Various colours of irises stared in awe as Peyton took steps forward through the crimson-walled corridor. Blue, green, grey and brown: all different colours, shapes and sizes, yet they all had one thing in common. Each stared at him in fear.
Peyton's fingers wrapped around the hilt of Stoneheart, the proud heirloom of the Oakfort lineage. Its gleaming metal appeared blood red as it mirrored the stone walls of the Bleufontaine corridors and as it edged closer toward the remaining forces of the late Sir Cedwyn Oakfort, it appeared as if each of the men was gasping their final breaths.
Like animals trapped in a corner, some men appeared ready to fight to the last, determined to have their final moments as warriors rather than prisoners of the brutal Ravenscourt nobels. Peyton could sense their anxiety. Their life was in his hands, and with one wrong word, their lives would be forfeit to Sir Emhyr, a man who would have no qualms about inflicting the maximum amount of pain for the longest period, all in the name of pride, dread and pleasure.
The whole situation felt like a powder keg, ready to burst open, with Peyton being the fuse. As he eventually came to a halt at the doorway which led to the small pack of defenders he mumbled under his breath to the gods for his and their safety.
Raising his eyes and looking beyond the soldiers, he could see the Ravenscourt troops, eager to end this insurrection. Beyond them, the cold emotionless eyes of Sir Emhyr glared towards him. Peyton had already failed in his objective to capture Sir Cedwyn and end the battle, and now he would do everything in his power to not sate Sir Emhyr's bloodlust by ending this skirmish without any bloodshed.
"Brocca, I believe?" Peyton looked toward the man that he had only seen moments earlier when Cedwyn still breathed.
The man looked at him sternly, his eyes initially appeared glazed, but as Peyton focused on his chocolate brown irises, he could sense how the man's soul was plagued with the dread of his potential demise.
"A..aye, milord," he stuttered, clanking his halberd against his chainmail.
Peyton took a deep breath, exhaling his concerns as he knew that every word would count. "I will need your men to be at ease and prepare to lower their weapons on my command. This is a very delicate situation and things could escalate quickly if they are allowed to. Do you understand?"
With a small nod, Brocca acknowledged the man half his age.
"I want everyone to come out of this alive and unharmed, can I trust that you will assist me to make this happen?" Peyton queried, his hand gripping Stoneheart even tighter than before.
"I am your man, milord. The men will stand at ease."
A small wry smile appeared on Peyton's face as he nodded in respect to his new compatriot. As he took his first steps forward toward Sir Cedwyn's men, he felt vulnerable as their anxious and unnerving stares descended upon him, but as he confidently stepped forward with Stoneheart placed underneath his arm, each of the soldiers around him lowered their weapons and stood to their feet.
If the situation called for it, the young knight would not have been able to contain his pride as he strode between the warring factions, but as he closed on the Ravenscourt aggressors, the look of disdain, anger and jealousy was palpable.
"SOLDIERS, STAND TO!"
The command bellowed from behind the phalanx of halberds as the sharp points eagerly directed their attention towards Peyton. As the men raised their weapons and parted to allow the young knight to step through, the gaze from Sir Emhyr was far sharper and unnerving than any weapon that could have been directed toward him.
Peyton attempted to remain confident, yet he could feel his heart attempting to jump from his chest. His approach was assured, yet his knees felt like they could buckle at any time. The pure fury in the face of the Earl of Caernleigh was far more intimidating than some of the most fearsome creatures that Peyton had fought in the past.
"WEAPONS FRONT!" another command bellowed as Peyton strode past. The clanging of chainmail, followed by the crash of several halberds initially clattering on the floor caused him to exhale sharply. In mere moments, his fate would be sealed, but with the thoughts of watching a man being boiled alive on the orders of the commander of the Ravenscourt forces at the forefront of his mind, he could sense that his life was dissipating with every step.
"Sir Whitehill, I fail to see the Count of Oakfort being brought before me," an unflinching Emhyr spoke, far calmer than Peyton had anticipated.
Instinctively, Peyton knelt on the floor raising Stoneheart in his hands. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever raise his head again.
"This is not the Count of Oakfort, this is his sword, what use is it to me to have his sword?"
Peyton remained silent, hoping that his submission would ease Sir Emhyr's calmed anger.
"SPEAK DAMMIT!" Sir Emhyr shouted causing all in the room to shudder.
"My Lord, Sir Cedwyn is no more, with the gesture of his sword, he has hereby given me the authority to parlay on his behalf," nervousness crept into Peyton's words.
