“Man can neither create nor direct the stream of time. He can only travel upon it and steer with more or less skill and experience.”

Michael Leonhart walked to the tent of Ezekiel to meet Naseem at the entrance with his paper and quill.

“Michael?” Naseem said, “Ezekiel is still recovering and…”

“Charles,” Michael interrupted, “has appointed me to be the captain of the Raider Unit until Ezekiel is back on his feet. How…how is he doing?”

Naseem looked around. “He’s fighting for his life,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Since you’re the captain, and as your second, we have much to discuss.”

Michael nodded. They walked to the edge of the camp along the forest line where the pavilion was situated and when they entered it was full of books and dusty ledgers and maps. Naseem wiped off the dust from his tabletop. He placed his quill and paper there and pulled two old chairs. They both sat.

“You sure have a lot of books and notes,” Michael said, “You’re some sort of record keeper for the company?”

“In the manner of speaking, yes. Once upon a time, I wanted to be a historian but fate had different plans.”

“I imagine so.”

“Without history, men can’t know themselves and they’re forever doomed to mystery and men will forever be stuck in mystery lest he unravels the thread of the tapestry then men threaten to uncover secrets to dictate the terms of their destiny. Their fate. And the failure to do so would allow others to set the terms of one’s fate and destiny.”

“That’s quite an interesting view,” he said. “My father is a learned man and he always said to me that history is a tool to understand the follies of mankind and in all likelihood would occur again in some form or another.”

“He’s quite wise.”

“He is in many ways but also foolish in many ways too.”

“That’s true for all of us.”

Michael looked around and spotted a biography of the last king. Naseem noticed.

“What do you know of him?” Naseem leaned in with interest and smiled.

“Not much that only he died young. And since the land hasn’t known peace and only bloodshed and slaughter. You know blood for blood; a life for life.”

“But what are your thoughts, Michael?”

“When the King died, he wasn’t married, he didn’t have any children and now the people he had sworn to defend are fighting like dogs for scraps. Everyone wants to stake their claim,” he said. “God rewards us with salvation after death but we reside in a world where it’s do or die. Where having the strength necessary is rewarded.”

Naseem studied Michael, “You sound like Charles.”

“Naseem,” he said, “time is of the essence. I need your counsel, your wisdom. I never led men before.”

Naseem folded his arms and studied Leonhart. He rose from his seat and grabbed a map of the province from his shelf. He rolled it out and flattened it on the top of his desk, he pointed his finger at the map, “This is where we are, situated near the river,” he moved his finger across the map, “The Old Man has smaller but key fortifications that can resupply and reinforce his position lest they’re taken care of. It’s our job that they’re neutralized but it’s up to you on how Captain.”

“Can they be negotiated with?”

Naseem looked at Michael thoughtfully. “Some men can be bought, some can be bargained with but some will make it necessary to be annihilated.”

“Alright. Give me the names, Naseem.”

“They’re five captains garrisoning each stronghold. The captain of Fort Smith is a fat man named Gideon Bell, rumor has it that he’s dissatisfied with the Old Man’s regime. A boon in your favor if you seek to bargain,” Naseem said. “The captain of Fort Leonin is Jason Anthony. He’s green as grass but nonetheless a cunning tactician.”

Green as grass? Michael thought, Perhaps it is another boon to our cause.

“The third captain is Mark Conrad. He holds Fort Samson. A hardened veteran and I suspect he will cause us the most difficulty. The fourth captain is Lady…”

“A lady?” Michael interrupted.

“Yes, although she is not of nobility, it’s what the soldiers under her call her. She’s quite impressive. Her name is Juno and she commands the garrison of soldiers at Fort Eclipse. And onto the fifth and final captain is a man named Orram Vodiern. He’s in charge of Fort Entwood,” Naseem took a moment, “He’s an enigmatic, smug bastard.”

Michael rose from his seat. “Thank you, Naseem.”

“Hold on, you can’t lead a group of men with those rags, darling.” Naseem went to his bed and pulled a chest from under it. He laid out assorted pieces of bronze armor rimmed with gold inlays and a blue cloak on his bedspread.

