The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Eighteen: Flexing Muscle

"Lord Yorod," the Prince said, "How good of you to join us."

"Since the armies of Forthren are being sent on your campaign, I only thought it appropriate that my sons and I sit as your advisers. Lord Desmond also requested as did Sir Ulysses and Sir Julius."

"We honored to sit with you all. May I introduce the Lords representing the Royal Lands?"

"Please do. I haven't been to the Royal Lands for so long I've forgotten half their names."

Tauron motioned behind him, "This is Bartera Noc, Captain of the Brukalil."

"'Bartera the Terror.' Is that what they call you?" asked Lord Desmond, his giant eyes gave Bartera shivers.

"Yes, my Lord Gaule."

"Clayton Blackwell, son of Conrad. Martin Bailor, son of Vince Bailor. Lord Jon Malken. And Lord Nicholi Gramman."

"Ah, Lord Nicholi," Lord Dayvey got up and shook hands with the old veteran, "the man ho has been is more battles than he has fingers."

"This cannot be all the Lords you have brought with you," observed Lord Desmond.

"It's not. At least half the Royal Land is here. Nearly ten thousand men."

"Not much to combat the Morcar horde."

"Which is why I've asked you to come as well."

"Might we ask why the rest of the Royal Landers did not come with you," Tauron understood why people called Lord Desmond the 'Frogman'. When he was staring right at the Prince, his wide mouth, leathery skin, and bulging eyes made him look the part.

"This was supposed to be an auxiliary force. Nothing more," answered Lord Nicholas.

"And now it is becoming a super force," pointed out Desmond, "Bigger than any auxiliary force I've ever seen. And my understanding was that you were to wait for Lord Ryden's call for aid."

Lord Nicholi laughed, "Come now, old frog. You know Horith would never do that."

"I know. Which is why I think we should let the Morcars put his head on a spike."

"We all would like that, Lord Desmond," spoke Yorod, "But he is currently defending our own holds against the hordes. So we must do something."

"The Swamplands can defend themselves."

"You're sounding just like him," said Sir Ulysses.

"Be silent, knight!" growled Desmond Gaule, "You will speak properly to an archbaron of Forthren."

Great, Tauron thought to himself. More bickering nobles. Heads so far up their asses they could not see a storm coming from a mile away.

"Gentlemen," cut in Lord Dayvey, "Let's be civil. We must save the Westland, and the Prince is to lead us. So Prince Tauron. What is your bidding?"

"We march to the West in two days. Until then, gather every soldier from Blackfield and everything around. Lord Desmond, I want you to go back to the Swamplands and rally your troops to meet us at..."

"Hold it right there, young Prince," interrupted Lord Gaule, "What if I do not want to march to the West. I don't feel like wasting lives and resources to aid Horith Ryden."

"You will march," Tauron said, "Your Duke orders it and your future kind orders it."

"And what if I don't feel like listening to either. Hmm? My son is injured and needs to recover. I will not leave him, and no Morcar Invasion is likely going to make me."