A week passed. Arran was fitted for armour and had his sword fighting memory refreshed by several instructors. He found himself helping Valos into his armour, which was a sturdy and custom-made set of platemail.

  ‘This meeting,’ said Arran, ‘what exactly is its purpose?’

  ‘Christof called for it, I’m assuming he’s willing to surrender his lands.’

  Arran shook his head in a disapproving manner, ‘if house Daelvor is anything like my father or me then they’re nothing if not stubborn.’

  ‘And you believe them to be?’

  ‘That I do, he won’t surrender.’

  ‘I can be very persuasive, and so can the size of my army.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, but if you want him to surrender you can’t just bring him to Bryn Heddychwr and demand he capitulates.’

  Valos began to stretch his arms as he got used to the armour’s weight, ‘it’s the only way.’

  ‘Are you sure there aren’t any others?’

  ‘Positively certain, either it ends with his unconditional surrender on that hill tonight, or we march off to war.’

  ‘You lack understanding of your enemy.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate I have you for such insight,’ said Valos, ‘tell me what you think will happen.’

  ‘When we arrive and you demand his surrender, he’ll laugh at you directly and offer two alternatives, either you face him in one on one combat, with the death of either party leading to the victory of the other, or a full-scale war.’

  ‘I would obviously choose the latter.’

  Arran caught his easy dismissal of the opportunity to avoid wasting human lives, but chose not to mention it.

  ‘From what I know of Christof, he’s an excellent fighter, almost as good as I am a strategist,’ Valos reasoned, ‘if I were to face him I would lose, and that is not a chance I’m willing to take.’

  ‘When will Christof arrive at Bryn Heddychwr?’ Arran asked Valos as he watched the king put on his bracers.

  ‘Soon enough, he wanted to meet at daybreak tomorrow, though before we go…’ Valos walked towards an area of his tent blocked off from Arran’s view, ‘I managed to have your father part with this.’

  ‘With what?’ Arran realised it was a stupid question to ask when he saw Valos step out into view again, carrying in one hand a sheathed sword. Its crossguard and pommel were black as night and intricately designed. The hilt was wrapped in a light-brown leather.

  ‘How did you… what did you say to him?’

  ‘He’s more than overjoyed to know you are both alive and serving as my personal guard and advisor,’ Valos answered as he offered Arran the sword. He ripped it from his king’s hands with such determination that the royal took a step back. He watched as Arran inspected the weapon.

  ‘It’s the same...’ said Arran to himself, ‘you actually got Skycleave from him.’

  ‘You think he’d give his king anything else?’

  ‘My father is a forgetful man, it wouldn’t surprise me,’ Arran unsheathed the weapon and held it in both hands, ‘it’s smaller than I remember.’

  ‘You’re the one that’s gotten bigger.’

  ‘When do we ride?’ Arran asked as he sheathed Skycleave.

  ‘As soon as possible, we only have the night.’

  The sun crept over the horizon slowly but surely on that midwinter day. Dawn had broken and the orange rays of sunlight shone brightly on the Daelvor and Ebonblade banners that stood billowing in the wind. Early morning was cold atop Bryn Heddychwr. The Peacemaker Hill, where the Greenhearth Pact formed at the start of the era. It was the only piece of Fiaighan mainland left, and the perfect neutral ground for warring factions to meet on.

  Christof Daelvor stood proud underneath the White Dragon banner. He was dressed in full plate mail, save for his helmet which rested on his saddle. In one hand he held a spear, one made on the island of Talamh Fiaigh, a weapon he reserved for such occasions. His long grey hair was bound back messily and some blew in his face in the early morning wind. Through tired, blue eyes he stared at the riders that approached him.

  A group of thirteen men on horseback approached rapidly, eventually stopping in their tracks when they reached the hilltop. Valos was the first to lower his travel hood after they stopped. He climbed out of the saddle and walked towards the middle of the hill, where Christof stood waiting.

  ‘Get me my spear!’ he shouted at one of his personal guards before he turned his attention to the man stood opposite him, ‘Good morning, lord Daelvor.’

