Chapter 119 Pt.1:

Marcus’s body shifted backwards, sliding back along the saddle as his legs dug into the stirrup to anchor himself of his rearing horse. The ear-splitting scream of the horse beneath his legs disoriented him for an instant. An instant too long. A crude iron-tipped spear found a tiny crack in its armour and dug deep into the poor beasts’ flesh. He relinquished his shield and pulled himself forward, forcing the wounded horse back onto the ground. Marcus slammed his Chelium sword straight into the helmet of the stunned attacker. Their eyes locked, for a moment, before the blue sword cleaved through iron, bone and brain. Blood gushed from the wound, running down the instantly dimmed face and staining his white clothes before he slumped to his knees. Marcus’s body shifted forward again as the horse missed its front footing and crumpled forward, the wound was much worse than he first thought.

Lucky bastard.

Another enemy charged from the side, an iron-tipped spear raised above a crazed young man. Marcus knew the look in his eyes; the poor young boy had been consumed by the frenzy and madness of the battle raging around them. Behind him another two soldiers charge at him, they only had poor quality iron swords and iron-rimmed wooden shields. Not the strongest weapons but more than enough to kill him if he was unarmed. Marcus tried to rip the sword free from the slumped soldier but it wouldn’t budge. Bone had pinned it tight, with every tug the dead man’s body rolled around limp, his jaw flapped open with blood rolling down his chin. Marcus couldn’t just dismount from his horse, the stirrups were designed to keep him attached to his horse no matter if it reared or bucked in the heat of combat.

With a mighty heave, Marcus freed the blade, tearing apart the dead man’s head from the front to the back. Great beads blood dripped off the shining blue blade as Marcus readied to strike as he struggled to get free. The lead soldier screamed an unintelligible cry, raising his spear to strike before his eyes twitched to the side. He disappeared in flash of black and silver. A Black Riders Knight smashed through the spearmen and carried him over a dozen feet. Stupefaction drenched his face as he slipped from the horse’s chest and onto the ground, mangled into a bloody pulp by the horse's black hooves. The Black Rider Knight didn’t stop and continued charging into the next group of hostiles. The two swordsmen took a moment to recover, time Marcus used to free himself from his wounded horse by cutting the stirrups free. The Chelium blade cut through the hardened leather like a hot knife through soft cheese. Even if it left the straps attached to his legs.

Both swordsmen snapped to Marcus. The charge at him again, Marcus felt disgusted that he had already cut down dozens of these foolish youngsters. Children, really, forced into battle without even the most basic of experience to fight against hardened soldiers. Piles of their dead fellows were a testament to their stupidity.

“Come on then!” Marcus yelled. “If you want to die like everyone else!”

His shout, over the clamour of the whirlwind of a battle surrounding them, gave them pause. Marcus stepped over his still wounded horse, a bloody foam forming on its lips, and took up his shield. It wasn’t the best shield, the balance was off and it was too light compared to what he normally used but it was better than nothing. When the swordsmen realised their mistake they screamed and charged.

Marcus raised his shield. One of the swordsmen reached him first. His sword raised over his head in an amateurish attempt to swing down. Marcus stepped forward and took the strike with the shield. Through his arm, he felt the strike, a decent strength. Perhaps one day he might have been a good knight or soldier.

But they would never get that chance.

Marcus raised his shield and pushed the sword up, leaving his opponent open. Despite his lack of training, he understood exactly the implications. The blue Chelium sword pierced his light padded cloth armour and through his sternum. A single cough and one was dead, even if he had yet to realise it. The second swordsmen didn’t see or understand what happened but had to move to the side to attack. Marcus twisted the collapsing body into his path, using the momentum of the falling body to rip the blade free with a mighty spurt of blood. He hit something very important.

“Wha-”

Marcus knew never to hesitate in battle, a lifetime of fighting the Deweth Clansmen had taught him that crucial skill. He kicked the dead man into the path of the swordsmen, the body colliding with his legs and causing him to tumble. Marcus swung again and found the swordsman’s neck. This time there was no look of horror or understanding, his head simply fell off. Marcus stepped to the side as the spurting headless corpse sprayed his horse with its blood, the head rolling aimlessly on the trodden and bloody grass.