“What’s this?” Michael asked.

“Your new armor, darling,” he said. “Passed down from father to son. Put this whole armor on and wield your sword with all your strength, so you’ll be able to withstand it all,” he placed a warm hand on Michael’s shoulder, “It’ll be your ultimate test.”

Michael reciprocated the gesture and nodded. “I appreciate your faith, Naseem,” Michael said, smiling faintly. “We leave at first light.”

Michael walked along the grassy path to the main camp. The sun was at its meridian and the camp's spirits were high. They took down their tents, rolled up their beds, and packed it all on their wagon trains. The march to the castle in the sky was in its infancy. War was on the horizon.

He continued to walk to his quarters and met an unexpected guest: Morgan Astor. Clad in a gray and blue tunic, a black belt was around her waist with a bowie sheathe in its scabbard. “Hello, Michael.”

“Did Charles send you?” he asked without pretense.

“No. I came on my own accord. I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” he said, “I’m not the type to hold fast to grudges.”

Morgan’s copper eyes averted from Michael’s gaze and to her boots and to him again. “Thanks, Leonhart.”

“Look I have to make some preparations…” he paused briefly, “I would appreciate you coming with me. I need all the help I can get.”

“Even after what I said to you?”

“I can’t afford to turn away wise and prudent counsel,” he said. “Your honesty is an asset.”

Morgan's eyes went wide and she bowed her head. “You have my blade.”

Michael smiled and nodded and entered his tent. He places his armor at the edge of his bed next to his father’s sword. He looked at himself in the mirror, his beard was fully grown out, and his hair flowed down to his shoulder. He grabbed a pair of shears and razored his hair, his black locks fell to the ground, and trimmed his beard to be short and cropped. Not bad, he thought, not bad at all.

He lay in his bed, staring into the whitewash of his ceiling and he fell asleep. He dreamt an old dream, of home, of his family, and of the people he rode with. The people he called family. The burning visages of them hanged from the neck of the phantom trees with the crows on top to pluck. And the words of Mifune echoed throughout. It was the noose that awaited them. And his own words: Born again as a Warrior’s Son?

***

The Raiders rode out in first light. The column was being led by Michael Leonhart, he was fully clad in his new armor of bronze and lined with gold with his blue cloak clasped from his shoulders. Flowing gracefully in the wind. He was tall and austere on top of his horse. To his right was Naseem and to his left was Morgan.

“Naseem,” Michael said, “Tell more about this fat man, Captain Bell.”

He cleared his throat, “Gideon commands up to a hundred men. He can be amiable and approachable. He’s willing to hear you out and parley but I can’t say he will lend aid to our cause. I’d say he’s more interested in enjoying life than in being entangled in another conflict.”

“Threatening him with fire and sword would not be fruitful,” Morgan chimed. “Such measures have their place but it would be unwarranted and at worse a mistake.”

Michael pondered on their words. “Very well,” he said. “If things do not go in our favor. He dies along with his men.”

“Alright, Captain.”

They were on the march on that great pastoral grassland where the sun had fully risen in the east and the morning was cool. The men of the Raiders are entirely clad in armor and faceless under their helms. A great horde rode roughshod on these lands, armed with spears, swords, and shields, and they were on the move like wolves prowling on the plain. Marching to the formidable Fort Smith. A keep made of old stone and wood They reached the gate, and two watchmen stood sentry on the stonewalls.

“State your business,” the watchman demanded.

“We’re the Warrior’s Sons company,” answered Michael. “We come to meet with Gideon Bell.”

The watchmen looked at each other. “Open the gates!”

The gates were raised and the company entered. Rows of small houses, soldier’s tents, and markets for vendors and merchants. It was a modest but thriving castle town and down the street was the main keep. The townsfolk made way for the Raiders Unit. The kids were in awe at the sight of them and the parents cast weary eyes as they passed. Michael in his bronze and gold armor with his blue cloak flowing in the wind stood as the man among men.

He met Gideon Bell, at the outer wall of the keep. The words of Naseem were proven to be true. Bell has grown grotesquely fat. He was sweating through his dark emerald doublet embroidered with golden foxes and a black half-cape clasped by a copper broach. A thick beard well salted with gray, covered his jaw to hide his chins. A sword was sheathed in its scabbard around his waist and a bowie knife holstered to his thigh.

