“My Lord,” called the captain of the guard as he ran towards Draycott, “We cannot muster up anymore serfs, so we will be unable to use the longbows.”
Draycott grimaced at the news, “See if you can’t find anymore; it is one of our greatest advantages. What do we have in terms of cavalry and infantry?”
“We have done a fair sight better there my Lord,” replied the captain. “Many of the Lords and Ladies that attended your banquet have turned up with their retinues; so we have quite the number of swordsmen and light cavalry. The Lords have of course come in their heavy armour.”
Draycott nodded and mounted some stairs that led to the parapet, “That should be enough. Arcaedus will be back soon, until then we can use the sheer force of numbers to overwhelm any pitiful resistance that they manage to assemble against us.” Reaching the top of the stairs, Draycott turned and leaned over the battlement, looking over the troops that were assembling in the courtyard below. Row upon row of men in chainmail shirts were practising drills. Grooms were scurrying about, rushing to tend to the horses brought in by the surrounding Lords.
“My soldiers!” roared Draycott, spreading his arms wide, allowing his aura to expand and envelop the men here. “Today we are gathered here to begin the end of the French. No more will they skulk within our cities! No more will they steal our children! No more shall they provide a damaging influence.”
The soldiers roared in approval, lapping up Draycott’s absurd words and building into a frenzy, “My soldiers,” continued Draycott, basking in the adulation, “let us ride forth for the good of mankind!”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Dmitri awoke to afternoon sun filtering in through a stained glass window. He recalled the discussion with Uriel from this morning and knowing that it was only a matter of time before Draycott and his men arrived, got up and left the room. As he wandered through corridors, looking for familiar faces, each monk he passed would bow deeply to him. As he passed another pair of monks and they began to bow however, Dmitri snapped at them, “Why does everyone keep bowing to me?”
The monks stood there in silence, trying to discover why Dmitri should be asking such a question when the answer was so obvious.
“You are the Last Exarch, my Lord,” one of the monks finally replied.
“I’m no Lord,” replied Dmitri. “And while I may be the Last Exarch, I wouldn’t be if I hadn’t unleashed the demon,” he finished bitterly.
The other monk spoke up, “Pardon me my Lord,” he cringed as Dmitri threw him a glare, “But you have brought Uriel with you. He is our patron angel and he would never accompany someone unworthy.”
Dmitri sighed, “Very well.”
The monks also breathed a sigh of relief.
“Where can I find Uriel?” asked Dmitri.
The monks gave him directions for which he became very grateful, for even with them, he still managed to take a few wrong turns. Along the way, he passed rooms where monks and other men in mismatched clothes held spears or pike and were practising thrusts and blocks. A monk walked through the ranks, repeating that they must fight and defend as one, only then can they break a charge. Continuing along, he passed through a courtyard that the two monks had mentioned, but what they had failed to mention was men with bows. Working in rows, the men would loose arrows towards straw targets across the courtyard and then smoothly draw another arrow from their quiver before loosing it as well. As Dmitri watched, it was clear to see that as they continued, their accuracy was getting better as hands and minds that were clearly used to tilling a field were now put to work in archery. Dmitri frowned, wondering how far some of these people had come in such a short time.