Marcus breathed deep and glanced around the battlefield, such as it was. Nearly every enemy soldier was dead. Just like the unfortunate two lying at his feet none were trained. Yet there were a lot of them.

Numbers do count for something, but not like this.

Black Rider Knights charged through the scattered lines. Their black horses, adorned with black full body armour, cut the remains of Harold and Giles’s army and the Church’s army to ribbons. Squires, those too young and inexperienced to command a horse, or in Marcus’s opinion still too young to even think of growing a beard, formed large groups of infantry armed with longswords and halberds decimated the white-clothed enemy that dared to approach, staining everything red. In the middle of those groups, Pages, some who were truly children, readied and fired crossbows from the safety of their human shields. It took the Church soldiers some time to realise the source of the bolts but they couldn’t respond. The small armoured groups were completely unassailable by the enemy and tore through the enemy lines.

“Who’s even left?” Marcus asked aloud. There was little he could see through the slit in his helmet but he wasn’t about to remove it. His predecessor lost his life that way against the Clansmen. A single swipe with a rusted axe and his head separated from his body. That image had stuck with him ever since.

As Marcus turned to his horse his back screamed in pain. He knew this sensation all too well, he was not uninitiated to cuts. Marcus dropped his shield, twirled his Chelium sword in his hands and stabbed along his side. His thrust found resistance, a warm fleshy resistance. Marcus reached back with his free hand and grabbed the hand holding the blade. His metal gauntlet found an unguarded hand. A faint relief filled his head, no one on their side had unarmored hands.

"You fucking traitor." A hot, gurgling breath brushed against his helmet. "The Holy Father will take your soul to damnation."

"After what I saw in the palace damnation doesn't worry me." Marcus twisted the blade, eliciting a pathetic whimper from his attacker. "Do you even know what that word means? Or are you just repeating what those priests tell you?"

Marcus never received an answer. The hand fell limp and slid off his body, the dagger pulled down and free from the body. It was another young man, barely in his eighteenth winter. The first hints of a beard, patchy and mismatched hair, barely recognizable underneath the blood that seeped from his mouth. One of his arms had been cut clean off and his white shirt twisted tight around the wound. Fresh wet blood still leaked from the wound.

"You actually fight like that?" Marcus spoke aloud. The noise of the battle was still too great for anyone nearby to hear.

After checking that no one else could attack him he inspected his horse. The beast lay still and silent, not even a shallow breath escaped its lips, only a thick bloody foam.

"I'm sorry." Marcus gently patted its back. "I hope it wasn't too painful."

Death by drowning was, by all accounts, an unpleasant end. Doubly so when it was your own blood. At least a person could be comforted as they died. Infinitely harder when the victim couldn't understand a word. Marcus's shoulder wound throbbed, the reminder of the power of heretical blood magic.

"My Lord Marcus!" A voice cried out over the clamour.

Five knights, four in black armour and one in silver with a large blue flame on his chest, charged towards them. Five church spearmen moved to intercept. Even though their weapons were crude compared to theirs a charge would likely wound or kill the horses if they found a chink in the armour. Like his had.

Castor, his second in command and wearing his silver Blue Firestorm armour, pointed his sword at the spearmen. Marcus had believed his fiery tendencies had diminished after the last Clansmen invasion.

The spearmen, however, were not well trained or even poorly trained. Against the five massive beasts thundering towards them, the very ground shaking beneath his armoured boots, the conscripted spearmen could not hold their nerve. Four ran towards Marcus as fear broke their reason, one brave soul stayed behind but immediately felt the loss of his fellows. He bravely stood his ground as the Knights rode either side. Castor swung his sword down and cleaved the man's head clean off. The remaining four were trampled into the ground. Marcus saw the faces contorted with fear and surprise, unable to understand what was happening.

