Seventh IV: The Mists of Winter
The Eleventh Day of the Ninth Moon, 873 AD.
Blacktree Hall, Western Owkrestos, Klironomea.
The siege train had caught up with them as they'd marched on Blacktree Hall, and so their journey had taken longer than they'd initially expected. They suspected that Rhema was a little annoyed with the fact that they could have been days into the siege by now, but at the very least he'd cheered up a little when Seventh had pointed out that he wasn't going to be the one under siege this time. That was something for the prince to enjoy.
As for them, they were just happy to have avoided being anywhere near Stagspring when the Cult of the Choir had made itself known there with an assassination attempt that was always going to fail and a note that proved they knew as much.
Well, the note claimed they knew anyway. Seventh wouldn't have been surprised if that note was just insurance in case of failure to make them seem more threatening and menacing than they actually were. Fear was the sort of thing that a borderline insane cult who were dedicated to deiphagy needed, for they weren't likely to attract many worshippers to their ranks and so would need to make sure that the outside world either wrote them off as a faetale or else feared them like any man feared a direwolf in the night.
The note, written in Prince Lykourgos' own hand and dedicated to them just as much as it was to Rhema, stated that the Choir would be hunted down and destroyed wherever it was found. As soon as the wars were over the Master of Silver's extensive ratpacks would be tasked with finding the dens of these vile cultists so that they might be smoked out by the knights and armsmen of the realm. They were criminals to be hanged without a trial, or else simply put down like rabid dogs where they were found.
If Rhema had already been fuming at the Choir for what they'd done to them before, now he was truly furious at them. They'd kidnapped Seventh themselves, and according to his Grace the Prince Lykourgos this was the second time they'd attempted to end his life. Three men with daggers and another with a crossbow had injured him, but he'd given them a good enough fight for Dreamwulf to make his way there and cut down the remaining vagabonds. If nothing else it was a good thing that the prince was alright, but Seventh got the feeling there had been something left out of the message. Given how prone Rhema could be to... rashness, Seventh wouldn't have been surprised if Prince Lykourgos had elected not to mention any wounds he'd received at their hands.
Seventh shuddered involuntarily as they recounted the note they'd received from the main force at Stagspring a few days prior. It had been corroborated by a rumour spread by someone who'd joined the army in one of the small supply columns that occasionally merged with their force. They'd said that, apparently, Rhema's older brother had endured yet another encounter with the Cult of the Choir, who must have seemed at this point to have a penchant for appearing out of thin air. Well, that was what it felt like at least. That had been their first piece of news about this event, and when they got the other message from the eldest prince it had only confirmed what they had already been told. Since receiving those messages they hadn't really left Rhema's side at all, not that the prince seemed to mind that much. If anything Rhema was probably happy that Seventh's first instinct when thinking of 'safety' was to ensure they were close to him. There are certainly worse people to have looking out for you, they thought with a smile. I mean, this is to be a perfect example of just what Rhema does to show others how he protects people.
At the moment they were stood outside the walls of Blacktree Hill with Prince Rhema and a small contingent of the Teleytaian armies, and to be perfectly honesty they had more than a little excited anticipation welling up inside them at what was to come. Here stood the greatest castle in Owkrestos save only Stagspring itself, the last real bastion of opposition to the rule of house Sperakos in these lands. They'd been privy to more than one quickly rattled off idea courtesy of the prince next to them, and they were more than a little intrigued to see which one it was he would end up going with. Would he have the castle dragged down stone-by-stone, ensuring it could never threaten Teleytaian domination in Owkrestos again? Would he leave it standing and turn it into a great barracks for the soldiery of these lands who swore loyalty to him and to his brother? He might even turn it into a great prison, dedicated to holding the worst members of society within its heavily guarded walls. Seventh didn't know, but the not-knowing was exciting to them! There was so much that might happen here!
