PASSERINE

Chapter 4: my birds of a kind (they more and more are looking like centurions)

Most of them had never seen their king before, but they've all heard the stories of a boy crowned on the eve of his sixteenth birthday after his father's mysterious disappearance-or death, or assassination, depending on which rumors you believed-and guided by a strange adviser. A kingdom of peace would never have had any reason to know the name Technoblade, but those who heard the folk story of a red-eyed emperor from a cold and distant land whispered amongst themselves at the resemblance, or the coincidence, or whatever word they could use to explain away the uneasiness brewing in their gut.

The stories also said that the king was kind and generous, with the starry-eyed ambition that came with his youth, and that the younger prince could charm a thousand detractors with his wit and humor. Standing together, they seemed to be as different as night and day: one dark, one light. But no one could deny the shared brotherhood etched into their regal bearing, both products of a boyhood almost drowned in etiquette and decorum.

The prince shifted closer to his brother. "That's a lot of people, Wil," he murmured.

The king's eyes were unreadable in the hazy light of the clouded afternoon. "Not enough," he replied.

Their tutor crossed his arms as he surveyed the gathering crowd, already calculating battle positions and drafting strategies. This was, after all, not his first war, nor did he think it would be his last. "I'll oversee training as much as I can, for as long as we have time. I've identified some potential battalion leaders from the guards and the people who came earlier. I'll delegate the responsibility of training the newer recruits."

"Which is most of them," Wilbur pointed out. "They never had a reason to learn how to fight, before this."

"You underestimate your people, Wilbur," Technoblade replied patiently. "There are other reasons besides war. Look, there. See that person with a bow? They're a hunter-used to shooting down fast-moving targets, which makes them an asset for our archery line. Folks from the mountain regions are used to riding on horseback, so that's our cavalry already established. Miners and smiths are used to swinging sharp and heavy objects around. Give them broadswords instead of pickaxes and hammers, and we'll be ready to go."

Wilbur cut him a bemused look. "You sound almost optimistic. Did you hit your head on a wall this morning?"

"I've seen worse odds."

Tommy scoffed. "This is different from all your war books, Techno. This is real life."

He did not notice the knowing look shared between his brother and their tutor.

"Anyway," Technoblade continued, "I've reached out to mercenary guilds to supplement our offensive. Our coffers can handle the hit. After all, this kingdom has only been busy with trade for the decades."

"And if it all goes to shit anyway?" Tommy asked quietly.

Technoblade's expression hardened. "It won't."

"How can you be so sure?" demanded the young prince. "From what I've been hearing, we're nothing more than a bunch of poor saps armed with twigs against this-this-what did they call themselves?"

"The Green Army," Wilbur replied, not taking his eyes off the people below them.

"Ridiculous name, if you ask me," Technoblade said.

Tommy did not laugh, as he usually would. "That message you received said they massacred an entire town, Wilbur," he choked out. "An entire town, wiped out overnight like ants."

Wilbur's hands tightened around the balcony railings, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed. "They were taken by surprise. We will not be so unfortunate."