The ride to the town of Arven from the hill that shared its namesake was relatively short. About half the distance between Roucotte and Orsulie. Ferron, Valentin, and Darcy’s deg departed at Ortus’ first light and arrived not long after the immense spirit of light erupted into the sky. Stalks of wheat and wild grasses swayed in the early morning breeze seemingly to point the group towards their destination.
Valentin sat atop a horse of his own for the first time since the previous cycle. He rode stiffly upon the briskly moving beast, the reins tight in his hands. Apprehension and excitement were felt in equal measure as his own ability was the only thing between success and tumbling into the dirt.
Earlier that morning, Ferron advised Valentin to ride a horse of his from now on. The appearance of a boy clutching to the back of the warrior did not command respect. However, he was willing to allow Valentin to ride with him if he lacked the ability. Valentin, now to his budding regret, insisted that he was able to manage just fine on his own and did not want to ruin things so early.
The reins of a bay horse were given to Valentin. The horse acted mild mannered and did not fight Valentin as he led it closer to him.
“His name is Vescal,” Ferron announced with pride. “He’s an even tempered fellow that will listen as long as you give the reins a firm pull.”
Valentin felt none of that mild temperament as he bounced around on the back of Vescal who rode with an authoritative pace. The rest of the group also rode hard and Valentin hoped that it forced nobody to pay attention to his rigid performance.
“Woah,” Ferron called from the group and the horses were all slowed to a walk.
Vescal had slowed before Valentin pulled on the reins. He breathed a sigh of relief that his horse was so obedient.
A town sat at the foot of a large stone castle directly ahead of them. A network of wooden fences expanded from the edges of the town like a spider web. As opposed to flies trapped inside of silk coffins, sheep and other livestock dotted the pastures that corralled them close to the hovels of their shepherds.
A sea of tents were erected just outside of the town. An array of banners of bright tinctures flew flaccidly in the tame breeze.
The town of Arven had fully awakened by the time Ferron’s group encroached on their periphery. Farmers and other laborers had already reached their fields, shops and taverns opened for business, and merchants left with their wares to peddle them to nearby towns.
The castle was surrounded by a shallow man-made trench, forcing all that wished to enter to the drawbridge that connected the fortress from the main road of the town. Heavily armed warriors stood behind the precipitous spikes of the hanging portcullis. They held up their pikes to halt the approaching horsemen.
“State your name,” a warrior ordered.
“Ferron Martelle, Tiarna Celfor requested I have an audience with him.”
“Wait here,” the warrior responded while one of them ran off to confirm the entrants.
It did not take long before the dispatched warrior returned with a warrior that was draped in a cape of or and argent. The yellow and white cape was patterned in a vair style that appeared almost like the plumage of a bird.
“Greetings, Ferron Martelle. I am Isabelle Valun, Marshal of Arven and keeper of this fortress. I will escort you to the meeting location.”
Ferron dismounted from his horse, “Well met, Isabelle. I will be taking this boy with me.”
She offered Valentin a quick glance while he dismounted with slightly less grace than he had practiced. “There should be no issues, the rest of your warriors must wait out here. They are welcome to dine in our hall if they so wish.”
The trio parted ways with Darcy’s deg and made their way into Celfor’s estate. The floors of the stone structure were lined with wood. Valentin hadn’t seen forests nearby and wondered where they had obtained all this wood. Tapestries of the Eagle of Killik were draped on a long wall.
A carved wooden eagle sat atop the newel of the stairs leading up to the next floor. Valentin had to shift out of the way to avoid colliding his shoulder with one of the massive wings of the bird.
They were led into a room on the second floor of the fortress. Windows showed the activity of the courtyard below through stone frames. The far wall of the room was covered in shelves for bound tomes and scrolls.
A balding man in a thick coat sat at a desk near the windows to breathe in the fresh morning air. He scrawled orders on parchment that sat atop his desk. The entrance of his marshal and the two guests broke him free from the parchment.
“Ferron Martelle, welcome to Arven. Please find a place for yourselves and I will be with you once I finish my thought.”
Valentin wandered over towards the shelves of paper on the far wall of the room. The yellowed paper was rolled up, sealed with wax, and placed in cylindrical containers to prevent their decay. He leaned closer to see if he could discover what information was hidden within.
