Chapter 119 Pt.2:

Marcus, once again in his Blue firestorm armour, reached the second most outer wall. Castor and Bernard followed closely behind. Leo and Noah had retired to the armour so Leo could be fitted with armour. As Leo didn’t have personal armour yet he would have to settle for a refitted set, not something befitting a king but he would have to settle. Given his change, Marcus doubted he would complain. A page, a large crossbow in his hands, led them up to a short tower capable of overlooking the battle. The page gave a small bow and left, probably to return to his post.

“What do they have?” Marcus said to himself.

In his hand lay a spyglass, gifted to him by Alfred. Such a strange contraption was beyond the work of Qaiviel. This piece of metal and glass had travelled all the way from Graterious, the long way too. Marcus followed Alfred’s instructions and raised the smaller end to his eye. A gasp escaped his lips as the world grew larger but only in that eye. It took Marcus a moment to realise that he could only look through one eye at a time.

“The scouts were wrong,” Marcus grumbled. “There are nine to ten thousand enemy soldiers approaching. How, how many do we have?”

“If we muster everyone a little over three thousand. With those extra forces that we saved, that brings it to three thousand eight hundred.”

“With walls and towers like this it should compensate for the lack of soldiers,” Castor spoke weakly. “Right?”

“It should.” Marcus slowly overserved the rear lines. “I don’t see any mages at the back. Only a few archers as well. But…There’s the prick. I knew he wasn’t dead.”

Marcus found the commander at the very rear of the wide enemy force. He wore priest attire, mixed with normal infantry officer armour, but his face was covered in dirt and deep scratches. His eyes burned with the fury of impending revenge, to wash away his humiliation of retreating with his tail between his legs. Nevertheless, he remained protected by fifty actual soldiers. Unlike the conscripts fanning out in great and cumbersome lines, these wore almost full armour and wielded impressive swords and shields.

“We need someone to keep an eye on him,” Marcus said. “Just in case he runs away again. And I don’t think we should let those soldiers protecting him get onto the walls.” Marcus lowered the spyglass. “I respect your Squires and Pages but I don’t think they’ll get away uninjured against them.”

Bernard nodded. “I’ll let them know. I’m sure my Squires will be able to handle them.”

“I sure hope so.”

Marcus looked through the spyglass again. There was something in the eyes of these soldiers. A subdued fury. Even madness, one that made Marcus very nervous.

The rest of the enemy line was far less impressive. They looked identical to those Marcus had spent the morning slaying like a farmer cutting wheat. No real armour, perhaps a bit of old leather or a thick piece of cloth underneath a matching uniform of white. It definitely wasn’t expensive cloth, they had no need to spend money on a force that was largely disposable, but at least they could determine friend from foe.

And that works in our favour too.

At the front were the siege weapons, such as they were. These were not catapults or trebuchets, not even a siege tower. Large wooden ladders were suspended between dozens of conscript soldiers. The wood appeared as fresh as the soldiers. While they were definitely large enough to breach the first wall Marcus doubted how effective they would really be.

“Even if they reach the first wall they’re just going to have to get past the second. Without the ladders.”

There were no connections between the first and second layer of the fortress, so even if they held the outer wall it meant nothing. They would simply have to run through another hailstorm of bolts and arrows to reach a stone wall that they had no hope of breaching. That thought alone worried Marcus. Surely they knew that. So why fight like this? Why not just surround and starve them out? Not that Marcus had any plans to die in such an ignoble way.

“I will head to the front and command the defence from there.” Bernard began walking away. “If you see any areas that are falling don’t hesitate to send those mercenaries in.”

Marcus raised a brow and Bernard pointed down. Waiting in the courtyard between the two walls, now devoid of the dead and wounded, several hundred mercenaries idly waited for instructions. Unlike the Knight Order their armour and weapons were mismatched and of grimy. However, Marcus knew that it was foolish to judge them on appearance alone.

Alfred, once being a mercenary himself, wouldn’t hire some rabble.

