Princess Deirdre Fomorisa might not have had her intent properly understood, however what she got was not without value either. She felt his hand clasping hers, and though she could feel his warmth, his skin, even through his armor, she knew he couldn’t feel the same. ‘At least he’s here… and soon I won’t have to worry about him ever going away…’ She pondered, comforting herself with the thought of the days on the run they would face. Part of her knew she should have dreaded the mortal peril, mourned the loss of her city, her entire Kingdom, but sooner or later, as long as they escaped out of reach, opportunities would present themselves to turn it all around.
The Divine Kingdom would likely prefer to see their northern neighbor restored to something akin to stability. ‘With monsters and nonhumans an ever-present threat, they’d want a stable place where strong humans could be born that will go out and face those threats to mankind…’ That made her wonder if they might have had a hand in the Empire’s invasion.
‘The corruption of Gelia had to vex them to no end…’ She stopped her train of thought, already the dots were connecting in her mind on how they could have covertly supported the Kingdom’s fall, and what she might do to use them in restoring it after the corruption had been burned out. ‘Focus, Princess. Focus… first we have to survive.’
At least as a vampire, she’d have a fairly easy time making sure they did.
Still, she couldn’t fall asleep until Faust did.
His head nodded forward, trying to rise a few times, and then a gentle snoring.
Only then could she sleep.
‘I thought she’d never fall asleep.’ Faust thought when he finally saw that she closed her eyes. The thick blankets over her in the dim light did nothing to reveal her naturally shallow breaths, but when her eyes closed and her hold on his hand slackened, he was sure.
He smiled a little, ‘She never could sleep before me. I swear…how did I get this lucky?’ It was strange for Faust to think of this as ‘luck’. Given that he was about to have to go on a mad dash for safety while the kingdom burned behind them, that seemed a ridiculous way to think of it. But there it was. He squeezed her limp hand and looked out the window. There were fires far in the distance, bright orange glows of soldiers encamped and ready to fight. ‘If they sent their usual then they will number twenty thousand knights and twice that many men-at-arms and then twice that many supporting servants, squires, and camp followers looking to turn a quick coin.’
‘Compared to that, Gel has maybe a hundred thousand poorly equipped and untrained militia, maybe twice that many in a pinch, and only about ten thousand people I could call ‘competent professionals’. He shook his head, on paper that sounded like an even match.
On an open field that was an invitation to massacre and in a siege it was an invitation to lose slower. From experience he knew it would take at least five times what they had in the city to stop that one single army.
And worse, there were at least four such armies over the border, all of them converging on the capital for a knockout blow. ‘If this one is here, the others are probably only a few days away.’
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He thought of the Thorns. ‘They agreed to help, hopefully they’ll be able to buy some time for us, somehow, even if only a few hours.’ But what else they might do was anyone’s guess. Adventurers were unpredictable, almost uncontrollable except for the use of guild rules that kept them in business.
But those at least, they were helpful. ‘Always quick with a good word, always willing to help…even painfully…’ He smiled a little and touched the spot on his chest where Brunwaeld gave him a sound kick while teaching him a cruder form of combat. He could still recall her answer on that hot summer day…
“You can call it crude if you like, but you’re doing so from down there, sprawled on your back with your legs open like a whore and the imprint of a blunted ax on your face. You won’t be able to call it crude when it’s an edge splitting your skull.” She said while tapping the handle of the ax on her shoulder and with her hand on her hip while she squared off against him.
“It’s still not very knightly…” He protested.
“You can die knightly or you can stay alive. It’d be a damn shame to see you die, I kind of like you. But there are other virgin young men needing a quick lay before they go off to die gloriously. Listen,” She’d said and held her hand out to him, when he took it and she helped him to his feet she’d said, “fair fights are for fools, you’re not strong enough to be some storybook hero, and most of those come to bad ends anyway. You go into every fight to win, and let the dead complain to the gods that you didn’t fight fair. If life has taught me anything, it’s that the gods don’t find those complaints convincing, because they never send anyone back to fight again on account of it. You fight to win, you do it quick, and you move on. The bards sing about glory to the victors, no matter how the victory comes.”
It was a stinging rebuke and far more than she usually said, but he took that as a measure of how important she counted the lesson. ‘I can’t afford to play by the rules… not while she’s depending on me.’ He told himself.
And no sooner did he have that thought, than a scream ripped through the palace.
He shot to his feet, his hand reached for his sword, the Princess’s eyes flew open, and outside of the door chaos erupted. Brunwaeld’s warning came to mind again. ‘Fair fights are for fools.’
“They snuck someone inside the city… Princess, stay here!” Faust insisted and rushed to the door.
“Where are you going?!” She demanded at once.
“Outside your chamber, it’ll be easier to fight there. Barricade the door with whatever you can!” He cried and raced to the entrance, ‘They’re hoping to decapitate our leadership before the siege… that’s the only possible answer.’
The sound of fighting, crashing against steel and bodies tumbling around in dim light or total darkness, blended with the screams of those who ran in terror or did not run far enough and found themselves dying where they stood.
Faust held his sword at the ready in front of him as he slammed the door shut at his back. ‘Nobody will get past me.’ He vowed, and watched fire rise down the long hall, spreading by accident or intent and a trio of shadowy figures stepped into view and pointed in his direction.
They held up knives, and settled the question of whether they were friend or foe. Faust gritted his teeth, leveled the tip of his sword toward them, and made ready to receive their assault.