War had come…

When those words were uttered by that young, frightened messenger, all the dread and anticipation that had been gnawing at me vanished. I had clarity and purpose in my thoughts and felt compelled to act. There was no room for questioning whether this impending war concerned me, or whether I should intervene.

Deep within my heart, I knew this was my battle, my war, and I had a duty to be there, in the thick of it. I was certain the Enemy would bring terrible and powerful creatures that would overpower any man. I felt an eagerness as we rode back towards Lottie, and even Goxhandar did not fall into a slumber as he usually does during the monotonous times of travel.

Mirroring the eagerness was knowing I had thought of a new approach to getting my suit of armor from that terrible faraway place. It was Iskander’s words that finally sparked the idea: “See the world through my eyes.” Simply imagining myself wearing it had never crossed my mind before, and I eagerly awaited an opportunity to put that to the test.

We pressed ahead, and the messenger said that the Stotor war host had not yet crossed our borders. Instead, it was due to arrive in Belcorvo—meaning City of Corvo—in a matter of days. Thousands of defenseless refugees and civilians were stuck there and needed protection. Even marshall de-Vilgario would not sacrifice them for a more favorable battlefield.

And while I felt alive and eager, the others were not. We rode throughout the night, only giving our horses a few breaks, and during that time nobody spoke more than a few words. I felt their minds grow heavy, and fear crept into their hearts. While I knew my place in that upcoming fight, I also knew that none of them bore an obligation to fight. None had a duty to heed Fascamonta’s call for aid, and I couldn’t help but question whether they would stand beside me.

I decided to give them time to think and get some clarity.

Our horses held up well to the pace we put them through. We did not have spare horses, so we pushed them as hard as we dared without risking their exhaustion. By late morning, the silhouette of Lottie appeared on the horizon. I saw the glass dome of the Botanical Gardens glimmer a fiery orange, and beyond it, a massive cloud loomed above the azure ocean.

The air was cold, with the wind coming from the north.

But contrasting the beautiful sunrise, the City of Flowers was emptying. Two columns were in motion. One was disheveled and ragged-looking, escaping slowly into the west. Some were on horses or overburdened and creaking carriages, but most were going ahead on foot. Most of them were the Stotor refugees who managed to make their way into Lottie.

Now, they fled again.

“They’re all going west!” said Jace somberly. “And now, all the nearby lands will be flooded by those beggars. They won’t have any food or warm clothes, and they’ll have to sleep on the freezing ground. I don’t want to imagine how many of them will perish in the upcoming months. Perhaps our people will have enough compassion to help them.”

“People will talk,” said Florencia. “And rumors will begin to spread.”

That also was true. And it was not a good thing.

The other column was marching resolutely eastward. Their backs were straight and their stride was proud. Those were the volunteer men-at-arms, hailing from every corner of the province, as well as from nearby villages and towns. All would go and meet the Enemy willingly.

The messenger said that the Lord Mayor had departed from Lottie, and we turned left before entering the city and circled its borders.

Then we passed the column of soldiers. Clad in steel were they, and adorned with all kinds of wargear, from polished steel and wavy plumes to simple padded surcoats. On their shields and sleeves were sewn and painted heraldry and coats-of-arms of all kinds. And taking into battle they had weaponry of all kinds—swords, spears, poleaxes, maces, war hammers, estocs, and even long knives.

Most of these men of war marched ahead on foot, while their lords, be they lowly barons of a small estate or knights with few retainers, rode on horseback.

We rode on, and sometime before midday, the infamous village of Belcorvo came into view on our right.

Even from this far away, we could see the village was in a panic. Most refugees stuck there tried escaping westward, and only a skeleton crew of guards were there to try and keep them within the village borders. In stark contrast, leaving in three columns, were those men and women who, instead of fleeing, chose to fight. Those marched east and joined the road with the Lienor volunteers. Their weapons were rudimentary, spears and clubs mainly, with the occasional lone shield or sword. But what they lacked in armament, they compensated with determination. Their eyes were hard and all were ready to take revenge.