Thankfully the mercenaries were close enough to hear Marcus yell. He took up the spyglass again as the enemy reached the maximum range of the ballistae and catapults. Bernard, towering over the rest of his Knights and Squires manning the outer wall, waved at the small towers. A page raised a small red flag high. The same red flag repeated across the small towers.

A shout came from the enemy force and the assault began. A spattering of soldiers stood near the front, waving their swords towards the castle. Ladder bearers lifted their heavy loads while shield bearing conscripts moved in front, only after heavy abuse by their commanders. Their shields were simple wooden constructs, only some had a metal bad to strengthen them slightly.

“It’ll stop some arrows at range, probably some bolts.” Marcus turned his spyglass to the ballistae towers. “But it’s not going to stop that.”

The ballistae groaned as the heavy steel-tipped wooden shaft pointed towards the approaching ladders. With a might thwack, the ballistae fired. Marcus could barely follow it with his eyes as it flew towards the enemy. The conscript’s eyes flicked up as the bolt broke through their simple wooden shields and impaled them into the ground. Four conscripted soldiers fell screaming, their bodies mashed against one another as blood poured from the wounds in their chests. Those around them stopped and stared as they died writhing in pain. The entire enemy army stopped and stared, Marcus could see the fear and terror ripple through their lines. They had not been told what they would face. What the Knight Orders were capable of.

And that was only one ballista.

The next ballistae fired, then the next and the next. Huge steel tipped bolts rained down upon the enemy. Marcus watched in a mix of admiration and horror as the conscript soldiers were cut down, their bodies torn to pieces, embedded into one another and into the ground, while panic consumed the enemy. Already the rear elements were beginning to back away. However, the ballistae took time to reload. And those behind the conscripts were actual soldiers.

“Forward!” Marcus heard faintly over the wind whistling through his armour. “Forward! Or face the wrath of The Holy Father! Only shedding the blood of these faithless scum can redeem your souls!”

Marcus grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Such standard tripe.”

“I could hear that from here,” Castor said softly. “How? It’s…”

Marcus used his spyglass again. “He must be using some sort of Wind magic. So he can throw his voice further. That means that he, or someone nearby, is a mage. We’d better be careful.”

The sound of boots on stone came from behind, rapidly ascending the stairs towards them. Castor drew his sword but they only found a young female Black Riders page. She didn’t have a crossbow, rather a small bow and a short sword at her side.

“My Lords, Bernard instructed me to be your messenger. In case you don’t want to shout the orders.”

Marcus nodded. “Tell Bernard that the enemy has a mage of some kind. Possibly some user of Wind Magic. Tell him to be wary.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The page nodded and ran down the stairs. Marcus caught her taking great pains to not slip and fall. Perhaps she had once already.

Marcus turned back to the battle. The enemy had regained some of their courage but it required constant threats and cajoling from the few armoured soldiers to keep them moving. The shield bearers moved to cover the ladder bearers. Another wave of ballistae bolts rained down and shattered more of the enemy, the catapults threw stone boulders, slowly soaring through the air and landing in the midst of the conscripts. They were so densely packed only a few could move out of the way. The bloody stone rolled through the ranks, catching a few unfortunate souls, before coming to a halt. Marcus caught the eye of the commander. His neck throbbed with anger, anger that they were being pummelled and they had yet to reach the wall.

The first of the Black Riders archers and crossbowmen began to fire at those carrying the ladders. If they fell the attack would falter before it even began. Many fell but the conscripts pried the shields from their dead fellows and held them upright, even if they could be barely called a shield. Marcus readied his sword as some of the ladders made it to the wall. The enemy heaved the heavy wooden ladders up, exposing themselves to a final volley of arrows and bolts. Some fell sideways, crushing more soldiers who had taken refuge underneath the wall.

“Do we head down there?” Castor asked.

Marcus gripped his sword handle. “Not yet. They still need to climb the ladders. And they’ll be exposed even more. If they can’t get onto the wall we don’t have anything to worry about. They’ll be wiped out before stepping foot inside the castle.”

Castor nodded and looked at the battle. Marcus felt his anguish; loyal soldiers would still suffer wounds and probably death.