The siege train had caught up with them, as per Prince Lykourgos' orders, and Rhema was now in charge of making sure that Blacktree Hall would be remembered as a lesson to anyone harbouring thoughts of treason.
"Bring down the walls," Rhema started with an uncharacteristically flat inflection, "they're tall and they're thick, but bring them down all the same. Tunnel beneath them to make them collapse if you have to, but preferably we'll be done sooner than that. How soon can you have the trebuchets up?"
Lieutenant Marren set his mouth into a thin line, making a so-so motion with his hands.
"A few hours perhaps, but no more than half a day. For all of them to be set up it'll take the full day."
"Can you have the trebuchets begin firing as they're built?"
The man nodded.
"Of course, your Grace. The first stones will be launched within two hours. If you wish I can have the carcass shot prepared to-"
"Yes and no," Rhema began, cutting off the Lieutenant, "get the shot ready, but don't launch it. I have an idea for later. Dismissed, Marren."
Lieutenant Marren hammered a fist into his own chest in a display of respect, then trotted off on his courser back to his men. God, he was an odd man. Not a bad man particularly, but definitely odd. There was something about his obsession with his creation that made him seem... almost too excited to use it. Again, he didn't seem like a particularly bad man, just one that was a little... strange.
"Your orders for the rest of us, your Grace?"
"I want a palisade up before the trebuchets. If this siege does go on longer than a few days then any good defending commander would certainly order a sally to torch the trebuchets, since they're to be the biggest threat to the castle. I want to make sure there's no chance of that happening. Aside from that I want sentries set up all around the castle and parties going out to secure local food and water sources. There's no point allowing any roaming Blackoak soldiers outside the castle to torch their crops and poison their wells, especially seeing as my brother is going to be the one who owns this land soon enough. Let's try and keep the surrounding lands out of this conflict if we can though; they're likely to be more valuable to my brother than yet another castle is. I want small garrisons sent out to any local villages and roaming outriders and squirebands to ensure that any of the enemy's forces still out there are hunted down and either surrender or are killed. Lets do this quickly and lets do this properly!"
Seventh couldn't help but smile as Rhema rattled off orders. He might not have realised it, not truly, but he had learned a hell of a lot this last year. Twelve moons ago he'd have never been able to truly order an army around like this to command a siege, but now he was gaining some experience and putting to the test what he'd learned. Perhaps more important than that, he was using what he knew to make logical leaps in judgement and try to predict the enemy's moves. He'd recognised that the trebuchets were probably the biggest threat to the castle of the foe in a prolonged siege, and so he was putting himself in the shoes of the enemy and recognising that he would try to neutralise the trebuchets and so they needed to be protected.
He was growing into his role as his brother's right hand, and soon enough it seemed the Grandmaster and the Master of Silver might have some competition when it came to the reigning prince's favour. That would be amusing to see, not that they could really see either of them really doing anything other than drawing Rhema into their endless bickering. The two advisors were well-meaning, and they couldn't see either of them ever seeking to betray either of the princes, but they had their flaws all the same. After all, they were only human. Good humans, but humans nonetheless.
God, that sounded more cynical in their mind than they'd intended. Heh, I guess my mentor must be starting to rub off on me a little after all. Cynical old villain.
That was enough thinking about their mentor for now. Basileous had given them more than enough to mull over recently, and they weren't keen on driving themselves up the wall trying to untangle the fucking web that the man seemed to live in at the moment.
No, there were better things to focus on right now. Already soldiers were busying themselves with assembling the camp behind them, and soon enough the first of the trebuchets would be slinging stones into Blacktree Hall. The castle had onagers on the walls, but they were so thoroughly outranged by the trebuchets that there was absolutely no way they would be able to pose a threat to the siege camp. Blacktree Hall would fall, and it would fall soon. The venerable and rich Lord Aertax Blackoak would find himself dead soon enough, if he hadn't already taken his own life in shame that was.