His arms were starting to tire as he held the sword toward the Earl of Caernleigh, but the Earl remained unmoved and as a bead of sweat slipped from his forehead, Peyton longed for the inquest to end.
"My orders were for you to bring him to me alive, for me to make AN EXAMPLE OF HIM!" Emhyr's voice raised exponentially, his rage palpable as he spat with fury.
Peyton took a deep breath. "My Lord, to avoid any more bloodshed, Sir Cedwyn sacrificed his life for his men. As a knight of the realm, my honour dictates that I fulfilled his request to end his life and ensure the safety of the men under his command."
"I care little for your honour, just as I care little for his men. Perhaps I should make an example of you instead?" Sir Emhyr's words were harsh and brutal and the tone cut through the atmosphere like the halberds that were pointed toward Peyton just moments ago.
Peyton could sense that the threat was real and that his life was hanging by a thread, "If my lord wishes it, then I will gladly accept my punishment, as long as the men of Oakfort remain unharmed."
Like a flash, Sir Emhyr grabbed Peyton by the collar before slamming him against the blood-red walls of the corridor. Winded by the blow, Peyton struggled to breathe as the lifeless eyes of the enraged Emhyr stared like daggers toward him, but as quickly as he had been grabbed from the floor, the vice-like grip was released and Emhyr stepped back from the coughing knight errant.
"Walk with me boy," Emhyr ordered, instantly turning away from the scores of men confused by the exchange that had just taken place.
Peyton coughed, inhaling as much as he could as he attempted to gather air in his lungs. It instantly caused him to cough again. His back and lungs screamed in agony, but using all of his determination to stand, Peyton quickly walked beside the Earl as he strode away from prying eyes and ears.
Emhyr's steps were forceful and the thumps of his leather carefully stitched boots were purposeful as Peyton lumbered behind him. So many thoughts aggressively bombarded Peyton's mind, wondering what awaited him at the end of the journey.
The thumping sound of halberds smashing against chainmail as soldiers stood to attention while Emhyr strode past them briefly crashed Peyton back to the present. Ignoring their presence, Emhyr continued forward, but Peyton could sense their eyes drawing onto him, wondering if the knight errant was being taken away like a lamb to the slaughter.
Taking a sharp left into one of the storerooms, Peyton hesitated before entering. His fears were bombarding his decisions, causing him to freeze before stepping into the empty room, but as he attempted to push away his screaming thoughts, one comment remained in his mind. Why would Emhyr kill him in a store room?
Stepping in, Emhyr slammed the door behind him, the hinges creaking so loudly it caused Peyton to exhale profusely. Still, attempting to disarm the situation, he lay Stoneheart on the stall next to crates of succulent red apples.
He wasn't sure, as he looked at the apples, whether they appeared more red than usual and as his gaze focused on the fuming Emhyr, the Earl's eyes even appeared as red as the apples dotted around them.
"Are you aware of what has transpired at Ravenscourt?" Emhyr asked with venom
Peyton took a small step back as his commanding officer looked like an indomitable lion waiting to pounce on its wounded prey. Lying was no use in this situation, it was precarious enough as it was.
"Yes my Lord, I received news several moons back."
Emhyr appeared to ease as the truth echoed throughout the room, "This Ethleston Darke, what is your relationship with him?"
It was at that moment that Peyton realised that Emhyr already knew the truth and was determined to confirm what was relevant. The truth was likely now the only weapon that he had for survival.
"Lord Ethleston was my master for many winters. He taught me of the ways of the world, warfare, valour and honour," Peyton replied.
"Honour?" scoffed Emhyr, "yet he roamed the world as a man for hire, men of that ilk have no honour. So you squired for the famed Manticore Hunter?"
Peyton couldn't help but smile as he heard Ethelston's moniker once again. "I did, my lord, for six winters. I agree, mercenaries rarely display honour, yet Lord Ethelston was not a conventional mercenary."
There was a huge desire for Peyton to boast of the tales of Ethelston Darke, The Manticore Hunter, yet he could see in the eyes of the sceptical Earl of Caernleigh that his words would fall on deaf ears.
"I have received a lot of reports recently, from various resources, all confirming some extremely alarming news from across the continent. Word has confirmed that Lord Millendahl was overthrown by his nephew, Lord Ethelston, and now we serve under him. While that news appears somewhat irrational, my father, the Knight Inquisitor himself, has sent word confirming nearly everything that has transpired."