With the last of the obstacles gone Castor and his escort reached Marcus.

"Marcus." Castor stopped on the other side of Marcus's dead horse. "The enemy had been routed."

Marcus surveyed the battle. Before he could have generously said there were a few holdouts. Now they had well and truly broken.

"Yes." Marcus wiped the blood from his blade onto a piece of cloth hanging from his horse. "It seems everything went well this time. Except for him."

"Dead?"

"Single spear. Got right through the armour and punctured a lung. Poor thing bled to death. Might have even hit the heart."

"That's a shame. Do you want a spare horse to chase down the enemy?"

Marcus waved him down. "No. I think I've had enough for today."

He looked up at the sun. It hanged directly over his head yet he didn't feel much warmth, not like in summer at least. With the same certainty that the sun would rise and fall, so too would the season's change.

"If they give us that chance," Castor spoke glumly, pointing his sword to the south. "Before riding out I heard from one of the scouts there might be another force coming."

"Word is it's the same size as this one." A Black Rider knight spoke gruffly.

"See to finishing the rout," Marcus commanded. "I'll return to the castle on foot. See to our wounded and fallen."

Castor nodding and signalled the other knights. With a whip of their reins, they were off again, chasing a bloodstained army into the distance.

Once Marcus was certain that Castor had left he relaxed and leant against his dead horse.

"I'm getting too old for this," Marcus grumbled. "Too old to keep fighting like this. Soon I should have been handing things over to Castor and continue training the recruits. And now this shit has..."

Marcus had no more words. He lifted his visor and breathed the dusty and blood-soaked air.

If I stop here that's going to be it for today. Better keep moving.

With a few groans, and pushing hard against the horse, Marcus hauled himself up. The Black Rider Squires and Pages roamed through the now otherwise still field. Every so often they would stop at a body before plunging a blade into their throat. Thankfully it was always the Church soldiers rather than their own. Very few had fallen, thanks in no small part to their equipment and training and lack thereof in their opponents. As their side began recovering the dead and dying the wailing began. At first, merely a hum, the sound of his heavy breathing was enough to drown it out. Very quickly it grew until Marcus was all but certain he had crossed into some sort of nightmare. Bloody hands and stumps reached for the sky. Those wearing black armour were lifted from the tangled mess of bodies. Those wearing white were killed without mercy. They had barely enough medical supplies for themselves. This way was better, not that Marcus would agree if he was lying on the ground. He raised his blade to the sun. The number slain by his hand that day Marcus had simply lost count. And despite the blood, fat and brains collecting on its surface it retained a perfect edge.

"You can only find Chelium in the Clans and the Kar Kingdom. I wonder how much it cost?" Marcus looked at the bodies around him, several dressed in white still wriggled and squirmed. "But it wasn't meant for this."

Marcus sheathed his blade and slowly walked to the north towards Castle Étoile, home of the Black Riders Knight Order. As Marcus gently waded through the bodies he took the time to study the marvel from the outside. It clearly wasn’t made by Qaiviel hands, it was simply too different to everything else. During a lull between the battles, a Black Rider Knight told him that it had been made during the pinnacle of the United Kingdom, a demonstration of the wealth and power that fabled kingdom once wielded. The castle was more akin to a small city than just a castle. Huge multilayered walls made from black stone, spires ever few hundred feet manned with ballistae and crossbows. Anyone attempting to take the castle would first have to cross the gauntlet and then actually breach the walls. After multiple layers and choke-points, the final castle would then be needed to be breached. Nothing short of a determined army could even hope to take the castle.

While Marcus would have preferred to stay inside the safety of the castle walls they didn’t have the luxury. The Church deployed their force to surround the castle, not completely but it was enough. A small detachment of allied soldiers and knights were intercepted on their way to Castle Étoile. If they didn’t ride out the forces would have been annihilated. And they needed every morsel of strength and warm body they could get their hands on.