“Don’t touch anything,” Ferron instructed.
“I wasn’t,” Valentin retorted, backing away from the shelves to demonstrate.
“Who is this child that you’ve brought with you, Ferron?” Tiarna Celfor asked sternly, not expecting an additional guest.
“This is my ward, Valentin. He is a promising boy that the Guerros clan has so graciously left in my care. I think he will be a boon for my aspirations for Corvello.”
Tiarna Celfor raised an eyebrow and gave the boy more interest than he had upon entrance. He placed his quill down and pushed his parchment to the side. He placed his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.
“Guerros? I have a feeling that your alluded price of this contract will be more appealing than I initially imagined.”
“Now that I am here, would you like to go into more detail about the foe you wish for me to dispatch?” Ferro inquired.
Tiarna Celfor rose from his seat and moved to the shelves that Valentin had recently been occupying. He reached for a scroll wreathed in a leather sleeve. He revealed a scroll bound by a piece of twine. After untying the binding, he spread the contents over his desk.
Inked on the paper was a map of the local region. Villages, towns, and notable topography was labeled on the map. Arven rested on the eastern side of the map. Valentin spotted Verbosc on the southwestern corner of the map along with the temple.
Tiarna Celfor’s finger landed atop a town to the northwest of Arven. The settlement was surrounded on all sides by forests. In the southwest portion of the region lied hilly fields bisected by a waterway. Valentin noticed that the area around the town was peppered with smaller villages that fell under its influence, much like Tiarna Lunoult’s relationship with the villages that surrounded Roucotte.
“For as long as the Celfor records go back, our clan has feuded with the Marche clan of Etrineux,” Tiarna Celfor explained, pressing his finger onto the town. “I won’t regale you with the details, but the Celfor clan heirloom was desecrated by Firmin Marche several cycles ago and continues to be mocked.”
Tiarna Celfor clenched his fists and scowled when describing the situation. His pupils vibrated in seething anger. However, his voice remained even-keeled. “I have decided that this feud must end with the destruction of the Marche clan. Only then do I feel I can face my ancestors and assure them we have won.”
“You request the services of the Armée du Corbeaux to support your campaign for victory?”
“My last campaign three cycles was stymied and ultimately defeated when they called for reinforcements from a nearby mercenary band,” Tiarna Celfor admitted bitterly. “I was too proud to call for help in my personal crusade. However, now I have no such reservations and will use everything available to me to achieve the victory that I seek.”
“I see that you wasted no time contacting the best that money can buy,” Ferron quipped. “What manpower can you muster and how many are we anticipating?”
Tiarna Celfor arranged a number of carved wooden pieces and arranged them between the two towns. The amount of pieces stationed around Arven slightly outnumbered the amount that supported Etrineux. An additional two pieces were arranged on Arven Hill, now comfortably outnumbering the number of the enemy.
“Without leaving Arven and its vassals vulnerable to a counter siege, I can raise three hundred and twenty four seasoned warriors of varying levels of favor from the region as well as an additional three hundred peasant levies. I can provide twelve warriors of high ability. I do not possess exact numbers, but I estimate Etrineux and their vassals possess at least two hundred and fifty warriors of ability and many more peasant conscripts to further bolster that amount and give them at least a small numerical advantage. If they hire another mercenary band, at least fifty more able bodied warriors.”
“I can add eighty three battle ready warriors to increase your forces, not to mention the reputation that my banners provide.”
“Aye,” Tiarna Celfor agreed. He removed the pieces on Arven Hill from the board. Fingers ran over the worn wooden surface. “The question is whether or not you think this is a winning prospect, Ferron Martelle.”
Ferron inspected the map intently. He tapped various points around the defensive positions of Etrineux and traced the topography. Valentin tried to follow the man’s eyes as they toured the countryside through the map, however, he could not gain any insights in the efforts. The boy wondered exactly what the warrior was thinking, what information he was discerning through all the locations he watched.
Ferron’s finger momentarily stopped at a hill formation to the southwest of Etrineux. Icons for villages dotted the location. He bit his lip and tapped the position multiple times before confirming the resting position of his finger.