  ‘Bore da, gau frenin,’ Christof responded, when he saw the visible confusion on Valos’ face he laughed, ‘I forget sometimes you do not speak Yriathgynt.’

  ‘A dead language, I doubt you could find a man outside your lands that speaks it.’

  ‘No matter,’ Christof waved Valos’ comment away. He looked around the king’s guard and saw Arran. The lord’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘I am here to accept the terms of your surrender,’ said Valos whilst looking directly at Christof. He didn’t need to see Arran’s face to know he must’ve winced when those words left his mouth, ‘I understand your bid for independence but have we not learned that that is a mistake?’

  ‘That is not why I called this meeting, brenin ffug.’

  ‘Then why bother?’

  ‘I wished to see the mettle of you,’ said Christof, ‘to see whether or not you were worthy of leading this- my great country, yet I am met with a spoiled prince who does not understand that to win wars one must do more than boast.’

  Valos was handed a spear similar to the one Daelvor carried.

  ‘you are not satisfied?’ he asked.

  ‘Na, brenin ffug, I am thus far simply unimpressed.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest we do instead?’

  ‘Fight,’ answered Christof, ‘defeat me in a duel and consider this war settled with you as the victor.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Then countless lives shall be lost for your vanity, for your pride, though I am certain that is something my cousin might’ve already informed you of,’ Christof nodded at Arran, ‘tell me, why would you choose to serve a coward?’

  ‘It is my duty, your lordship, not a choice.’

  ‘Your business is with me, Daelvor, not with my guards,’ Valos attempted to get Christof’s attention again.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, I will not converse with cowards.’

  ‘Dare call me that again and there WILL be war,’ Valos raised his spear, the tip aimed at the point that was in their exact middle. Once he’d cast the spear the war was on.

  ‘Look at me, boy king, look me in the eyes.’

  Valos granted his request and raised an eyebrow, ‘what am I supposed to see?’ he asked.

  ‘You will be humbled by this war, come the first battle when the blood begins to flow across Anglian fields you will regret refusing this kind offer,’ Christof said, ‘you will look back at this hill and swallow your words, until that day you are an unblooded coward, a phoeri wrth grybwyll eich enw.’

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Evidently Valos understood what his opponent had said at the end of his sentence, as he threw the spear into the ground, right at Christof’s feet. Arran sighed when he saw it happen. Christof’s reaction was unsurprising, he followed by repeating Valos’ action. Now with the spears in the ground war had been declared between the house of Daelvor and the house of Ebonblade.

  ‘I hope you brought allies or something else to withstand my might, Daelvor,’ said Valos, ‘I don’t think you understand just how very prepared I am to meet you on the field of battle,’ he turned around to walk away. Christof still stood stalwart, staring his enemy down.

  ‘Then I look forward to our meeting, coward king.’

  ‘How very insolent!’ shouted Valos once they were far away enough, ‘calling his liege lord a coward, it’s treason I tell you.’

  ‘Valos-.’

  ‘“Your Highness”,’ the king hissed to correct him.

  ‘Your Highness I don’t understand what you expected to happen there.’

  ‘His surrender! You think I travelled all this way in the dead of night to simply chuck a spear at the ground?’

  ‘If I may speak freely for a moment.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Valos, he looked around at his other guards, ‘these men won’t spread our words.’

  ‘Well the only thing I can give you credit for is that you stayed calm when he insulted you.’

  ‘He was insulting me?’ Valos asked, ‘did you understand what he was saying?’

  ‘Something along the lines of spitting when your name is brought up to him,’ said Arran, ‘and I’d have to speak honestly to tell you I believed you to be quite pig-headed.’

  ‘I don’t believe I allowed you to speak that freely.’

  ‘His offer was reasonable, and you dismissed it without a second thought, you didn’t even spare a moment to think about the lives you’re about to sacrifice.’

  ‘Do not think for a second that I would so willingly throw away the lives of my subjects!’ snapped Valos, ‘I had a night’s ride to think about the advice and I believe I made the right decision.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing then.’