Emhyr briefly stopped as he heard steps pass outside of the room where they stood. "Lionmane sent an army to crush the insurrection but were severely repelled. This all but confirmed that Ethelston now controls the west of the Empire. As our solidarity toward the Duke of Ravenscourt, we have rid Bleufontaine of the men who supported the Emperor. As far as we are concerned, his war effort against Ruvia is no longer ours. Tell me, boy, are my actions today out of foolishness?"
Peyton recalled the letter that Ethelston had sent him of events in the West and the magnitude of them, why Emhyr was undoutbedly aware of what was happening, Peyton could sense that even the Earl of Caernleigh doubted that his actions were just.
"Yes my Lord, what you say is correct, " Peyton replied.
"Yet, despite how drastic the turn of events are, it is nothing in comparison to the other information that I have received, and something tells me that you know of what I speak," Emhyr's dead stare looked upon the intimidated young knight errant.
The next words that would exit Peyton's mouth would determine life or death; he could sense it. The truth had to be spoken and as the room they stood was without ears, it was without doubt that the truth would set him free.
"The last remaining Aex-Igh lives?" Peyton responded with uncertainty.
"The last remaining Aex-Igh lives!" Emhyr confirmed. "This means that our unfounded loyalties have been given to a usurper and pretender of the throne. Your denial of satisfaction to allow me to make an example of the Count of Oakfort is an affront to my authority and has denied me the opportunity to display my absolute displeasure of serving the pig that has been the Bain of the Empire for several winters."
"I could not allow, on my conscience, for you to humiliate a knight of the realm."
"Damn your conscience!" Emhyr slammed his fist against the shelves holding the apples. Stoneheart rattled angrily in response.
Peyton did not respond, knowing that his words were far too bold in the current situation.
"I am half tempted to make an example of you in his place," Emhyr reacted, his face twitching in anger, "yet, I have need of you in this somewhat bizarre time."
"I am here to serve," Peyton responded, attempting to calm the situation.
"If that were true, then the Count of Oakfort would now be preparing to have his flesh peeled from his bone," Emhyr reacted nonchalantly, eager not to let his fury overrule his actions. "Lord Ethelston has sent me word that the last child of Aex-Igh has headed east, to begin terms with Ruvia. It appears the enemy of our enemy is now our friend. They travel light and their companions are few, so evidently, this puts the child at grave risk in meeting the Empress and Dauphin of Ruvia. It is imperative that the last child of Aex-Igh, as well as the Ruvian Empire, knows that there is an army that supports their claim to the Isovine Empire. Lord Ethelston wholly trusts you and at this time I consider you somewhat expendable, therefore your mission, which is of utmost importance, is to travel east to the Ruvian Capital Boullec-Montveil and inform the Aex-Igh child that the second army stands with them."
Peyton couldn't believe that he was being asked to enter the heart of the empire to find a person that he had no information about, "How am I to find this child?"
There was a grunt from the frustrated knight. "Use your intellect, I know nothing of this person except that Lord Ethelston and Lord Ithelred confirm their legitimacy. You have your orders, execute them, or be executed. Your choice."
Peyton looked toward the sword beside the apples remembering the promise he gave the Count of Oakfort. Boullec-Montviel was in the opposite direction to Oakfort and it could potentially delay fulfilling the promise of returning the sword by at least a winter.
Before Peyton could confirm that acceptance of the orders, the creaking hinges had already prepared for Sir Emhyr's exit and as he stomped out of the room, Peyton was left with apples and Stoneheart.
"My Lord?" Peyton called, running out toward the fuming Emhyr who had stopped in the corridor.
"My Lord, my apologies, one last thing," Peyton gulped as he realised how impudent he was becoming, "The Count's remaining men, I request that they remain unharmed and integrated into the Ravenscourt army."
The thunderous clap of the halting steps caused Peyton to shudder and as Sir Emhyr slowly turned his head to the young ginger knight, Peyton could sense Sir Emhyr's teeth grinding and fist clenching. The silence that followed felt almost like the painful suffocating grip that had embraced Peyton just moments before.
A deep sigh exhaled from the bald knight, a sense of frustration filtered throughout the room, "So be it!"
The knight's steps immediately clashed forward, briskly marching away from the relieved young knight. It wasn't until Sir Emhyr slammed open the door that Peyton noticed his lack of controlled breathing.
Coughing, he rubbed his neck, feeling the red swelling that had already painted its way around it. Yet his neck was still attached to his body and all of the thoughts of the horrific ways that Sir Emhyr would have dealt with his insubordination started to flit from his mind.