Strangely enough Seventh was pretty sure that his attempted invasion had been the best thing that could have happened for Rhema and Lykourgos; the elder brother had made no secret that he harboured ambitions of conquest and so would have ended up at war here eventually, and because of the invasion he'd been able to defeat half of the Owkrestan army without losing the home-turf advantage and was neck-deep in Owkrestos itself before the rest of their armies had even begun to muster. As for Rhema, it had given the younger prince a chance to learn what it meant to lead in the field, and to not only show the world that he was his brother's loyal subject but also a force to be reckoned with by himself. All things considered Lord Aertax's invasion was possibly the single greatest boon the two princes could have asked for in regards to their immediate futures, though the Lord himself probably didn't think that was the case.
Well someone had to lose in all of this, they supposed, and it isn't like I want whichever side Rhema's on to lose. I'd much rather stay with him and have him on the winning side.
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Somehow they knew that, so long as the two brothers stayed loyal to one another, the victories would continue on for quite some time.
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The next two weeks came and went with very little news to be spoken of at all. Seventh had mostly just acted as Rhema's shadow, the same as normal, and tried to keep their head low whilst Rhema met with his fellow commanders and tried to make sure Blacktree Hall fell as soon as possible and with as few casualties as possible on their own side. In the daytime Rhema led meetings and hosted his commanders, at night he stood with his men on patrol and fended off any raiding parties that were attempting to breach the palisade they'd all constructed, and the trebuchets had bombarded the castle's walls the entire time. The trebuchets were large and the stones they launched massive, but Rhema had been right; the walls of Blacktree Hall were very thick indeed.
Still, no matter how tough the gates or how thick the walls, all fell sooner or later. Blacktree Hall fell swiftly, all things considered, though the head of the family seemed to have been crushed as the great tower fell with him inside. Of his children, Ser Aerna and Lady Aena, their had been no sign. Must have bailed before the castle fell. Seventh didn't blame them particularly; they must have known that to stay here was a death sentence as soon as news reached them of the death of Lieutenant Isen at the Sodden Field. The rest of the war was a forgone conclusion in their mind; Teleytaios had a strength that Owkrestos lacked, and what little they did possess had been dithered away in Teleytaios itself. This was a war that Owkrestos could never have won, and it was folly for Lord Aertax to believe otherwise. Maybe if things had gone as he'd planned, if Lykourgos had been killed by Lieutenant Isen and Teleytaios had fallen to chaos then his gambit would have succeeded, but when Isen failed to kill the prince any sensible man would have called off the invasion.
Lord Aertax had been prideful though, and so he had attempted to go ahead with his plans anyway. Fat lot of good that had done him.
They walked through, or rather over, the ruins of the now collapsed main gatehouse of Blacktree Hall. Most of the castle had taken damage in one form or another, but this gatehouse was almost completely gone. They stepped over what looked like a particularly sharp shard of metal left behind from the smashed portcullis and, making sure that their cassock didn't get caught on any debris, continued moving forwards. Rhema and Lieutenant Marren walked slightly ahead of them, and all around them armsmen and other assorted soldiers bustled and hurriedly moved. The fighting for the castle was mostly over, and it seemed strange that Rhema hadn't charged in headlong this time, but the guards weren't taking any chances when it came to making sure the defenders were truly down for the count. They hadn't the wish to slip up and embarrass themselves in front of the crown prince's brother, not with how their position as the favoured military branch seemed to be on the line.
They walked past the gardens and through the courtyard, coming to a doorway that would lead them into the half-collapsed central keep of the castle. They were admittedly a little worried for their safety in such an area, since it didn't exactly look stable, but almost as though Rhema was having the same thoughts as them a few attendants assured the prince that the rest of the central keep should be fine, since damage seemed to be limited to the eastern side. The rest of the central keep was therefore structurally sound, and with a flourished gesture Rhema bid both Seventh and the Lieutenant to enter.