The conscripts began the dangerous climb. Bernard and the other Knights directed the Pages to attack them first. Ladders shook and rattled, some fell down, as bodies desperately tried to hold on as the bolts and arrows raining down upon them. Despite their best efforts the first of the conscripts began breaching the wall. The Squires and Knights drew their weapons and swung at the hands and heads that popped up. Blood sprayed with every strike and the screams grew louder.

“Are we even needed?” Castor asked.

Some of the conscripts used the dead bodies slumped on the wall as shields to land on the wall. While there were only a few initially they rapidly grew in number and pushed them back by sheer weight of flesh.

“I think that’s us,” Castor said, turning to walk down the stone stairs. “We can’t let them get a foothold on the wall.”

“Take all the mercenaries.” Marcus laid the spyglass on the ground. It would likely get broken in the upcoming scuffles. “I’ll take the Knights and get them on their horses.”

“What?”

Marcus smiled. “They won’t be ready for that. They’re already committed to attacking the wall. So we’ll take out the commander. See what he has to say.”

“But if he’s a mage-”

“We’ll be fine.” Marcus tapped the blue emblem on his chest. “This isn’t just for show.”

---[]---

Marcus mounted the armoured horse, alongside forty Black Riders Knights. They had been loathed to retreat from the wall. Many were covered in blood and had already claimed many lives. When they saw the mercenaries coming to take their place they finally relinquished their positions. The conscripts, still pouring onto the wall, thought the knights were retreating. Their elation instantly faded as the mercenaries relieved their positions and demonstrated why they were such dangerous adversaries. Castor stayed with them and led the limited counter-attack. Marcus didn’t want the enemy completely pushed back, not yet at least.

“The horses don’t have much in them.” A Knight said to Marcus.

Marcus silently agreed. The horse beneath his legs trembled ever so slightly. Between the heavy armour and the days’ fighting, they were exhausted. However, their short break allowed them to recuperate some of their strength. It would have to be enough.

“We’re just going to capture the commander.” Marcus gripped the reins hard. “Once he’s gone these conscripts will lose the will to fight. Then it’ll be easy to round them up.”

“I hope so.”

In the distance, a catapult loosed its heavy load. The stone tumbled through the air followed by a sickening squish and snap.

“We’ll head out the eastern gate and charge straight at the enemy,” Marcus yelled at the Black Rider Knights. “Don’t engage the enemy on the way. We don’t have the strength to get bogged down dealing with a thousand farmers wielding spears.”

The Knights nodded grimly and lowered their helmets. Squires, wounded from the previous battle, groaned as they opened the metal eastern gate. Marcus wiped the reins and kicked his horse forward. With a slight protest, the beast followed his orders. The lingering sense of tiredness and exhaustion faded away. He kept his horse in a fast jog, not quite a run so it wasn’t too tired when it needed to charge.

Forty Knights followed close behind. Normally they would wield lances for their first charge then switch to swords but their lances lay out in the field, alongside several skewered corpses. As they passed the wall Marcus winced at the scale of the destruction wrought upon the enemy. Once green verdant ground ran red with blood, so too did the stone walls. Piles of white-clothed bodies grew around the base of the ladders. The conscripts had to climb over the soft and still writhing pile, probably over people they knew and worked with peacefully a few days ago, to start the climb, all the while forced on by the few soldiers with actual armour. Their steel shields deflected the arrows and bolts keeping them relatively safe. And free to scream at the conscripts to continue their near pointless attack. They had managed to expand their landing but it had cost them dearly. The Black Riders fought well as they slowly retreated. One of the conscripts turned back, wondering what the distant rumble was. Almost instantly a feeling of terror ran through their lines. Marcus had been on the receiving end of a cavalry charge, actually a centaur charge, and he nearly dropped everything and ran. The conscripts began to run the opposite way, along the castle walls to the west. Commanders tried to regain control but it was too late.

“Do not run!” A voice boomed from the rear. The commander of the attack waved his sword forward. “Do not falter! Do not give in to fear! Keep attacking! For the Holy Father!”