The sight was surreal—an entire road teeming with soldiers, all marching towards a single objective.

The exhausted messenger pressed us forward.

After some time, Florencia whispered telepathically: “Where are we going? We’re close to our borders now!”

But we did not have to wait long. Before long, we came to a huge open field that stretched as far as I could see, now transformed into a war encampment. There, under the open sky, were thousands upon thousands of soldiers, both men and women, and carriages, merchants, armorers, and craftsmen.

Further ahead, atop a gentle rise, was a large manor house surrounded by supporting structures.

“We’ve arrived. I’m not permitted to enter the estate, but everyone should be inside, and baron Fascamonta is expecting you.” With that said, the messenger tied his horse to a post and slumped to the ground. He fell asleep immediately, his back leaning against the manor house’s yellow-stoned foundation.

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I looked at everyone’s grim faces. “Shall we go?”

Florencia and Jace nodded with a hint of apprehension, while Iskander and Jaxine seemed distant, with their eyes glazed over. We pushed through the imposing double doors, made from thick, black wood and adorned with intricate motifs of winding vine leaves.

Upon entering the manor house, we stepped into a scene of organized chaos. Soldiers of all ranks darted about, all utterly taken by their own task. Most here were officers of some kind, lieutenants, captains, sergeants. None paid us any mind, and we went onward to the grand hall, where the war council had gathered.

There I saw many whom I recognized.

Foremost among them was marshall de-Vilgario, who commanded the attention of the room as he stood at the center, before a massive table. He wore his gilded marshall’s medallion with pride and had a polished cuirass of steel covering his chest. From his shoulders draped over his back and arms a fur-lined cloak of royal blue and red, and a golden cord, braided, wound its way under his arm and across his chest. It was evident that he was in command of all the troops.

At his side stood colonel Aurian Piasno, sublime in his familiar blue tabard, now worn under a matte steel cuirass. His rank of colonel was lavishly embroidered upon his sleeve, but he chose a more modest dress for the occasion. Right beside him stood Master of the Knights of Hanuk, Rosalda Fiorlunta. Her radiant soul warmed the room, and she had her brilliant white tabard over her plate armor. She stood, as before, with her arms crossed, and her greatsword leaning casually against the table.

More to the side, I saw baron Fascamonta, wearing an ill-fitting suit of armor, with a dark gambeson underneath. He stood along with some other nobles and wearily looked over at the map. On the other side of the table, facing the noble barons and knights, were the captains and lieutenants who were unfamiliar to me. Some donner uniforms akin to those worn by the marshall and colonel, while others had heraldry of a different unit or region.

Seeing all these commanders, nobles, knights and captains gathered in this one place, I felt a sense of relief. Lottie did not stand alone, far from that, and even in this far province, it could draw many friends and allies in this moment of need.

“…yes but what if Orsin does not arrive in time?” asked a skittish captain, with a long and sharp face. He was standing, slouched over the map, and nervously fidgetted with the handle of his shortsword.

“Be calm, captain Malatesa, and hold firm. Orsin has never failed in his duties. I don’t believe he will fail us when the time is the most dire,” said an older man who stood beside Fascamonta. His gaze was hard and firm, and he wore custom-made war gear that, upon closer examination, was finely adorned with carvings.

“But he’s nowhere to be seen!” cried Malatesa.

“You must have patience and keep your faith, captain. In the rare case that captain Orsin will not make it in time, our forces will hold the Enemy trapped between the Poscale River and the high grounds. We’ve planned for this, and we must have faith that all will go according to plan. The Enemy will march into the trap and be pushed into the Poscale river, whether Orsin comes in the nick of time, or not.”

“I say with no ill will, my lord, but it’s easy for you to say so,” said Malatesa. “Your men must only hold the left flank, with the Knights of Hanuk! Mine are in the thick of it, next to those Stotor brigands! These won’t last for an hour under a directed attack. By the Gods! They’re wrapped in cloth and armed by spears of wood!”