A sign of a warrior he used to be, Michael noted as he lay his blue eyes on him. I hope he’s wise enough to sense where the wind is blowing.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I was breaking my fast when you lot came in like you own the damn place,” Gideon said. “State your business or leave.”

Michael vaulted off his horse and met Gideon. He towered over the young man. “I’m here on the behalf of Charles Stuart—

“Charles?” Gideon grimace. “Well come along then and only you, boy.”

“My name’s Michael and I’m not your boy,” he said calmly.

Michael followed Gideon Bell to his keep and into his great hall where he broke fast. Scrambled eggs, fried sausage, fresh berries, and a glass of ayrag; a traditional meal for the beginning of the day. Bell sat at his seat and cut in half his sausage. “Charles waging war against the old man?” he said.

Michael studied Captain Bell. “He is. The Old Man betrayed us. He owes us a blood debt.”

“Is that so?” Gideon ate a piece of sausage and chewed thoughtfully. “I have no love for the Old Man but I harbor no love for Charles and his kind.”

“His kind?”

“Yes, your kind. Your kind is a cause of barbarians and lost children,” Bell said. “You’re below the dogs, boy.”

“I told you I ain’t your boy,” Michael said coldly. “We’re cut from the same cloth, Gideon. We’re fighters lest you have forgotten. Or only found yourself in appetites.”

“Do not judge me, stripling.”

“Then hear me, if you don’t, you’ll force my hand.”

“Are you threatening me?” Bell said he placed a hand on the hilt of his bowie.

“Yes. But neither of us wants a war inside your walls. So hear me, man.”

Gideon let go of the grip he had on the hilt of his bowie and laced his fingers together. “I’m listening.”

“An east wind is coming, Gideon,” he said wearily. “This is your chance to take root and remain steadfast.”

Gideon studied Michael.“I’m too old and I’m too fucking tired to be dragged into another fight. I’ve earned my rest and die in comfort.”

“You may not like our kind, Gideon. I assure as a man of the Warrior’s Sons, no harm will come to you or to your people.”

Gideon looked into the eyes of Michael. He looked for any hints of weakness and lack of conviction but he gazed into the eyes full of fire and determination. “I believe you. Now get the hell off my land.”

Michael nodded and left his castle. He met Naseem and Morgan at the town’s gate. “Our business is done here,” he said. “Who’s next on the agenda?”

“Orram Vodiern.”

“Alright!” Michael thundered. “Ride with me! We’re going to Fort Entwood.”

***

Orram Vodiern was a tall and thin man graceful in his movements, with a nose as sharp as a hawk, and a head full of brown hair. He wore a long waistcoat in colors of dark blue rimmed with gold, and a black vest under a white silk shirt. He was in his lab experimenting with the raw materials found within the earth. He was testing a recipe he got from a merchant sailing in the North Seas; the Black Sun solution.

Orram was sweating, his hands were steady as he mixed the materials in the bowl. A strange odor starts to fill in the room. There was a knock on the door. “What?” he said, infuriated. “I am not to be distributed when I’m conducting research!” A slip of the hand made the room surge into a thick, interminable white fog. Orram was coughing, the corner of his eyes red from the reaction. Jenny, his assistant, kicked down the door.

“My God. What have you done now?” She pulled her master from the room and moved quickly to open the rafters and shut the door closed behind her. Orram was against the wall, still in a coughing fit and stinking of his foul matrix.

“This is better to be damn important,” he said, his voice coarse.

“You're welcome,” she said dryly.

“Well get on with it.”

“Men bearing the Warrior’s Sons’ sigil are demanding an audience with you.”

“What for? Tell Naseem, he lost—”

“What? No. It’s on stately matters.”

“Oh. Let them in.”

“Do you want to take a bath? And a change of clothes, Mr. Vodiern?”

“No.”

“Sir…” Jenny hesitated, “Very well then.”