Rhema seemed to know where to take them, almost as if he'd been to this castle before, and before long Seventh found themselves perhaps six or seven floors up in a half-ruined castle with the banners of its previous occupants cast down to flutter to the floor.
The three of them were silent for a while, which was nice when in the company of Marren since the man never seemed to stop talking outside of official settings, and they looked out over the castle. The wall of this room was either smashed open or had been built as an open balcony, and since damage was supposed to have been limited to the other side of the building Seventh was really hoping that this was indeed a poorly-designed balcony. The only real thing of note in the courtyard below was a great steel maypole, something that might have been used for harvest ceremonies and the like in times of peace, but to Rhema this was evidently all he needed to see.
"Lieutenant Marren," the prince started with a calm voice that only barely hid the manic excitement brewing beneath the surface, "pile up some carcass shot around the steel pole, if you please. I have an idea."
Nearly two-score barrels of carcass-shot were piled in the main courtyard around what looked like a great maypole, and then it had been covered in wood and set ablaze. From the balcony overlooking the courtyard Rhema watched the blaze alongside them, and when it was burning so hot that Seventh felt like they were drowning in a wash of heat a long trail of soldiers began to cross through the room, discarded weapons in their hands and piled in their arms. One by one bundles of swords, spears, and arrows were hurled at the maypole and into the blaze, wood and leather burning away to nothing as steel and iron melted against the metal pole at the centre of it all. Gradually, over the course of several long hours, the melting iron and steel began to take form. Well, not really; it was the definition of formless, all jagged and melted edges against a maypole that looked almost like a candle losing its wax. More and more weapons were thrown onto the mix, then more, then yet more, until all the weapons of their slain Blackoak foes were tossed into the maw of the roaring inferno. As Seventh had that thought, the thought that the fire might be a maw, for a brief a moment the flames licked up in such a way that the edges of the blaze were ringed with fiery teeth which closed in on the centre and then exploded outwards as they met. Then they blinked, and the fire was simply a fire once more.
Huh, that was weird. I'll have to ask my mentor if that was something I did or if it was just a trick of the light.
It was probably nothing, but you could never be quite sure with things like this. Well, they couldn't anyway. It wasn't like there was some written guide on their powers or anything like that. Well, there was actually, but it wasn't in a language they understood. They'd asked their mentor about it before now, and whilst he'd not been unhelpful he had told them that, should they wish to read it, they'd need to learn to speak the language first. Hydran was willing to teach them the archaic language it was written in, but he'd stressed that it would take time, and time was something that Seventh would rather spend 'galivanting with princes and learning to fight'. The man wasn't wrong, but it was still a rather annoying part of their life. Still, they'd have plenty of time to learn. These wars were now, but they had all the time in the world to learn what it meant to be an Angel later.
It wasn't like their powers were going anywhere after all. They hoped. Unless some great tragedy befell them like it had their mentor, but the chances of that happening were almost nil. There were no other Angels left to tear down their mentor's work anymore, and none to eye their emerging powers with jealousy as they all once had with his. They powers shouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
They watched the fires wax and burn alongside the prince they had sworn to serve, and for the first time in what felt like months, took off their blindfold. Here was a moment of truth. They'd been learning from their mentor how to stop themselves from accidentally driving someone mad, and this was their first time testing it out in the open. There was no risk of Rhema being driven mad, not with the tolerance he'd built up to their magics, but the soldiers who passed through would certainly struggle mentally if they didn't keep themselves in check.
Orange light danced across the inky blackness of their eyes, and it took them more than a few seconds to realise that Rhema was no longer staring at the fire. He was staring at them.
"What is it?"
The prince blinked a few times, probably not having expected them to break the silence.
"Nothing really, it's just- it's nice to see you without the blindfold on in public for once. The fire reflecting in your eyes really looks good on you."
Seventh snorted.
"Rhema, you thing literally anything about my eyes looks good on me."