Marcus saw something dangle from the hilt of his sword. A charm, a small silver medallion. Though it was far away Marcus recognised it instantly. Thankfully it was small, unusually small, but it had a single grey gem embedded in the middle.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

So he is a user of Wind magic. But it doesn’t look like he’s very good. Otherwise, he’d be using his magic to deflect the arrows and bolts. Either that or he’s just a coward.

There was no time to hesitate or retreat. Marcus was not allowing this man to run again. He held back his desire to break into a charge, so too were the Knights behind him. There was nothing in between the main force and the commander and his retinue. They still represented a potential threat but Marcus trusted they would tear through them with ease. Between a near equal number of Knights and swordsmen, the knights would win.

The Commander’s face drained of colour as he saw them approach unimpeded. He waved at the few archers that were still with him. All Marcus could think that this man was a coward through and through. The arrows flew and the charm on the Commander’s wrist glowed. The arrows shot forward, far faster than anything he had seen before. They struck his armour, they hit like a falling tree pushing him back but not free from his horse. His horse slowed too underneath the powerful strikes.

“So that’s it!” Marcus laughed, readying his sword. “But that’s all you can do!”’

“What are you waiting for?!” The man shrieked. “Fire!”

Another volley of arrows struck the charging Knights. Marcus heard someone tumble, the unmistakable sound of a horse screaming in pain, but he would not stop now. The armoured soldiers moved to protect him but it was too late.

Marcus whipped his horse into a charge, using all the energy the beast had left. The Commander cowered behind his soldiers as the thunderous hooves approached. Marcus readied his blade, infinitely glad that the enemy had no spears or pikes, swords would do little good against their armoured bodies. Marcus wrapped the reins around his left arm and swung down with his right, his strike coupled with the horse's speed and strength cleaved through the helmet of the first soldier. The Knights followed him, cutting through the swordsmen while trying their best not to trample the enemy commander to death. Marcus wouldn't have troubled dreams if he was mixed into the blood-soaked mud by accident. He pulled back hard on the reins, his horse protested loudly but followed his instructions. He waved the other Knights forward to attack the archers. These too were a mix of professional soldiers and conscripts, probably trappers and hunters judging by the range in equipment quality. While men screamed as they were cut down by the powerful strikes Marcus turned his attention to their prize. He laid underneath a headless corpse completely still, his eyes blank as he stared into the sky. His charm had been shattered somehow and with it his consciousness. Marcus made sure the area was mostly secure, the survivors were far more concerned with the Knights rampaging through their ranks than one lone dismounted Knight. Marcus relinquished his hold on the reins and jumped from his horse. The impact reminded him he wasn't a young man anymore. With his sword drawn he advanced on his target, wondering if he was actually still alive. Marcus smiled, unnoticeable underneath his helmet and kicked the body off him. The Commander's arm had been broken, broken when a Knight had swiped at his sword and sent it flying, along with the charm he had so foolishly worn around his wrist.

Surely no mage would be that stupid.

Marcus glanced to the faltering attack on the castle walls. More ground had been gained, the fleeing conscripts had been forced back into the attack but, overall, it appeared to be losing speed. There was just no way they could maintain such an intensity with so few numbers, doubly so when he watched white clothed bodies fall from the wall like droplets of rain.

Maybe he is that stupid. It would have been far better to wait for this army then attack. But he did try and stop the reinforcements from arriving.

Marcus looked to the armoured soldiers. They looked like normal men but something bothered him. Something about their eyes. He retrieved a severed head and ripped off the helmet. For a moment he feared they were one of the Church's Stitch soldiers, just the merest thought of them sent shivers down his spine, but his fears were mostly unfounded. Red blood leaked from the wound, not a sign of the writhing black worms, nor were there horrendous cuts and glowing stitches, the teeth were stained with spittle and blood rather than glowing purple. However the eyes, the eyes were bloodshot. Marcus saw something in his teeth, almost covered by the blood. It was a red plant-like material, a moss. But he had never seen a red moss before. He checked another head. That too had bloodshot eyes and flecks of red moss in their teeth.

"I wonder what you bastards have been up."

Marcus idly tossed the head away and lightly kicked the Commander. It roused him from his unconscious sleep, his eyes rolled in his head before snapping into focus.

"Where?" he asked, his mind still groggy from landing on the hard ground.