“I’m impressed that you found yourself drawn to that region, that is where they made their stand last time,” Tiarna Celfor commented.
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“Last I heard, Etrineux does not possess the stone for walls and they elect for palisades. If I were them, I would find a defensible position away from town. The forests south of the town would be ideal for setting up ambushes and hinder cavalry while the east possessed numerous hostile villages that can easily slow our progress. However, you are of sound mind, Tiarna, so you opted for the more open path over this hilly area where they surprised you with bolstered numbers. At that point one would withdraw to avoid opening up your town for a counterattack.”
“An astute interpretation. That is more or less what occurred previously,” Tiarna Celfor admitted with a voice full of bitterness. “There is no other feasible path to reach Etrineux.”
“I agree, Tiarna, I believe it is the perfect place to dash their hopes in one fell blow,” Ferron agreed. “Our combined forces and their confidence from winning from that position previously will play to our advantage.”
Ferron split the available pieces into multiple groups and spread them around the hillsides and the forests. “We have the manpower for a multi-pronged attack that should spread their defensive lines. By focusing our best units to one flank, we can crash through easily while the larger forces slowly push forward from the other sides. At least, that’s the idea that immediately comes to mind”
“Does that mean that you support my cause?” Tiarna Celfor asked with a wicked grin growing across his face.
“That depends on what you offer,” Ferron responded. “I have no qualms with the Marche clan. While they are not my partners now, they were one of the few clans that supported my grandfather after the coup. What will you give me to spurn that loyalty and satisfy your personal grudge?”
“I am prepared to offer you two thousand silver eagles and looting rights if you can win the battle that you’re proposing plus another five hundred eagles for siege support. I will also very seriously consider your argument to be the overseer of this realm.”
“That seems low,” Valentin commented to himself.
Noticing that both men looked towards him, Valentin realized that he had been audible and turned around to avoid looking at them.
“Why do you say that, Valentin?” Ferron inquired with curiosity in his voice.
“Well,” Valentin began, considering his next words very carefully to ensure that his stray thoughts were understood properly.
“Well?” Tiarna Celfor pressed, the boy’s pause taking too much time for him.
“Allow the boy a moment to collect his thoughts,” Ferron stepped in. “He’s still young.”
Valentin swallowed before speaking again. “A town like Etrineux is bound to carry far more than a couple thousand silver. It might be tens of thousands. If you can’t win without Ferron, wouldn’t it be better to offer him more?”
Ferron erupted in an uproarious belly laugh. He leaned backwards to allow the noise to explode into the relatively peaceful morning. Tiarna Celfor did not look pleased but seemed to subdue his annoyance at the boy’s blunt words.
“You’ll have to be wary of this one in the future, Tiarna Celfor,” Ferron warned jokingly as he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. “What do you propose then, Valentin?”
Valentin placed his pointer finger thoughtfully up to his chin and considered the lessons in negotiation he had received from his father. ‘Offer above what you are willing to accept but not so high as to insult the other party.’ The question remained, how much did he think a war was worth?
“I would not accept anything less than ten thousand silver eagles and looting rights. The support of the siege should only be negotiated after the first battle.”
Both men looked at each other with wide-eyed surprise as though they had seen their ancestors enter the room and began to juggle in front of them. Their faces returned to stoic and calculating while they digested the words.
“My counteroffer is the boy’s. Ten thousand eagles and looting rights.”
“It’s a steep price, Ferron,” Tiarna Celfor admitted, clicking his tongue. “You would impoverish my region for several cycles with such a payment. I cannot even guarantee what will be in Etrineux’s coffers. How about five thousand eagles, looting rights, and a renegotiated siege support after the battle is over.”
Ferron mulled over the new offer. “I am willing to accept that offer provided that you are very seriously considering future cooperation.”
“If we emerge victorious, I will be an ardent ally,” Tiarna Celfor asserted with conviction, offering a pair of pounds to his chest.
“Then it is time to beat the drums of war,” Ferron said with a confident smile.