"Okay," the prince started whilst wagging a finger at them, "that might be true, but fire looks especially good."
"Better than the pale glow of magic?"
Rhema made a 'hmm' sound for a little while, as though he were genuinely trying to answer the mock-question. Gods, but he could be hopeless sometimes.
"Not quite. Nearly, but not quite."
Seventh smirked at them and forced a dozen or so tiny blue-white sparks to dance across and around their eyes, delighting in how utterly speechless Rhema seemed to be made as a result.
"We- I mean, I- Angels, that's-"
"A good look on me?"
Rhema nodded at them with a dopey grin on his face, and Seventh couldn't help but smile back. There was something about Rhema that was able to just... put them at ease for a while. At any rate it was better than spending time with almost anyone else, that was for certain.
"Yeah, something like that. Hey, Sev, I just wanted to say thanks for you sticking with me. You could have stayed in Anaria and been in comfort, or you could have gone with my brother and probably had some really cool conversations about magic and the occult, but instead you're here with me. I don't think many people have done that before, just Crowe and my brother. Thanks for that."
They snorted a little, not at all in an insulting way, but because the idea that they'd have rather done anything else was just funny to them. Where else would they be if not here, now? They certainly couldn't see themselves having an enjoyable time cooped up in the palace again, and for all they admired and respected Prince Lykourgos there was something about the man that scared them a little. At times he was like a string pulled taut, and they couldn't shake the feeling at any moment it felt as though something within him might snap irreparably. In that regard Rhema was actually easier to relax around, for although he had a penchant for spontaneous actions and a sudden need to fight Seventh had never felt that Rhema had intended to harm them in any way. It had been Rhema who had saved them from the Cult of the Choir, and it had been Rhema who stayed by their bedside in the days afterwards. Where else would Seventh be if not here?
"You don't need to thank me for that, Re. You're the most exciting one out of all of my options, so why would I bother going with anyone else?"
Rhema snorted a little himself, then turned his gaze back to the fires. Seventh followed suit, and the two of them remained almost frozen and looking into the fires for the next... well, for quite some time.
The fires continued to burn and blaze long into the night, but neither Rhema nor Seventh slept. It was captivating, mesmerising, beautiful, and even as the last of the embers faded to a dull grow long after the rest of the castle had gone to sleep, the two of them were still stood there staring at the place that the fire had been.
Where once a great steel maypole had jutted up from the ground now there was only a jagged tree of twisting steel, an edifice to war and conquest. Sword-blades and spearheads were transformed into gnarled branches, arrows with their shafts and fletching burned away to feed the inferno were clumped together around the branches like leaves, and pearls of metal that had cooled and hardened before falling from the mighty tree of iron and steel were now as raindrops suspended in their fall. It was a twisted and ugly monument that marked the passing of the house that had seen to the attempted assassination of Rhema's elder brother, the ones who had drawn Teleytaios back into war as soon as she'd just begun to recover from her last, but most of all it was a warning.
Many would look on this as a monument to what became of those who stood against Teleytaios, but they knew that Rhema's mind was set on no such thing. To Rhema, it would be a monument to what became of those who stood against his brother, and that would be more than enough for the princes. A personal vendetta squared away, and another rival to the ascent of Teleytaios burned to nothing. There were still those out there who bore the name 'Blackoak', but most of those would be on the Isle of Exiles, that of course being Anatolikoi, or would have sought refuge with the Noble Sons Abroad. Whatever the case, they couldn't see this statue, this... whatever this counted as, being ignored by those who sought to fight the princes in the future. Their mentor might find it tasteless, but...
Well, he'd certainly seen enough to become desensitised to this. Besides, he was the one that wanted them to stay out of 'mortal affairs', wasn't he? As far as Seventh could tell, the man would probably raise an eyebrow and then scoff in distaste before moving on.
The rest of the world would remember this place for quite some time, however. The manner of their victory was nothing special.
The monument that Rhema left behind was.