  'A well-placed hope, I’ve been preparing for this for a very long time.’

  Arran watched as Valos and Darav stood before him, bickering like small children over toys.

  ‘Your idea is foolhardy!’ shouted the king, ‘I cannot believe mother even dared suggest it.’

  ‘Well yours is downright insane! Rushing into battle in an open field.’

  ‘Silvergrass plain is a perfectly viable battleground, we must crush them as soon as possible, break their morale then punch through to Daelvor’s lands.’

  ‘You’ll lose countless lives.’

  ‘I will not repeat myself again, we are NOT asking Nedervar for support.’

  ‘You have an entire country caught within your borders that has plenty of able-bodied fighters,’ Darav was getting heated, he was normally prone to bouts of anger, but his brother always managed to get under his skin the most, ‘we need their support if we want this near lossless victory you’re dreaming of.’

  ‘I will NOT create an armed force I cannot control within a vassal that dreams of rebellion and secession.’

  ‘You’ll need other reinforcements then.’

  ‘I will, so start looking,’ Valos said through gritted teeth. He watched as his younger brother exited the tent, ‘absolutely unbelievable he is.’

  ‘With all due respect, he has a point.’

  ‘Oh here we go,’ he sighed at what Arran said and put two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  ‘If you would let me speak my mind, I could help you, isn’t that what I’m here for?’

  ‘Fine, go ahead.’

  ‘You want to crush your enemy in one fell swoop, one battle to bring this war to a close, something you can’t do without an overwhelming force.’

  ‘So far we agree.’

  ‘You said you don’t want to use Nedervar, despite the fact that its stewards have all sworn fealty to you, the king.’

  ‘Fealty or no, I’m no fool and the High Stewards have continuously accepted their vassalisation begrudgingly’ said Valos as he sat down. He watched Arran pace back and forth.

  ‘I can’t trust the Steward, not further than I can throw his lardship in full armour.’

  ‘Your lack of trust means we must find another source of reinforcements, and Angalir is small, there’s not many here that’d align with us.’

  ‘Wait…’ said Valos as he stood up quickly and swept his desk clean. From a box in the corner he grabbed a rolled-up map and laid it out across the table. It depicted the Western Isles, with Angalir most prominently outlined, but both Svartsteineyja and Talamh Fiaigh were present and visible. Valos pointed at the Hunter’s Land.

  ‘We could extend an invitation to the clan heads of Talamh Fiaigh.’

  Arran raised an eyebrow, ‘you suggest trying to convince seven warring clans to meet and align themselves with a king they don’t know?’

  ‘No, not without something to bring to the table.’

  ‘That must be some bargaining chip.’

  ‘It is… though I don’t think my brother will be a fan of it.’

  Arran leaned over the desk and looked at the map, ‘you’re fortunate that you’re not talking to the hot-head right now.’

  ‘I have one thing I can present to at least one of the clans, my family shares a bloodline with the clanheads of den Chlaíomh.’

  ‘You’re going to present your blood?’

  ‘Let me finish, do you know where the royal family gets its name?’

  ‘Tyranny, the sword I mean,’ said Arran.

  ‘Close, though really we got it from den Chlaíomh, we’re an offshoot, they however did get their name from the sword.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with anything, exactly.’

  ‘Tyranny is our bargaining chip.’

  ‘You plan on giving the most important heirloom you have to the Fiaighans.’

  ‘Do you take me for a fool? No of course not,’ said Valos, ‘they won’t need to own it, they will rally behind it, and we really only need den Chaíomh.’

  ‘Who do you plan on sending?’

  ‘Well the first people that came to mind were you and my brother.’

  Arran let out a laugh, ‘I could do with time away from this camp, but your brother? He’s going to want to kill you.’

  ‘He’ll deal with it, after all he’s getting the reinforcements he wants, though I’ll let you be the one to tell him of the plan.’

  ‘Right,’ said Arran, as he wanted to leave he stopped himself, ‘where do he and I pick up Tyranny from? I don’t believe I’ve seen either you nor Darav carry it.’

  ‘He’ll tell you.’