Each deep breath that he took felt like agony, but with each one, he could sense calmness washing over him, and the restoration of his focus. He smiled, a small one to ensure that his ego did not inflate, but a proud one. He had saved many lives today despite the unforgivable decision to take one himself, but as much as it pained him to relive the moment of ending Sir Cedwyn's life, Peyton knew it had been necessary for the greater good.
Yet now he had been assigned a new task, one which required him to travel deep into enemy territory, right to the Ruvian capital in the hopes of finding the child that Ethelston had explained to him was the true Emperor of Isovine.
By engaging in this assignment, Peyton would find himself with enemies on both sides of the Isovine/Ruvian border. He would need to be able to move quickly, quietly and without hesitation. Whatever would happen over the next few moon cycles, he would need to do it alone, and despite wanting to return Stoneheart to its rightful owner, he could not trust anyone enough to fulfil the task but himself.
For now, Peyton would travel with the sword of Oakfort deep into enemy territory.
Determined to ensure that Jeffords and his men received their orders and retained focus in his absence, Peyton headed directly for his tent.
Marching past the aftermath of the chaos that had engulfed the castle and the surrounding campsites, Peyton weighed the positives and negatives of using the Chevalier Des Serres as a tool to gain entrance to gain access to the Ruvian court, but various questions plagued his mind. Would he go willingly? Would travelling across the continents with an enemy combatant paint a target on his back or open up doors that would not normally be open? Would the far more experienced Chevalier prove to be too much to handle?
Peyton's thoughts had controlled his actions for several moments, so much so that he hadn't realised how quickly he had paced himself to reach his tent, eager to provide his instructions to his second in command and friend, Jeffords.
The last few hours had been troublesome and tiring, yet to see his lieutenant once again brought a small excitement to the young knight. Peyton was eager to tell the tall abrupt foot soldier of what had transpired and the orders that were to come.
While his eagerness had got him to his destination quickly, his anxiety made him rush his final steps.
Blackened mud soddened the ground surrounding Peyton's tent, while blood stains smeared their way up the side of the once whitened sheets. The guards that had once stood upright beside the tent entrance now lay lifeless on the muddy and bloodied ground. The chaos that had engulfed the camp had found its way to the entrance of his doorway, at least that was what it had initially seemed like.
Sprinting to the tent, the pandemonium that had embraced the outside had spilt its way into Peyton's own temporary home, with clothes and bedding sprawled around. As garments were thrown to the corners of the tent, what Peyton saw in the centre of the tent shattered his heart into a thousand different pieces. What once sat an enemy of the realm, the Chevalier Des Serres, lay Jeffords, his eyes empty and void of life.
Peyton immediately collapsed towards his comrade. As he held the elder man's slumping head, hoping to encourage some life back into the man who stood side by side with him over many engagements, he could feel his cheeks start to dampen as tears slipped effortlessly from his reddened eyes.
Jeffords' neck was red and swollen, his airway shattered as a ringed indentation had caused his trachea to collapse in on itself. Peyton studied the cause of his asphyxiation and the sheer strength that would have been required to overpower a man such as Jeffords. It didn't take long for a picture to paint itself in Peyton's mind with what had transpired and as it did guilt flushed over him far more than he was capable of bearing.
The Chevalier Des Serres was the one responsible for killing his Lieutenant.
Peyton's mercy and naivety had manoeuvered his enemy into a position of trust that had caused him to overpower and kill Jeffords, a man who had been tasked to protect him at all costs. Jeffords, following Peyton's orders, had likely planned to move the Chevalier Des Serres away from the fighting, and during that moment of vulnerability, he struck, breaking Jefford's windpipe before watching him gasp horribly for life and breathe.
It was at that moment that Peyton realised that the grip from his hand was causing the bones in Jeffords' lifeless hands to crack unceremoniously. As he let go, a drop of salted water splashed on his Lieutenant's hand.
The Chevalier Des Serres, despite being treated with honour, had been a man who lacked any, using the chaos of the camp to make his escape and kill his protector. As Peyton slowly shut the lifeless eyes of his greatest achievement and closest friend in the second army, he vowed to the gods for vengeance, an unnatural anger overflowing throughout him.
Soon he would head east, with Stoneheart in hand, and determination in his steps. He would find this child of house Aex-Igh and give them the information that they desired, but despite this being his ultimate goal, nothing else seemed to spur him on more than to find his vengeance and teach the Chevalier what it is to abuse his honour and integrity.