Marcus realized that he reached the edge of the battlefield already. All of a sudden the blood, the bodies and trodden grass stopped. The lush green grass that Marcus knew and their horses loved returned. Before him stood a Black Rider Knight, his arms folded as his grim face surveyed the battlefield. Behind him Squires and Pages moved about, preparing the wounded and dead for transport back to the castle. Some glanced at him, their hands moved to their longswords or crossbows. A grunt from the Knight was enough for everyone to return to their work.

“They thought you were one of them.” The Knight said, his voice growled deeply. “Everyone that we’ve been fighting the past few days has been wearing white. You might want to consider changing that.”

The Knight pointed to Marcus’s chest, specifically the blue fire emblem.

Marcus laughed. “I’ve worn this every day since I received my knighthood. Would you wear mine if things were the other way around?”

The Knight pondered for a moment. “No.” A slight smile crept over his scared, bearded face. “I suppose not.”

“Did we get everyone from the detachment?”

“Almost. I think we lost four or five. A few stray arrows. Not bad. And when they were down these idiots swarmed over them.” The Knight scoffed at the dead Church soldiers. “Worse than rabble, in my opinion. I’ve seen drunken women fight better in a tavern brawl.”

“Yours seemed to do alright.” Marcus nodded at the Squires. Though their faces were somewhat obscured by their helms he knew that some were women. So too were several of the pages, but none of the Knights.

“Bernard doesn’t care. The Black Riders don’t care. So long as you are strong and willing to fight and kill in the name of the true King.”

“You aren’t worried about…incidents?”

“Have you ever heard of one while you’ve been here?”

“No.”

“Because they know how to handle themselves.” The Knight dismissively waved his hand. “These aren’t some frail weaklings.”

The women they had could be generously be called rugged.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“And our losses?”

The Knight looked back to the wounded Black Riders. “Fifteen Squires, twelve Pages and three Knights. And a lot more wounded.” The Knight shrugged. “Considering we had to go against nearly a thousand I think we did pretty well.”

If our order had to go against a thousand Clansmen I’d expect more losses. Just goes to show how poor these soldiers are.

“We’ll be taking them back soon. As soon as your subordinate returns.”

Marcus turned to the south. In the distance, the Black Rider Knights had finished off the remains of the routed Church army. The last white clothed soldier fell to a halberd swipe. A cheer rang out through the air. Castor, the only Knight wearing something other than black, waved his sword at Castle Étoile. Castor was smiling when he stopped several feet from Marcus.

“We got them all!” Castor laughed, the Black Rider’s cheered, though Marcus could see that they and their horses were tired. Many had arrowheads jutting from their hide. “Not a single enemy managed to escape.”

“And their commander?” Marcus asked. “I saw him at the back but I didn’t see him go down.”

Castors murmured with a quick glance back. “I don’t know. It was quite messy near the end. Who knows, maybe he’s somewhere out there and trampled into the rest of them.”

“There’s not much that we can do about it either way. If everything’s finished here I think we should head back inside the castle. Especially if there’s another force coming this way.”

Castor groaned. “Another? How can they just keep throwing men at us? Aren’t they going to run out soon?”

Marcus pointed at the nearest dead Church soldier. Castor and the other Black Rider Knights frowned, unable to understand his intention.

“That isn’t a soldier.”

“Really?” A Knight next to Castor laughed. Soon they all were.

Marcus shook his head. “Even someone that’s had some basic training wouldn’t have made the mistakes that they did. These are farmers, serfs, bondsmen, whatever you want to call them, given a weapon and thrown into battle with us. It’s remarkable that we lost as many as we did with our enemy being such poor quality.”

“But there were so many of them,” Castor said softly.

“Their only advantage.” The Knight behind Marcus grumbled.

“I fear that this war is going to destroy the Qaiviel Kingdom.” Marcus sighed. “There won’t be anyone left by the end. But there’s not much we can do now.”

“Do you want a horse?” The Knight asked. “I can see that your previous fell.”

“A tiny hole in its armour and it’s dead. Just like us…I think I’ll walk.” Marcus stretched his arms. “I need to clear my head.”