"Go back to sleep," Marcus grumbled.

He raised his boot over the Commander's head, a moment of recognition flashed over his eyes before Marcus slammed his foot down. Marcus he sure he was still breathing before tying him up with a loose piece of cloth and throwing him over the back of his horse. A Black Rider Knight stopped a few feet from Marcus as he attempted the difficult act of climbing back onto a horse without assistance.

"My Lord Marcus." The Knight and the beast between his legs were exhausted and breathed heavy and wet breaths. "The enemy is retreating. Do we pursue?"

No semblance of organization remained in the enemies rear lines. Those on the front were on the verge of collapse, the armoured commanders looked the most concerned now their rear was exposed.

"No. Let the others handle the enemy." Marcus patted the back of the Commander before mounting his horse on his second try, surprising everyone. "We have what we need."

The Knight nodded and shouted. The other Knights, delighted to run down the escapees, immediately began to return to their side. Marcus didn't wait until they had gathered before riding back to the castle. They took the same route as before, ignoring the panicking enemy conscripts who rightly feared a charge to their rear lines. As Marcus neared parallel to the castle walls he saw something he did not expect. Leo, in a set of Black Riders full plate armour, strode through the enemy lines on the wall, hacking and cleaving his way through the enemy. Though Marcus's first impressions of the boy were that of a joker and later a womanizer, he would have received combat training, training from experts from all around the world. Marcus saw techniques from Bebbezzar, Seocuria and even the Frindal Emirate, all mixing together in a dizzying display of murder. Still, he was only one person but the effect he had was undeniable. The conscripts saw the King, the rightful King, fighting like an elite warrior. The Black Riders took heart and cheered a mighty war cry. Knights and Squires smashed into the enemy lines while the Pages unleashed furious barrages on those still attempting the climb.

The enemy collapsed as Marcus passed the wall. They threw themselves from the wall, landing amongst the dead and dying, some impaling themselves on the arrows and bolts jutting from the corpses and began to run to the south. Even the armoured commanders had no choice to follow the collapsing army. Arrows and bolts harried them along the open plain until only the ballistae and catapults could reach. Marcus breathed easy as they entered the castle gates.

They had won.

---[]---

Marcus slumped the Commander into a chair. Squires and Pages swarmed the man and tied him down, checking him for any hidden weapons. When they were confident he was safe they backed away.

"How was your first fight?" Castor asked Leo.

Both men were covered in blood, head to toe. Now that the battle was over some attendants, not helping the wounded, began to clean away what blood they could. Marcus wanted to dismiss them but he knew what it was like to be soaked in blood, the way it grew sticky and the way it reeked...

"I..." Leo rested on his longsword. "I've never been in a real fight before. Not where the other person wanted to kill me. It's so..."

"Just keep breathing and you'll be fine." Castor tried to comfort the King.

Marcus knew the look in his eyes, the shaking of his limbs and quivering of his lips. The rush of battle, a dizzying high, had faded away. Now all he was left with was the cold and emptiness that followed. It was something Marcus experienced all too often during his youth, but now that he was older he barely felt it. Perhaps he was just so used to it now.

"Any idea when this little rat's going to wake up?" Bernard asked, leaning forward to inspect their prisoner.

Bernard had escaped without serious injury, only a few more scars on his face and hands. Marcus didn't know how many of his soldiers had fallen. Too many, judging by his demeanour.

"I hit him pretty hard." Marcus shrugged as an attendant began to work on his armour. "Otherwise he could have used his magic again."

"Hmm. The runner mentioned that."

Bernard looked to a squire waiting some distance away. In his hands, he held a strange helmet. It clearly wasn't built for combat, it had too many holes in the metal. As the Squire approached Marcus saw it wasn't made from steel or iron. The metal had strange markings, a hexagonal repeating pattern covered the dull metal.

"Ghlyirl."

"Yes." Bernard rammed the helmet on the Commander, no care was given if it would fit properly. "We've had to deal with some upstart mages before. You put this metal anywhere near them and they can't use magic."

"Even heretical magic?" Alfred asked.