“Take after the cold courage of the baron of Bersia,” said marshall de-Vilgario. “Your men have the most difficult task because you and they are up to the task, let your courage not fail at this moment. Your ranks will hold, and I am certain Orsin will arrive before the first strike is even made.”

“Also do not discount the thirst for revenge as a great equalizer of strength, captain. That in itself is mightier than many swords and tougher than many shields,” said Master Rosalda with a smirk on her lips. She had long already noticed our presence, and I sensed her acknowledgment of us. I nodded when she looked our way, and I sensed she was relieved by our presence.

“Yes, marshall!” said captain Malatesa and breathed a weary sigh. “When I see courage and sharpened sticks overcome steel and discipline, I’ll be sure to adjust my battle tactics.”

Sensing an opportune moment, I decided to announce our arrival by knocking gently on the open door.

Marshall de-Vilgario was the first to react. “Ah! Mr. Espian, I was not expecting you or your company to actually arrive at all! But your presence is a welcome addition, nonetheless.”

With a nod of gratitude, I stepped into the room, followed by Florencia and Jace, both struck dumb by the noblemen and captains. Iskander and Jaxine came in last and stayed behind us without speaking a word.

“You asked for my help in fighting the Enemy, and I shall do so happily,” I replied, barely suppressing my appetite for battle. Afterward, we followed the custom of exchanging greetings and welcomes amongst ourselves.

“It is always a good thing to have more mages in the fight,” said the marshall and shot Master Rosalda a gentle smile. She responded in kind. “Mages are force multipliers.”

Marshall de-Vilgario seemed to be in his element, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone in the room. His presence was the most domineering one, and nobody seemed to challenge his authority.

“Come closer to the map, Mr. Espian, and look,” he said and pointed at the map. “We are here, in the Vaecce estate, owned by the honorable baron Vaecce—” the shorter man with thinning hair but wearing a dull armor of chain mail nodded, “and this hill a mile further out is overlooking the Poscale River. On this hill, we will make our battle, between the hill and the river, so we pincer their army between us and the river. And when Orsin arrives—”

“If he arrives,” said captain Malatesa.

“No, captain, when he arrives,” corrected the marshall harshly. “And I would have you bolster your faith in your comrades, particularly in one as valiant as captain Orsin. His list of victories is long, surpassing any among us. When he arrives, he shall make a charge into the enemy’s flank, as they will inevitably break the Stotor volunteer army.”

“Break?” Florencia couldn’t help but ask out loud. She stood beside me, though hid her shoulder behind mine, and grazed her hand against mine for comfort.

“Obviously,” said the marshall as it was the most natural thing. “And while the courage and thirst for revenge of our Stotor volunteers is admirable—I would do the same in their situation—they have neither the training nor our discipline to hold out for long. Their ranks will break and they will flee. That is only a matter of time. But that moment is also a great opportunity for us! I expect the Enemy to try to take advantage of that moment and pour their hordes of savages into the breach. That will be their own undoing, for I shall have captain Orsin with his whole corisseri hide in the forest behind that very flank. In that single important moment, he shall make the fiercest cavalry charge into the exposed flank of the Enemy. It will be a glorious maneuver and a decisive victory!”

“At the cost of the Stotor volunteer forces,” said Master Rosalda gently, while hinting that she disapproved of the ruthless plan of the marshall.

“A cost we are willing to pay,” replied the marshall firmly.

“Paid with lives which are not yours to spend,” said Rosalda, but leaned back as to withdraw herself from the conversation.

“It is their choice to fight. It is my decision on how to use them.” The marshal shrugged and caught my attention. He then spent time explaining to me and Florencia, who also had an interest, in detail how the battle would play out. At least how they had planned it.

“Now, do you have anything to add?” asked marshall de-Vilgario.

Clearing her throat, Florencia stepped forward, her nervousness carefully concealed beneath a veneer of composure. This impressed all who stood here.

“My Lords,” she said with an expert command of the tone of voice, “I must inform you about the terrible thing that happened in Castan. The garrison and the entire village population have vanished!”