“I would order you to take a horse.” The Knight folded his arms again. “But I’m not your commander. Bernard told us to treat you like our second in command. If you were I’d tell you to take the horse.”

Very subtle.

Marcus took a step and felt the full weight of the fight crush down upon him. “I think I will take that horse.”

---[]---

A horn blared from Castle Étoile. Huge metal chains clanked and rattled, eight burly men turned a giant handle to open only one side of the large iron gate. Why they even had two and not a single gate Marcus had no idea. Perhaps the United Kingdom had so much manpower, perhaps even magical devices, something like this was standard.

The Knights spread out immediately after passing the gate. A small army of men and women, dressed in loose black clothing, rushed to their side. Attendants. Members of the Knight Orders that were not involved in fighting but in the day to day running of the castles. Things that Squires and Pages had no spare time to do. The Blue Firestorm Order had many, but Marcus made sure that they knew how to use a bow or crossbow, just in case the Clansmen tried to breach the walls. It helped their morale too, made them feel like they were an actual part of the Order. Which they were.

“My Lords.” An elderly assistant shuffled towards them. “Please let us take the horses and your armour. You need to recover your strength. Bernard is waiting for you in the central castle.”

“I’m surprised that he didn’t join this battle.” Marcus allowed the assistants to help him down, an ungraceful affair. “I know he doesn’t revel in bloodshed but I’m sure he would have come.”

“I’m afraid that he said he was needed to remain at King Leo’s side.”

“…I see.”

Marcus frowned as Castor dismounted from his horse. Attendants began to take off the outer metal layer of their armour. They were battered and stained with blood. The cloth padding was more than enough to keep him safe inside the castle and allow him essentially unrestricted movement.

“Has Leo said anything?”

The attendant frowned and looked away. “I’m afraid not, my lords. He has done very little since arriving here apart from eating and sleeping. And even then only at our behest. He just stares out the window.”

“We need him to start acting like a king.” Marcus felt the attendants look oddly at him, whispering amongst themselves wondering why he had stirrups still attached to his legs. “Otherwise this whole Kingdom will fall to ruin.”

The Squires and Pages arrived soon after with the dead and wounded. The dead were covered with a cloth after their armour was stripped from their bodies. Marcus understood the pragmatism but it still felt disrespectful. The wounded had their damaged sections removed and were swarmed with attendants. Principle Mages, focusing on the Principle of Life, emerged and began healing the wounded. These were not members of The Church of the Holy Father, instead, they were mages that had learned their craft in Bebbezzar or beyond. Those that knew the Principle of Life outside of the Church were few and far between. And yet the Black Riders had over ten, truly they had money to spare.

Those with cuts and light wounds were treated with herbs like Shimmer Soral. It was nowhere near as effective as magic but it was far better than nothing. Some groaned and whimpered as the green leaves were applied, the attendants tried their best to silence them. Those that were uninjured continued into a small barracks, Marcus saw them flop onto beds still in their full armour. Men and women slept in the same rooms without a single care. Some of the pages didn’t enter, instead taking up seats outside and began crafting arrows and bolts.

“There’s nothing we can do here, Castor. Let’s go see the King.”

The elderly attendant led them through the winding passages to the central castle. The interior was very sparsely furnished, only what was absolutely necessary and nothing more. Simple seating and lots of room for weapons and sparing for when it rained. They travelled up a flight of stone stairs, winding and spinning seemingly without end until they reached the top. With a mighty heave, the attendant pushed the heavy wooden door open. Like everything in Castle Étoile the room was open and furnished sparsely. A large round wooden table lay in the middle on top of the cold, hard stone floor, with many simple chairs spaced evenly around it. Sitting directly in front was Leo, the official King of Qaiviel, staring silently out the large open balcony to the blue sky beyond. Noah, a young Page from the Golden Roar Knight Order, stood attentively at his side, worry deeply ingrained on his young face. Even though Marcus was all but sure that the Golden Roar had fallen in line with Harold and Giles alongside the Church he trusted Noah. Despite the conflict he retained his old colours, Marcus didn’t really mind that but Noah wasn’t allowed sharp implements, just in case. Bernard stood near the open window, still wearing his black armour with his arms folded. It appeared to be something all the Black Rider Knights did. With a small bow, the attendant ushered them inside and closed the door. Bernard and Noah turned to face them, Leo continued to stare blankly into the sky.

