The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Twenty-Six: Father and Son

"Do you know where my father is, Sir Argus?" he asked when he finished his breakfast. One thing he promised himself to try to do is talk more with father, but so far the only time they spent together was when they were riding, and Jergan did not want to embarrass himself or his father in front of all their men and the Crowned Prince.

"At a war meeting. They're meeting every morning to discuss the attack on the Westland. Only a select number are allowed in there. Yourself and I are not among them. So let your father be."

"As you say," Jergan left his plate for the washers and decided to go looking for his friends before the army set out again. They were now approaching the heart of Forthren, and there were few trees, but the land was swept with farms and rolling green meadows. The center of the Kingdom was a great plain, where one could see for a dozen miles. The peaks of mountains in the far distance told the army that they were approaching their destination. They were barely visible in the morning light, where the whole land was covered in a soft red, being touched by the light of the rising sun. The camp was beginning to bustle with activity as tents collapsed and fires were dosed.

Wallis was one of those dumping a bucket of water over a fire. He found the farm boy not far from his own tent. Not surprising as the Fallaner camp is much smaller in comparison to the others. Blackfield alone must have supplied over five-thousand men, while Ruska gave the army little more than five hundred fighting men. But they were a well-respected group of soldiers and any sane general in the world would want them at his command.

"Any idea how much further we got?" Wallis asked Jergan. The young knight would know more about their movement than a lowly soldier.

"Father says we'll get there in about a week."

"Fuck," Wallis snarled, "I can't fucking stand this shit!" he slammed the bucket to the ground.

"Walk all day until your legs fall off and sleep on critter-infested grass for a few hours and rise again. I don't know about you, Jergan, but I can do without the soldier's life."

"It'll be worse once we get to the battlefield," Jegan warned.

Wallic rolled his eyes and his shoulders slumped down, "Goody. Hopefully a Morcar will chop my head off before I freeze to death.

"It's not cold," Jergan exclaimed.

"Like hell it isn't. I thought my fingers were gonna break off. This fuckness better not last until winter."

"There were some armies that were away from home for more than ten years," Jergan referred to Diana the Conqueress and Jonas Lanray, two warriors who fought in other countries for up to fifteen years.

"Well, like I said, I'll be dead by then," the trumpets began to blare, informing the troops that it was almost time to move out.

"I'll see you later," he said to the young knight and he went to finish packing. Each of the soldiers marched with a little pack and carried their single-tent on their back. It did not impede their marching and took away the need for excessive carriages.

Jergan returned to his own campsite and found the tent had been pitched and SIr Argus was busily shouting orders. A horse rode up behind the young knight. He looked up and saw his father staring down at him.

"Slow this morning, are we son?" he asked and he rode off.

Midday came by slowly as the army moved through the vast grasslands of Balter Oaran's Duchy. Oaran was the ruling family in the Greenland, the area of Forthren that bordered the Wetland. Anton was their seat and it was where the army was marching to. But for another week they must stick to the blinding sun. For the first time in his life, Jergan spent a whole day in unblocked sunlight. His exposed skin was burning and inside his leather and armor it felt like a boiling pot. What made it worse was that there was no end in sight. The road stretched forever and the towers of Anton were nowhere to be seen. The mountains in the far distance were at one point a comfort, but they stayed tiny and taunted Jergan with the feeling that he was not making any progress.