The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Twelve: A Great Favor

"Helg, a moment," Gor said, getting up.

"Anytime, little brother," He said as they exited the mess hall and faced each other outside the door.

"What is it?"

"I don't want you getting in my way," Gor said. 

"Pardon?"

"You know what i mean. I don't need you looking after me at every moment during the battle," Gor said, "I can look after myself."

"That's what most young boys say before their heads get lopped off," Helg said, "You're beginning to remind me of your cousin."

"I am not Gregory! I am ten times the warrior he was! I will face these Morcars and i will kill them, and i do not want your misplaced worry for me get in the way."

"A bold statement. Much like Gregory. Father was more than happy to send me into battle, but I'm sure he'll have some nasty things to say when he hears you are being sent in. Why is that?"

"Because he knows that i should be the heir to Tanner Hall. Because I'm twenty-times the man you will ever be," Gor tried to leave and return to his friends, but Helg's bulky arm shot in his way.

"I would gladly take you on, little brother," he whispered, "but I would hold back. The Morcars will not. It is easy to make these bold statements when you are safe in a castle. i know what real battle is, and soon you will too. I will be there to protect you, the stuck-up little shit that you are," Helg let go and stormed off. Gor spat on his tracks and returned to supper.

    "This proposal, it's very difficult to accept," Lord Yorod Davey said as he set his round bottom into his chair, "How do you expect for all of my armies to arrive here in time?"

    "I don't," Prince Tauron replied, "I expect to leave here with the garrison of Blackfield, and pick up whatever troops lie between here and Rainwood. What I want you to do is to follow me to Anton. Should my campaign fail, I want you to stop any Morcar advance on the East."

    Lord Davey lit a pipe and gave it a few puffs, "Interesting strategy, but you would be going into the Westland with just over twenty thousand men."

    "Thirty thousand," the Prince said, "I sent word to Duke Elenor in Noor that she is to send the royal army to link up with me. With that, my army will double in size. And I will have enough troops to liberate the Westland. I've also sent word to my Uncle Arnos at Brother's Crossing. They both should increase it to forty thousand. And with men being raised. All over the kingdom more shall arrive everyday.

    Lord Yorod nodded, "But do you have any idea of the Morcar numbers?"

    That was something the prince could not give a positive answer to and Lord Yorod smelt it, "What makes you so certain that Forty thousand will be enough? The Westland Lords together command nearly thirty thousand and they have not been able to stop the Morcar horde. For all you know there could be fifty or a hundred thousand savages swarming the Rainwood. And you are asking me to send my men there," Lord Davey shook his head, "It's too much to risk."

    Tauron was silent. As much as he did not want to admit it, Lord Davey was right. But the other choice was to do nothing, and stand idly by as the Westland falls and the Morcars have free reign in the East at last. What will his lords make of him? What will the other kingdoms, especially the Sparticans make of him? What will his father make of him?

    "Lord Davey, I have to do this. Now."

    "Trying to take back the Westland won't mean anything if you do not have the men to do it. Wait for my other Lords. Wait for Eleanor and wait for your uncle. Wait for every soldier in Liticea to be assembled. When they arrive you may have enough."

    "My mission was to help the Westland should they need it."

    "Have they sent any word?"

    "No," Lord Horith Ryden has not sent any messages since the letter the king received.

    "How do you know if they even need your help?"

    "My guts tell me so."

    Lord Davey rolled his eyes and laughed, "That is a thin excuse to send thousands of men to their deaths. Of course there is the possibility that they have already been taken over," Lord Davey pointed out, "Or that Lord Ryden has rallied his forces and driven them out. Anything is possible when his son Killian is around."

    "Not even Warpig could defeat one hundred thousand Morcars."

    "Then neither can you, my Prince," he said sharply. Tauron became so enraged he almost slapped the Lord of Forthren.

    "I'm right and you know it," Lord Davey pressed.

    Tauron clenched his teeth like a mad dog, "As your future king, I command you to..." he paused.

    "Or what?" Lord Davey raised an eyebrow, "My future king? Where I stand, all I see is a spoiled Prince who acts out when ever he doesn't' get what he wants.'

    Tauron felt his eyes beginning to water. he could not let Yorod see that.

    "Forgive me, Lord Davey," he wiped his eyes and composed himself, "I'm sure you understand I'm under a lot of pressure. I'm carryin my father's banner, the whole kingdom's banner into battle. He charged me with taking back the Westland, and if I fail..."

    "You'll look like a fool in the eyes of all people, noble and commoner alike."

    Tauron nodded.

    "I understand. I was Lord of Forthren for ten years before the Corasians invaded. Ten peaceful, uneventful years. And then suddenly there they are at our doorstep, and I was charged with stopping them. I had little stomach for war. My own was considerably large by that point. At first, I sent all the men I could into the Corasian ranks. Sure we drove them back, but I lost nearly half my men, and another army was coming. Thank Rannos for Rengle Fallaner. He knew what to do, much better than anyone else in my army. Thanks to him, Forthren was saved and the kingdom wasn't split in half."

    "Very interesting, my Lord, but what's your point?"

    "My point is you cannot command an army by gut instinct alone. You must listen to those who know more about it than you. That is what a wise King does."

    "Father also taught me to follow my instincts."

    "Did he not also tell you to listen to the people around you?"

    "He did."

    "Then I suggest you heed that wisdom, or you will get your self and your whole army killed!"

    The Lord's words hit him like a pack of rocks. Like a rack, the two worst outcomes pulled at him. Stay and risk the fall of the Westland and disgrace to himself and the Heflite Dynasty? Or go in and be slaughtered by untold numbers of Morcars.

    "I thank you for your honesty, Lord Yorod," the Prince said softly, with no more hints of aggression.

    "I hope that you will continue to share it once I become king."

    "I intend to. So what are you going to do?"

    "I'm going to drive the Morcars out of the Westland," Tauron said proudly, "That is all I'm certain of."

    "You are the Prince. This is your army. You will have the last say as to what it will do."

    "Yes," the prince gave the Lord a bow, "We will discuss this later. For now I feel like supper. Care to join me, Lord Davey?"

    The great lord slapped his belly and laughed, "Is that a trick question? There is someone I would like you to meet at dinner. Desmond of House Gaule."

    "Brave soldier I hear," they both exited the room and went to supper. They talked all the way there.