Orram went downstairs to his great hall into his council chambers. He recognized Naseem and Morgan but he did not recognize the man in bronze armor. The trio stood at the foot of his desk. He walked past them and took his seat.

“You stink of shit,” Naseem said, smiling.

“I stink of the earth,” Orram said in tones dripping in acids. He gestured with his hand for them to take their seats. “Make it quick, I'm a very busy man.”

“I’m sorry but why do you smell like an animal that just died?” Michael inquired.

“Research, boy!” he said. “Prometheus gave mankind the fire to escape the mire of our own ignorance. Adam and Eve bitten the fruit of knowledge. Now we strike the fires from the materials of the Earth that God had hidden there since time immemorial. And even if men continue to extinguish the fires out of the stones it still forever hums of mystery.”

“I wish Prometheus taught you to take a bath,” Morgan said. Orram narrowed his eyes towards her.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Michael said, incredulous.

“Alchemy, dear boy, ” Orram said. “Water into wine. Lead into gold. The oxidation from the blood on the stone. From within the body of man, phosphorus is formed and the great light is cast and what follows is the shadow of the thread of mystery that God has set and left for man to rediscover. You understand why this is important?”

“No,” Michael said. “I’m afraid I do not, it’s not why we’re here, Sir Vodiern.”

“Then enlighten me why you felt you could disrupt my important work.”

“War, Sir Vodiern. It’s the affairs of war that bring us here. The Soldier King is coming for the Old Man and everything he has,” he said. “You’re a vital cog in his war machine. You're well aware of the position you are in?”

“Of course, I’m quite aware,” Orram said, his voice thick with irritation.

“Orram, darling,” Naseem said sweetly, “the young man here is not as concerned with the natural world as you. He comes from a world of practicality.”

“Whatever world he’s come from, he brought war to my doorstep,” he said. “Since my keep is not going down in flames, I assume you want to bargain.”

Michael’s eyes went wide and was pleasantly surprised. “How did you come to that notion?”

“Ezekiel wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. So why am I still alive, boy?” Orram folded his arms and impatiently waited for an answer.

Michael leaned forward and folded his hands and laced his fingers together. “It’s better to have friends than to oppose enemies everywhere. Real or imagined.”

“Are we friends ?” Orram said.

“We are,” Michael stated.

Orram studied the young man before him and he was deep in thought. “I take this as a token of good faith,” he said. “If we are friends, I expect you to respect my boundaries and what I do.”

“I understand.”

Morgan cleared her throat and leaned forward. “Orram, as a new friend, where are our gifts?”

“You can expect your gifts when the battle commences. Now I’ll ask all of you to leave my home. Please?”

Michael rose to his feet. “Well, we are adjourned. Thank you for your time and hospitality.”

“I failed to catch your name.”

“It’s Michael. I’ll see you around.”

The Raiders left Fort Entwood as the evening sun approached from the west. Orram took his time to bath and put on a comfortable set of clothes for the night. He sat on his bed in his quarters with his legs crossed and his chin resting on his right hand. Jenny gave him his cup of ginseng tea. She wore a silk night gown and her dark hair was braided. It was scented with oils. Her eyes were the color of the sea glistening off the lamplight.

He nodded and she closed her eyes and smiled. She sat right next to him, her leg pressing up against his and she laid down on his lap. He gently stroked her hair and looked at the darkened window. Man is as the flower of the field. It is the way of the world to bloom and to wither and to fade but what stands eternal …

“Orram,” Jenny said, “I…”

“I know.”

***

Juno or Lady Juno was a woman in her twenties. She was tall and strong as a bull and she wore darkly colored armor and adorned with a blue cape. It was early into the evening, the sun sat on the edge of the skyline and its pale light streaked the sky in the colors of red and orange. She was in her courtyard, training with three men with dull and wooden swords. She was cat-quick and fluid in her swordplay and footwork; her defense was an impregnable iron cage. The men she was sparring with would have died a thousand times over if it was in the heat of battle. She parried a blow and angled her blade in a killing stroke. She smiled wickedly. The man was fearful.

“Captain. Captain. Lady Juno, we have visitors,” Gale said, nervously.

“Hold on a moment,” she said, “visitors?”

