“Commander Lein, we’ve confirmed the size of Baron Elef’s army.”
A soldier in full plate burst into my chambers, breaking me out of my meditation.
Waiting for him to regain his breath, I gestured for him to continue.
“Ten camps surround the plateau,” he panickedly relayed, “10,000 men at the very least are gathered, and a further 20,000 are expected to arrive by noon tomorrow. Additionally, the Baron has been spotted, and is theorized to have reached Assimilation.”
I closed my eyes in sordid amusement.
The others had sacrificed their lives to temporarily bind the Baron, but all that I could do was wound Him, cover His face in shallow cuts that had likely already healed.
And in the face of my weakness, He had crippled me, let me live, saying that He looked forward to seeing my struggling in the face of death.
I could feel myself growing weaker with each passing day, no longer able to maintain spear aura for even 2 minutes, yet that bastard had already moved onto the next stage.
Raising my head, and with newfound resolve, I made my decision.
I had started this war, and it was my responsibility to see to it that we won, no matter the cost.
For her.
“Contact the Viscount. Tell him I accept his offer. Gather the remaining men.”
***
Groggily waking up, the expected throbbing headache from last night's drinking never came, most likely because of the wine only being half fermented, but even still, I knew It was an incredibly stupid decision to drink before battle.
Yet I didn’t regret it.
I felt refreshed, as if I was a newborn babe with an infinite number of roads to walk, opportunities to seize, worlds to conquer.
I knew this feeling was only an illusion borne from a momentary lapse in judgment, but I would still savor it as a precursor; a mere tasting of what was to come before the war would end.
Getting up out of bed, the others near me were still asleep. Completely understandable, as it was still early in the morning, and the sky was cloudy. so the sun's rays were blocked.
Breakfast consisted of bland, thick oat porridge, but irrespective of its flavor, it was a good meal to have before heading into battle. The oat porridge would sit in your stomach like a brick, essentially acting as preventative medicine for an upset stomach brought on from stress, so you wouldn’t shit your pants mid slash, and get a newly created orifice in your heart for your troubles.
Suddenly,
Tsssss
At first barely noticeable, where only a few soldiers pointed at it in confusion, then over the next few seconds growing in size until it seemed as if a mini star had formed in the sky.
Dropping my bowl of porridge on the ground, I frantically got up to begin running away, only to trip on my feet.
The metallic taste of blood originating from my tongue made itself known to my tastebuds, and I tried to get up again,
But it was too late,
“GET DOWN,”
And the star started to fall.
***
Past the Ash Forest, but not yet in the Snow Fields, 5,000 men gathered in the shadow of the Frostveil Plateau, some mounted on furred horses brought from further up North, some on foot, some wearing worn leathers, some in immaculate plate, though all of them in tense silence.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
A tribesman wearing furs, and skin pallor from the cold, with cheeks and nose red, but face still pleasantly plump from yet to be lost baby fat, whispered,
“Brother, why have the Alom gathered here? Are they not supposed to be defending?”
His elder brother, a warrior four years his senior, but incredibly gaunt from fighting for years, quietly rebuked him,
“Nara, you will call me by my given name of Ratka, or you will not refer to me at all.”
Drawing nearer to his older, more experienced brother, and with a mischievous smile, Nara teasingly poked his right sunken in cheek, taunting him further,
“Yes, yes, Ratya, but you didn’t answer.”
Evidently giving up on correcting the young man's behavior, Ratka responded,
“I do not know. But that should be of little concern to you.”
Looking into his younger brothers eyes, with such gravitas so as to make his prior reprimand appear completely inconsequential as a result, he went on,
“Have you not a single iota of self-preservation? This is war, and you, a mere freshblood, are most at risk of dying.”
Face softening somewhat, he continued,
“Stay with me. I will bring you back shoulder to shoulder, or not at all.”
No longer as lighthearted, Nara’s voice became more stern,
“Do not worry. I will not have mother bury another son.”
Patting his brother's shoulder in acknowledgement, Ratka gazed into the sky.
Judging from the color of the clouds, he could tell It would snow again, and seeing how they were beginning to cluster together, most likely in the next hour.
Snow was a good sign.
Their people were born in the cold, and despite the numerous factors that would facilitate the opposite happening, they thrived.
He took pride in that fact.
Ratka looked down at his hands. They were still shaking.
First appearing a year ago, and only every so often, to the point it could be chalked up to the cold, the tremors only increased in frequency, until it became a near hourly occurrence.
He had learned that the more effort he put into stopping it, the more his hands seemed to twitch, so he stopped fighting it.
It was only in battle that they became still.
The two brothers stood in place, and waited, when suddenly,
BOOOOOM
The sound of a loud explosion echoed.
“GRAAAAAAA”
A man wearing the skull of a boar, mounted on the back of a horse, and at the very front of the 5,000 man army, raised a red flag, and roared, causing the men gathered to join him, deafening even Ratka and Nara at the very back.
“Tighten your shield,” Ratka whispered, eyes narrowed, and beginning to march with the tribesmen and Alom to battle.
“Shut up,” the younger of the two cockily replied, “I’ll bring back 10 times as many heads as you.”
Shaking his head in exasperation, Ratka started to break out into a sprint, spear in hand, running so as to keep up with those around him.
Barely past the plateau, Ratka and Nara suddenly became paralyzed, at the sight of Him.
Black sword in hand, donning shining golden plate, both weapon and armor had hundreds, if not thousands of etchings running from tip to pommel, and helmet to grieves, He stood in the air as a pair of translucent white feathered wings growing from His back rhythmically flapped in place.
And when He spoke, despite being barely above a whisper in the brothers ears, and not directed at the two, His voice still filled the brothers with terror.
“With what backing do you feel such arrogance that you dare attack my soldiers?” He quietly questioned.
“My leaving the Blood Duchy’s army does not result in my ties with them being severed.
So hear this, and I swear this upon my true name.
After I behead that traitor Lein,
I will force you to watch as I scorch the territory of the noble you serve.”
Pausing, He continued,
“I will murder the men.”
Voice increasing in volume,
“Rape the women.”
And despite wearing a helmet,
“Enslave the children.”
His sinister smile could be clearly seen.
Following his words, there was only silence,
Until,
“You are welcome to try,”
An ancient voice rang from the plateau.
Male in origin, and completely calm and controlled, Ratka and Nara could tell from his first word that he had witnessed many things in his old age, such that nothing else could possibly disturb his peace.
A second voice rang out from the plateau, this one female,
“Lion’s Courage,”
And with it, the fear the brothers, as well as the rest of the soldiers, felt, vanished, replaced by vigor, and a fire in their bodies that desperately needed release, else it would burn their insides.
The army of border soldiers and Northmen, roaring once again, this time much louder, continued to march on the Baron’s army.