By the time Ortus had reached its zenith, the warriors of Arven matched forth from their camp. The hundreds of spear tips and polished iron helms glistened under the light of midday. Villagers followed the soldiers leading numerous carts laden with crates and baskets were pulled by oxen and donkeys. At the head of the procession sat Tiarna Celfor in a set of imposing plate armor and a banner of canary yellow flowing above him.
“I did not expect so many people to be joining the warriors,” Valentin commented.
“When people speak of war, they only speak of the battles. However, these warriors must be fed and supported within the camp. Their wounds must be tended to. Those that follow these warriors are mainly servants and family members as well as experts in the employ of Tiarna Celfor. The peasant forces that march with serve to fill some of these roles in addition to manual labor needed to construct siege equipment.”
Valentin watched the group that trailed the warriors for a bit longer. They numbered equal to if not outnumbered the warriors. Some had basic armor over the critical parts of their body while others only had a meager spear to defend themselves. There were people weathered with time and the round cheeks of youth alike.
“Do we have any people like that?” Valentin asked.
“We have a handful. Unlike an affluent town, we lack the resources to field so many that cannot defend themselves. It is the wisdom of the warrior band to not have a single member that cannot fight when required. Instead we leave the work to people looking to join our ranks and a select handful of servants of warriors that don’t want to leave all their comforts at home.”
Ferron turned his horse and trotted up the road in the direction of Arven hill. He had already dispatched Darcy to inform the camp to prepare to march and join the column when it passed by.
The ride towards the hill was at a leisurely pace compared to the breakneck ride into town that Valentin withstood earlier. Vescal seemed to be a horse better suited for these unhurried speeds, he trotted with stability that didn’t jostle the boy around. Valentin touched the horse’s neck in appreciation.
As they approached Arven Hill, Valentin noticed that it was barren of all the structures he had seen that morning. In step with their professional reputation, the warriors of the Armée du Corbeaux had already packed camp and assembled upon the hill. Upon noticing their approaching commander, the ranks organized behind the seven deggan. Their raven colored cloaks had their local iconography sewn into them to showcase the diversity of their origins. Each wore a steel mask, a stoic visage molded onto them.
Ferron stopped his horse before the arranged warriors. From horseback, all had to look up towards him. He offered them a wide grin.
“Brave warriors, two noble clans squabble over the honor of their ancestors. Their ineptitude to destroy each other have slackened the strings of their coin purses in the hopes that someone can finally deliver the death knell.”
Some of the warriors chuckled at Ferron’s witticism at the expense of the nobility from behind the expressionless faceplates. Something about a laugh without the smile felt slightly disconcerting to Valentin.
“Who better than us to put an end to this madness? Who is fiercer, more bloodthirsty than us? Whose spears are sharper and armor harder?”
The warriors stomped their feet and hollered at Ferron’s questions. There were none that could compare to the abilities of the Armée.
“Tiarna Celfor has shown great wisdom to call upon us to bring a decisive end to this conflict. Once again we will show the realm that we are a truly peerless fighting force and remind all those that stand against us that their efforts are in vain!”
The shouts of affirmation reached a crescendo and the ground rumbled beneath Valentin’s feet. Ferron’s call for war frenzy was answered with gusto. Valentin could not see behind their steel masks yet he knew that chaos flowed beneath the pristine metal face. Their craving for combat could only be slaked with blood.
“Let’s move,” Ferron ordered and all followed him.
The warriors met up with the column marching from Arven and added to the already lengthy line of warriors. Degs broke apart and fitted themselves within the ranks. Horsemen flanked either side of the column to protect the unprepared center.
At the head of the procession rode Valentin along with Ferron, Tiarna Celfor, and Isabella Valun. In front of him lay vast plains. His eyes went blurry as he tried to scan for the distant trees marking the beginning of the forest. Behind him were the endless sounds of the war procession. Some sang marching hymns that placed a rhythm cadence inside the boy’s head.
Little dots belonging to the mounted scouts and their war dogs moved rapidly around the horizon. Valentin knew that one of those hazy silhouettes belonged to someone he had hoped to continue to ignore. Even a lock of hair that poked from her helmet as they had rode by made his hands clammy. Some part of him hoped that the group ventured too far forwards and unwittingly befell an enemy for his own sake.