Bernard shrugged. "We'll find out if this Anton of yours tries anything silly."

Alfred frowned but offered no objections.

Bernard began slapping the prisoners. His mailed hands left red welts on his face but it worked. Slowly the man was roused from his slumber.

"I thought you had killed him." Bernard flashed Marcus a grin. He no longer doubted the Black Riders enjoyed the carnage.

"What?" The Commander was still groggy and disoriented. "Where is this?"

"Who wants to ask the questions?" Marcus asked.

"I will." Alfred took a step forward. "Unless someone else wants to?"

"I don't know what we could possibly ask," Leo muttered.

"At least what forces they have in the area," Bernard said. "Who has thrown their lot in with Giles and Harold. And who still might join us."

Leo nodded at Alfred. Alfred produced a tiny, thin blade, which he tapped on his fingernails. Marcus had never witnessed an interrogation like this; Clansmen usually killed themselves or went down fighting and the odd peasant rebellion didn't require much in the way of persuasion to extract an answer. He hoped he would have the stomach for it.

"Are you awake?" Alfred asked, his voice remained calm and flat despite what he could unleash upon the poor man.

"Who are you?" The Commander asked. "What's happening? Where are those useless soldiers?"

He had still yet to regain clarity. Alfred sighed before driving the blade into his leg. The man screamed as Alfred twisted the blade.

"Are you awake now?"

The Commander, his teeth clenched, nodded.

"Good. I think even you are smart enough to realize that you have lost." Alfred began. "And what remains of your life may or may not be painful, depending on how you answer. Do you understand?"

"The Holy Father-"

Alfred withdrew the blade and plunged it again into the man's leg. Marcus winced as he screamed in pain again, this time far more pathetically.

"We can keep on going for as long as you want." Alfred's voice did not waver despite the blood pooling around the hilt of the blade. "So, are you going to answer our questions?"

Realizing he had no real choice the man nodded.

"Good." Alfred produced a bandage and placed it firmly over the first wound, keeping the blade stuck in his leg. "Now. How many more men do you have to the south?"

"Eight...Eight thousand." The Commander began to turn pale. "And another ten thousand of peasant rabble."

"You don't seem to have much regard for the men you sent to their deaths."

The Commander scoffed. "They should be glad to be given the opportunity to redeem themselves by slaying a single heretic like yourself."

"Not even armour?"

"Why? There are always more."

If we let this thing go on there won't be anyone left in the Kingdom. Bebbezzar was always looking to expand before their war...

"Okay."

Alfred waved to Noah. He covered his eyes with his hands. Marcus reasoned that he hadn't left yet because the King hadn't dismissed him. No child should have to watch something like this. Noah, peering through his fingers, nodded and brought over a bowl of blended healing herbs. Alfred quietly thanked him and applied the paste. The Commander winced but quickly relaxed as the plants worked their magic.

"What about further south?" Alfred asked. "To the east or west?"

"Nothing from the south. Or the east, at least to attack you. They've received orders to secure the nearby towns and cities and await the arrival of The Crusade."

Marcus's ears twitched at that word. The last Crusade had been called before he was born and directed westward to deal a decisive blow against the Centaurs. It worked but took a heavy toll in lives and resources. And the threat had hardly been abolished if the Red Salamanders spoke the truth.

"A Crusade to kill Leo? That seems like a bit much." Alfred smiled at the prisoner.

Marcus felt it was a little odd he was being so friendly to a man he had wounded so badly. It was more like he was training a troublesome dog than an interrogation.

"They don't know exactly where you are but they had a good guess." The Commander continued. "But they want to keep pushing east. To the old Kar Kingdom."

Alfred's face dropped slightly.

If we knew that someone could live there, without bringing an entire kingdom's worth of monsters upon ourselves we would have taken that land ages ago. Guess they are lucky we didn't.

"Why?" Alfred asked after regaining his composure.

"I don't know. But that's the order. If the King and Queen order it we have to obey, even if-"

"Queen?" Alfred raised a brow, his elderly wrinkled face contorted in surprise. "And King? Not Kings?"

"Have you not heard?"