“Marcus,” Bernard spoke flatly. The normal growl in his voice had lessened. “Yet another enemy force shattered?”

“Yes. But I was told there might be another one. Today too.”

“The Church appears to have lost their collective minds.” An elderly voice spoke from the shadows. Alfred, Duchess Belinda’s elderly butler, moved forward with a deep frown on his face. “I watched from the battlements. Were they really that inept?”

“Inept and hopelessly trained.” Marcus slowly approached Leo from behind, the King didn’t move, apart from shallow breathing. “All they have are numbers.”

Alfred nodded slowly, a memory from long ago flashed over his eyes. “Reminds me of my first Centaur Invasion. Men were just thrown into battle without any real training…And the lands ran red with their blood.”

“But there were always more,” Bernard grumbled. “Just like this time.”

Bernard sighed. He thumped the stone wall with his fist and moved to the table. “This isn’t going to end well.”

"I have made contact with every mercenary force that I know." Alfred began. "But many have been bought already."

"Can't you just pay them more?" Bernard asked. Marcus was sure he already knew the answer.

Alfred shook his wizened head and sighed. "To a mercenary, their contract is their life. If they gained a reputation of changing sides they would never be hired again. A few, less scrupulous mercenary bands follow that practice. I, personally, wouldn't want them beside me."

Bernard grumbled, tapping the table with a mailed finger. "I have already contacted every Knight Order that I know will listen. Our..." Bernard winced ever so slightly. "Reputation leaves much to be desired. I'm sure the Green Vipers and the Wolf's Howl will join us. What of yours, Marcus?"

"The Blue Firestorm will fight. As will the Grey Dawn and White Lightning. Though we need to leave a portion of our forces to counter potential Clansmen attack, I consider this unlikely given their crushing defeat."

"Yes..." Bernard looked at Alfred. "And does Duchess Belinda truly believe that this...Anton, will be able to help us?"

"A great deal." Alfred smiled. "He and two...women came to our rescue during the Clansmen and Orc invasion without the promise of reward. Without them, we wouldn't have been prepared and Maxill would have fallen, allowing them to spread out and devastate the Kingdom before the Knight Orders could rally."

"Is that the person that Duchess Belinda was accused of..." Noah trailed off, aware that nearly all the attention now lay on him. Except for Leo who continued to stare endlessly into the blue sky.

"Yes." Alfred warmly smiled at the boy. "But they aren't evil. Not at all. If Duchess Belinda can reach them and convince them to join this war will be much easier." Alfred sighed. "This would be so much easier if The Church hadn't destroyed that pen."

"So that was an artefact," Bernard said. "It seems they spoke the truth."

"Indeed." Alfred smiled. "The King...Former king, I'm sure knew it to be true but wanted to put them back in their place."

"For what good it did." Bernard thumped a fist into the wooden table.

"Without that pen, the only way to contact them is physically. And that will take some time. But I'm sure my lady will convince them to join us."

"So long as..." Castor awkwardly shuffled. "So long as no one says anything stupid."

"Yes...I don't think we'll be doing that again."

Bernard raised a brow and looked at Alfred.

"He wasn't too impressed by Castor calling the two women unworthy of attending a meeting."

Castor flexed his hands and looked away. Even Noah looked oddly at him.

But it cooled your head a little bit. Especially after losing that bow. Seems to have been a worthwhile trade.

"We cannot rely on strange mages from far-away lands." Bernard pushed off the table and looked out the window. "Even if it would help. For now, we must rely on what we have. Thankful the Cabal of Mages have stayed neutral."

"Not surprising," Alfred said. "Given how The Church sought to control them. And when that didn't work they tried to demonize them."