“Yes,” the lad affirmed. “It’s the Raider Unit.”

“Led by Ezekiel?”

“It's someone else. Someone new. He wants to talk in confidence.”

“Alright. Who’s Charles' new man?”

“Michael is his name. Michael Leonhart.”

Michael? Oh Michael, she softly smiled at the thought.

Juno took off her helm and let her dark hair freely flow down to her back. She handed her sword and the helm to Gale. “Instruct him to meet me in my council room. His men can camp outside of the gates.”

“Right away, ma'am.”

Juno went upstairs to her quarters and took off her whole armor and wore much more practical attire of a blue tunic, a brown cloak, dark breeches, and leather boots, and armed herself with a bowie blade. She wrung a wet towel and wiped the sweat and grime off her brow. She went downstairs to meet Michael Leonhart. You’re no longer the boy from the farm. You change, you’re different, she thought as she gazed upon him in his bronze armor and blue cloak.

“Hello, Juno,” he said quietly with slight trepidation. Juno hugged him, forehead to forehead. She moved hands past down his arms to his wrists. It was muscled and scarred, and calluses were on his hand. Juno looked into his sad and lonely eyes. Eyes that witness death and betrayal.

“What happened, Michael?”

“Life.”

“You mean war.”

Michael didn’t answer.

“Have you been home?”

Michael seated himself in a chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have no home to go back to,” he said. “Nothing is waiting for me but disappointment.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I fell in with real nasty sons of bitches,” he said. “And did things I ain’t proud of. I did things that God would be ashamed of, and if he was just, I wouldn’t be forgiven for.”

“You don’t know what he thinks,” She said laying her hand on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t make it easier,” he said, holding her wrist. “The pain ain’t easy to carry.” Michael looked towards Juno. She has grown so strong and beautiful. She never stopped being a woman in a man's world, he thought. Michael began to see flashes of them playing soldier and fighting with sticks over at the farm and lying on the ground, gazing at the skies until the sunset. Remembering the dreams they had for the future, and the expectations their families had of them. Juno always dreamed of being a fighter. Michael always desired to be something great but never staked his claim to a vision. But fate stretched its hand and paved the road they had taken and had not.

“It never is, Michael,” she said. “No matter what, we always going to regret the life we lived. You ended up in a bad way but here you are. Alive.” Juno wrapped her arms around him and drew him into her breast. He has changed. The world has changed him. To be among the ruins of the world and be able to stand. That was the strength, no, it’s the fire he had inherited, she thought.

Michael looked into her deeply into her eyes. His heart was set ablaze, the inferno rage. He rose to his feet and kissed her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Juno leaned in further, holding his hand. “Michael…” she whispered.

The past was forgotten. Memories of hardship faded. The two souls convalesced into one. The heart, the body, and the spirit are in convergence, and the inferno rage. What remained were the embers. It kept them warm as they lay together in the bed naked for all the night was cool.

“Michael?” she said holding him close to his chest.

“Yeah. What is it?”

“Why did you join that gang of killers?”

Michael sighed. “They found me alone and stumbling around in the wilderness. Starving in the darkness. They were just children lost in the world. Angry at the world and too dumb to comprehend why it was,” he said, his voice was low and somber “One day, our piece-of-shit leader Lou killed this old man and his kid. I was a bigger piece of shit for sticking with him as long as I did. And finally, I got the guts to leave, but on his order, they dragged me onto the country road and left me bleeding in the dirt. Do you believe in second chances?”

“I do.”

“Why does anyone deserve a second chance?”

“That something I can’t know. Or anyone can know really. I think it's just trust they’ll do better this time around. It’s not my business to say anyone deserves this or not. I try to leave that matters to other hands.”

“I shouldn’t be alive. I should’ve been hanged like the rest of them.”

“Maybe take it as a sign of God’s mercy and stretching its hand to you.” Juno moved up and leaned closer to Michael

“Maybe. I’ve lived a bad life. Now I’m leading men into war. I can’t see how that is merciful, Juno. I can’t.”

“I understand. I’ve been where you are but I can tell you’ll find what you’re searching for. I promise it will come to you.”

“I believe you.”