"For some reason, we have been stuck in this castle for quite some time." Alfred chuckled. "We haven't exactly had the chance."

"Harold is King. And Valerie is his Queen."

“What about Giles?”

“He’s dead.” The Commander looked a little perplexed. A faint smirk grew on his face, quickly dropped when he remembered his situation.

"Giles is dead?" Leo asked softly.

While he, probably, still loved his brothers they had tried to kill him. Marcus didn't envy the swirling emotions going through his head. But what he said second concerned Marcus the most.

The Commander nodded. "I don't know who did it but I heard it was the Queen. She and Cardinal Abeau put Harold on the throne."

"So my mother now rules as Queen Regent." Leo shook his head. Noah rushed to his side but could do little to comfort the King.

Marcus couldn't hold his thought any longer. "You said his Queen. Not the Queen."

"What?" Leo's face drained of emotion.

The Commander chuckled. "Only a few know the real truth." A quick glare from Alfred stopped his jubilant tone dead. "Valerie is Harold's Queen. As an actual..." He tried to roll his hands as he thought of the right words. "Husband and wife."

Marcus was lost for words. So too was everyone else. Leo stood in a mixture of disgust and fury, unable to decide which would win out.

"I...I don't." Leo held his forehead. "That's sick."

"I thought that something like incest was frowned upon by The Church?" Alfred asked.

"It is. But Cardinal Abeau forbade any discussion. But...People talk."

"What of Princess Lila?" Marcus asked. "I haven't heard anything about her since this started."

Leo's eyes opened. While he loved his brothers that did not appear to extend to her.

"No one has heard anything. I think she is being hunted but I don't know. Nothing has been said about her."

Strange. Perhaps no one really thinks she could be a threat.

"How long before this Crusade is ready?" Alfred asked.

"It'll still take some time. Perhaps early spring? But I'm sure they won't just leave you alone until then. The army they're creating will be powerful enough to topple empires, more than enough to sweep away this castle and the monsters in the Kar Kingdom."

"I see." Alfred glanced at the others present, his face still blank. "Eighteen thousand soldiers, of indeterminate quality, to the south. And an army brewing at the capital...I think we've heard everything we need to."

Alfred drove the blade into his throat. Blood streamed from the wound, his bound hands desperately attempted to reach and close the wound. A few moments passed and his head fell forward and body silent.

"That's for sending thousands of innocent people to their deaths," Alfred spoke coldly, wiping the blood from his blade. "I'm sure their families are eternally thankful that they'll starve this winter."

To think that I was about a winter away from marching onto Maxill and removing Duchess Belinda. Oh, I should have asked about the red moss. Maybe someone here knows more.

"Unbelievable." Leo shook his head, scrunching his eyes tight. "One of my brothers is dead. And my other fucking my mother...And I have no idea about my sister."

Marcus felt his concern for his sister was very forced.

"Our first action should be taking out the threat to the south." Bernard began. "Once that is dealt with we can start moving on the capital and your brother."

"Eighteen thousand is a considerable force." Leo appeared more than happy to talk about a different topic. "Even if they are poorly armed and trained."

"Indeed." Alfred held his chin. "To the north is a large town. I haven't heard anything hostile from it."

"The mayor and I are friends." Bernard frowned lightly. "As much as anyone can be friends with one of us. I have sent him letters but I've heard nothing in return."

"Well, the number of their soldiers is considerable." Alfred continued. "If we can get them on our side we should be more than strong enough to take the cathedral."

"Does anyone know why their soldiers would have a red moss in their teeth?" Marcus asked, only to receive blank looks. "Strange. If anyone hears anything about it could they let me know? I'm curious about it."

Leo gave a single nod. "We have our objective now. Securing the land around Castle Étoile. While we wait for the other Knight Orders we'll secure the loyalty of this mayor. I don't know too much about negotiation so I'll need to bring some help. This might be my first real action as King."

Marcus looked at the blood still dripping from his blade.

"We will follow you, My King," Bernard said proudly. Everyone nodded to his words. Leo took heart and smiled, the first proper smile in a long time.

Marcus knew they made the right choice. Though he would never dare air it, it wasn't like there was a real alternative.