"Better that they stay neutral rather than join Harold and Giles." Leo's finger twitched to Bernard's words, the first real sign he was listening. "But staying neutral won't be an option for long."

"Indecision has always plagued the Cabal." Alfred sighed.

A knock came from a small wooden door to the side. Noah raced to it while everyone rested a hand on their weapons, even Alfred had a short sword underneath his clothes.

Noah opened the door with some trepidation. His face brightened as a platter of steaming hot food was passed over by a servant. She bowed before closing the door. Noah trotted happily over to Leo and placed it before him. Not a single reaction came from the King.

"My King," Noah spoke softly. "You must eat. Otherwise, you will waste away."

Leo said nothing. Marcus moved behind Noah, Leo's eyes were vacant and hollow.

Noah's fingers twitched erratically as he looked between Leo and Marcus. "Per-Perhaps I should show you that the food is safe. And not poisoned. That worked last time!"

Noah chuckled nervously, the noise echoed in the otherwise silent room. Noah took a fork and stabbed at the succulent piece of steak.

"Why?" Leo spoke barely louder than a whisper.

Noah coughed as he chewed on the meat. "My King?"

"Why did they do it?" Marcus had to lean close to understand the words. "My brothers. And my mother. Why?"

"I..." Noah was lost for words. "I don't know, my King."

This seems like the first words he's spoken since we've fled the capital. Can't let this fall.

"I believe they were seduced." Marcus began, Leo eyes slowly turned to him while his head remained stationary. "By allure of power. Giles and Harold were second and third in line to the throne. You, being first, would have received everything while they would be left with nothing. It might have taken some time but people like Terrill and Abeau could have used that to worm their way into their minds."

"But..." Leo gently shook his head. "I thought we loved each other. We'd always been friends, always. Even Harold."

"Things...Can change over time. You may have been so close that you didn't see it."

Leo nodded once. "And my mother? Why did she kill my father? I thought she loved..."

"I...Don't know about that either. But," Marcus tapped Noah on the shoulder and gently pulled him to one side. He dropped to one knee and waited until Leo looked straight at him. "But the only place to find out the truth is out there. You aren't going to find it in the sky."

Leo took another deep breath. "But what do I do?"

"First, you eat all the food on that plate. Then you lead. You need to be out there, so your people know that the Kingdom has not fallen to madness. I don't expect you to be out the front, swinging your sword and cleaving heads, but you need to be there. With us. Fighting. Otherwise, you might as well head back to the capital and surrender to your brothers. We can't win this war for you, but we can help every step you take."

Leo pursed his lips, some semblance of life returned to his eyes. But he did not eat. He needed another push but Marcus was out of ideas. And if he just kept going it might do more harm than good.

"My King,” Noah spoke as softly as Leo just had. “I know that you are suffering…But so is everyone else. I’ve watched the people fleeing the capital, the terror in their faces as they run to the east. They need your help.”

Leo moved but he still wasn’t there yet. Marcus gave Noah a gentle bump.

“But you can’t just let the people suffer!” Marcus was surprised by Noah’s outburst. “You are the King. The man that I serve, even though my friends in the Golden Roar are probably going to fight against us, is the King. No matter what anyone else says. And I don’t want my King to be stuck here while the people, which you are meant to protect, suffer and die.”

Noah, that was…

Leo frowned and reached for the fork. Without hesitation, even though Noah hadn’t tested it, he stabbed the meat and tore it through without abandon. He didn’t care that he looked like a ravenous and starving animal. Noah looked nervously at Marcus but a smile slowly crept up her face.

“Bernard,” Leo spoke through mouthfuls of food. “Marcus. Tell me…No. As the King, tell me what I should do now?”

“Right now we need more soldiers.” Bernard began. “Our Knight Orders are strong but the enemy outnumbers us. We need to even that disadvantage.” He turned to Alfred. “And there is only so much that mercenaries can do.”