“How does it feel to be at the tip of the spear,” Isabella asked Valentin amicably, breaking the boy from his thoughts. “Not everyone gets to lead an invading force.”
“I feel as though my stomach is in my throat. I keep waiting to see the enemy appear but there is just grass and more waiting,” Valentin answered honestly, equally as affected by Ferron’s stirring voice as he was looking for a convenient end to his problems.
The marshal laughed at the boy’s candid answer, “It’s natural to be eager but you can let your guard down. We are still a ways away from reaching Marche’s lands.”
With so many on foot, the advance moved at a crawl. The path between Arven and Etrineux was narrow and used sparsely by the tiny farming villages that dotted the landscape. Those that they passed watched the procession with a detached interest. The comings and goings of powerful people had little bearing upon their lives. Regardless of their liege, they would farm and work and die on this small patch of land. So they watched the procession come and go and disappear over the horizon, before returning back to their daily lives.
After several hours of marching, a break was called and camp was set. The warriors clumped together and set up the bare minimum of amenities to satisfy themselves before a quick teardown in the morning.
The embers of the cookfires glowed red hot as warriors huddled around to capture some warmth during the chilled nights of the early cycle. Valentin joined Ferron and the other war leaders around a larger fire with heartier food of larger portions. Premium cuts of meat and finely ground wheat flour bread were shared in this esteemed dinner circle.
The warrior leaders discussed strategy within their circle. Ideas of formations and battle positions flowed from experienced minds like the alcohol that filled their cups. Valentin sat by Ferron, silently attempting to absorb all the information that entered his mind in between the bites of rich meat.
“We will split into three armies at dawn,” Tiarna Celfor announced. “Ferron will lead his forces along with a deg of horsemen under Gareth and a deg of infantry mixed in with the existing structure. The remaining forces will be split in half and managed under Marshal Valun. One half will enter the Southern forest and the other to the east. These forces will build rams for the ensuing siege and clear out any forces that may be hiding within.”
“Are you certain that you wish to join my force personally, Tiarna?” Ferron questioned. “It will be highly difficult for two forces in a heavily forested area to communicate with each other. Horses will be easily intercepted by ambushers and smoke signals decipherable as well as exposed.”
“If I appear to the southwest, Firmin Marche will be there as well to meet me,” Tiarna Celfor spoke with an obsessive look in his eyes. “The west has the best chance to kill him before a siege and I will not let it slip. The other forces will slowly march towards the city and begin the siege once word of our victory is announced.”
“Are you willing to accept the risk that one of those detachments is intercepted and destroyed?” Elane interjected. “That a lot of warriors to lose in a coordinated ambush.”
“If they focus one of the forces, the other will be within striking distance of a poorly defended town. They will not be able to overcommit,” Tiarna Celfor spoke with confidence.
“There are several villages loyal to the Marche clan between our position and Etrineux, particularly in the southeast,” Barth injected, pointing at the cluster of settlements. “Are you not worried about their active participation in this battle? It will certainly hinder the advance and expose our structure on all three sides.”
“Do not underestimate a person’s desire to live and the ambition that rests in a person’s heart to forsake their community to advance their station,” Tiarna Celfor replied with a knowing tone.
“Your strategy is yours to determine for your warriors. All I ask is that you allow me to manage my forces,” Ferron conceded.
Valentin felt that Ferron was still unconvinced of the Arvenian battle strategy. It was difficult to make out his facial expression in the flickering light of the fire, however, the boy swore that he saw Ferron’s eyes shine with a look of discontent.
“To our victory,” Tiarna Celfor lifted his cup and drank deeply from it, the blood colored wine dripping down his stubbled chin.
“Enough fretting, Ferron,” Barth spoke, his face red from drink and spittle spewing uncouthly from his mouth. “No matter what happens in the forest, we will achieve overwhelming victory in the field.”
A circle of hands lifted their cups in the air before finishing them all in the same fashion. Despite the heated conversation that preceded it, a good drink had a way of loosening the tension between allies. The high spirits of the deggan loosened the grasp that Ferron’s hesitancy held on him. He too lifted his cup and imbibed upon the drink.
“I never once considered our failure,” Ferron replied with a grin.