't need a weapon to kill the two-faced bastard in front of him. He balled his hands into fists and set of at a sprint towards his hated enemy, his movements taking him in leaps and bounds towards the foe at a speed that defied all logic.

I don't care if this is real, a dream, or something mystical. I'm going to kill you, Isen. I'm going to kill you.

He closed the last few metres between himself and Isen in a single mighty leap. It seemed that there were some perks to this being a dream after all, since there was absolutely no way that he possessed the superhuman abilities to jump that far in the real world. He reached out with his hands as the form of Isen grew nearer, arms stretched out in front of him so that he could throttle the traitor as soon as he got close enough, but then, with an almighty shout that he only just recognised as belonging to himself, everything faded away around him.

And then he was awake.

"-ur Grace! Your Grace! Are you alright!"

He blinked a few times, clearing the fog of confusion from his mind as his mind caught up with his body.

"Eros?"

"And me, yer 'Ighness."

Lykourgos looked at the squire and motioned towards the beaker of heavily watered wine. Angels, he was parched. A small goblet of the liquid was brought to him and he drank it all in a few massive gulps.

"My thanks, Eros. What happened? Why did you come to wake me?"

Dreamwulf huffed.

"We didn't. We came in since you were screaming and hollering like a man possessed. Kept screaming that you were gonna 'gut the fucking bastard with yer bare 'ands when you caught him'."

"We thought you might have been in danger, your Grace. When we came in you were fine, fortunately, but we didn't want to take any more risks. Not again."

Lykourgos nodded at his bodyguards, aware that one of them couldn't actually see the motion but still too stuck in the haze of sleep to actually recognise that issue.

"I see. Thank you both for your diligence. May I ask what time it is?"

"Some time after the fifth hour, your Grace. Will you be wanting to get back to sleep now?"

He thought about that question for a moment, then shook his head. No, he'd slept long enough. There were last minute plans to tend to, figures to review, messages to read and reread until they were committed to memory. No, there was no time for sleep. It was good he'd woken when he had.

"No. No, I won't be going back to sleep."

Eros nodded, seemingly half-expecting such an answer.

"Understood, would you like me to wake your cupbearer so he can ready you for the day?"

He shook his head gently.

"Nah, let the kid rest. I'll get myself ready for the day ahead, then me and you will spar, Eros. I could use the practice to warm myself up before the battle."

"Yer Grace, all due respect, you ain't thinking of fighting are you?"

He looked over at Dreamwulf, confused.

"Of course I am! You think something as small as the assassin's knife will stop me getting into the fray? I'll be on horseback instead of on foot if that helps lay your fears to rest, but there's nothing in this world that will come between me and that fucking traitor."

Dreamwulf grimaced a little.

"'orseback might be fine for you, but I ain't gonna be able to follow you. Eros, if 'is Grace is set on this then make sure you stick with him; he'll be in your care today."

Lykourgos nodded as Eros blanched a little at the responsibility placed upon him.

"That makes sense, my Personal Champion. If that's the case I take it you'll be slumming it with the Armsmen on one of the flanks?"

"Aye," Dreamwulf replied, "with yer Grace's consent of course. If I can't stick with you I'd rather be right in the thick of it."

Lykourgos nodded again, smiling widely. Dreamwulf was a damn good man to have on his side. In fact the prince was certain that if there were even half a hundred men like Dreamwulf in his army then house Blackoak was well and truly fucked.

Today promised to be a good day. A glorious day.

A vengeful day.