“I don’t think we have enough money to buy them from Bebbezzar.” Alfred sighed. “Giles and Harold have the entire royal treasury at their disposal. And we have…little, by comparison.”

“Okay.” Leo tore off another piece of meat. “Where are these attacks coming from?”

“A city to the south,” Bernard said.

“It’s actually a cathedral,” Castor added. “I’ve been there. It’s pretty big. And so is the city and farmlands around it.”

“Explains how they got so many people,” Bernard grumbled. “But it needs to be secured so we can move on the capital.”

Leo stopped, hunched over his plate of food, and looked up.

“Harold and Giles, and Valérie are the source of this war. Kill them and the Church will lose their power and legitimacy.”

“We don’t have enough men to take the capital,” Alfred said softly. “Even if all the Knight Orders that have agreed to aid us attack as one, we will likely lose. The defences are impressive.”

Leo tapped the knife on the table. “We…We can’t attack it yet. We aren’t strong enough. So what to do…We need to get stronger. Tell me honestly, what are our chances of recruiting more soldiers? Even if they are of poor quality.”

“In the south and western regions, good,” Alfred replied. “There are many people that would eagerly fight for the prospect of freedom from their bondage. So we should be able to get significant numbers from there. From around the capital and further west, it’s very unlikely. They are underneath the thrall of The Church of the Holy Father. It’s likely the only people we would get from there would be spies and saboteurs. We cannot count on anyone from that region.”

Noah squeaked lightly.

“Don’t worry.” Leo smiled faintly at Noah. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this without much money…but, Alfred, you manage Duchess Belinda’s holdings. Is it possible?”

“Absolutely. We may need to take on loans from the Wood Elves though. Not that it gives me much joy to think of owing them gold, but we don’t have much of a choice.”

Leo continued eating. “And…What of this Anton? If we have this powerful mage surely we could move on the capital right away.”

Alfred made a noise. “It is my personal opinion that, while he might be very powerful, I don’t think he’s very skilled. Raw power over finesse. I know of several mages that could probably kill him in a one on one fight. Provided he doesn’t hit them first. It is…a wild card. But more than effective against the normal foes we may face.”

“And Duchess Belinda can get him here?”

“I believe in her.” Alfred smiled. “I’m sure she will come to an arrangement.”

“We should not act like this mage will be helping us,” Bernard said softly. “Just in case something’s happened, our strategy shouldn’t rely on such an outside force. We should plan to win the war without the aid of this mage.”

Makes sense. Plan for the worst and hope for the best. If we think there’s going to be saviour coming we might make foolish mistakes on the off-chance that it can be quickly fixed. Leo needs calm heads for the future.

“Okay.” Leo nodded. “It’s about time I actually do something. Now, I remember you, Bernard, saying something about a war council.”

“Yes, My King.”

“Then I’d like you to assemble one.” Leo rammed the last of the meat into his face. “I don’t know who would be best, so I’ll have to trust your judgement.”

Bernard bowed deeply. “I will repay the trust you have placed in me. I recommend Marcus, Alfred and Castor, for now. I know I can trust them. And each has their field of expertise that we will need for the civil war and beyond.”

Oh?

Before Marcus could speak the heavy door groaned open. A swift hand reached for his blade. A young attendant, a pretty young girl dressed in the same clothes as the elderly attendant, breathed heavily with sweat dripping off her brow.

“Forgive me, My Lords, My King. But…” She took a deep breath, almost retching from exertion. “But the enemy is sending another army. This is the largest yet. Scouts…Scouts say that there are over eight thousand. With simple siege ladders.”

“That’s too many for us to deal with outside the walls,” Marcus said. “Not to mention our horses are dead tired.”

“So are the soldiers,” Castor added.

“We only exited the castle to rescue to mercenary forces.” Bernard tapped the pommel of his blade. “So we will fight from the walls. It seems they are willing to come to us, so why not let them.”

Leo slammed his hands on the table, the clang of the metal plate startled Noah into a girlish squeak. “Noah. Get some armour. It’s time the King stopped being such a little girl.”