On the second morning of the Festival of Steel, the whole of Blackfield smelled of it. A mixture of wine, ale, vomit, and urine filled the air, but did not disturb those wobbling through the street that had too much the previous night. Their senses have been dulled by severe headaches. None quite as badly as Jon Malken, who was so absent minded that unwillingly stumbled over a low fence and fell into a sheep's den. Thinking the gooey mud for his soft feather pillows, he dozed off with the sheep.
It was here where Freedmir found him the next morning. he knew that it would be his job to look after the Lord, as he had a passion for drinking, especially after an intake of the Leaf. He searched all around the campsite for most of the morning. Lord Jon had become lost to him in a sea of liquor, vomit, and urine. Once he ruled out the camp, he asked around the castle, inquiring if anyone had seen a man wearing the Oakleaf emblem of the Malken family. A nervous sheep keeper had told him of a man asleep in his pen that wore such a sign. He led Freedmir to the pen and there he found the good lord, still fast asleep.
"Lord Malken?" he said, reaching through the fence and shaking the general awake.
"What is it? Don't you see I'm trying to sleep?"
"The Prince has called a meeting of his officers. He insists that it is urgent."
"Urgent?" the Lord tried to stand up, but his foot gave way and he landed face down, splashing mud onto Freedmir's cloak."
"What the hell?" Malken seemed to finally figure out where he was, "How did I get here? Why am I in a sheep pen?"
"You fell asleep here my lord. Right after you left the celebration."
"Ah, the celebration. Celebration of what?"
"The Festival of Steel, sir."
"Of course, of course. Help me out of this sty, will you?" Freedmir helped Jon climb and stumble over the fence. Jon then lost his footing and reeled down onto his back.
"As I was saying, my Lord," Freedmir said, standing over him, "The Prince is expecting you."
"Not very well dressed to meet the Prince, am I?" Jon's face and the front of his body was covered by a crust of drying mud, "Suppose I should wash up first."
"You had best hurry, the Prince is impatient."
"You tell your Lord to hurry," Jon suddenly flared.
"Only suggested it," Freedmir corrected.
"Of course you did," Jon said bursting into laughter as his temples throbbed from his ghastly head ache, "Help me up again."
The Prince had assembled a tiny meeting in the royal tent with . Among them was Captain Noc, and Ulysses Cassius, whose presence was personally asked for the previous night. To the Prince's left was Lord Clayton Blackwell, and his vassals. Together they commanded an army of five thousand soldiers from Raenna and the surrounding country, and they hoped to receive at least four thousand Blackfield men and two thousand knights from Lord Dayvey immediately. Even more in the future as all the soldiers in the Duchy of Forthren join him.The two thousand Brukalil soldiers would not provide the elite fighting skills to combat the Morcars.
"Where is Malken?"
"He's gone missing, my prince," Blackwell said, "It seems we have a stroke of luck."
"He's my second in command by the order of my father and I want him found."
"Yes, my Prince," Clayton sent his guards outside the tent to search for the last of the Malkens.
"Anyway, let's begin. Take a seat gentlemen," all the lords sat down, "As you all know, the Morcars have somehow crossed the depths of Rainwood into the Westland. They have already sacked numerous towns and settlements long the border and there is no telling of how many there are."
"With respect, my prince," Gramman said, "This is old news, why are you telling us again."
"Because there are rumors on the streets of Blackfield being spread by refugees. They say that something else arches with the Morcars."
"What so?"
"They say that it comes down from the sky, hidden in a swarm of butterflies or moths and when the swarm leaves there are nothing but corpses left behind."
The whole tent, even Captain Noc and Cassius laughed in unison, "You think that is funny?"
"These are people who've seen their homes burnt and fellow men killed. I'm surprised that we've heard nothing about a Dragon ," Blackwell said.
"Clayton is right, my Prince," Ulysses said, "We shouldn't jump to conclusions based off the words of refugees. Though I must say that tale of killer butterflies is quite amusing."
"I understand they may be only rumors, but we all believed the Depths of Westwood would protect us. I believe you told me yourself, Lord Blackwell; 'the sun doesn't shine and the rain doesn't fall. It is a desert of trunks beneath the trees in the Depths of Rainwood.'"
"The difference, my Prince, is that we know the Morcars are alive and well. We've heard no such word of these killers who hide amongst moths."
"Maybe not. But you have a Sorcerer as your future King," Tauron pointed out.
"But wouldn't these rumors be more suited to those sorcerers who sit in the Tower of Sanctuary?"
"If there is truth to these rumors, then they threaten the lives of citizens of the kingdom, and there fore it is our business as well as theirs."
"Well, at this point rumors are our most reliable source. Niether Lord Yorod nor the King have received any word from Lord Ryden and I'm heavily considering moving against the Morcars shortly."
"But my Prince, Lord Ryden's letter clearly stated that he does not want help without his consent."
"Fuck his consent, I will not lose half the kingdom to those savages."
"Please tell me we can at least enjoy the festival," Crayton pleaded.
"Right now, I will meet with Lord Yorod to discuss him handing over a load of troops for my assault on the Westland. And, Ulysses I will be asking for your support as well."
"Ah, yes, you mean to take some of the knights."
"All that are within this city."
"I ask only to go with you as the commander of the Champion brigades."
"It shall be done, I will need as many soldiers as possible," Tauron called over a messenger to send a pigeon to his father that he will be shortly be moving against the Westland."
"If the Morcars are assaulting the Westland in massive numbers, we will have to assemble the regular army. I doubt that all the men of all the houses in the west could stop the hordes, but If the Sparticans can, we can."
"The Sparticans only have a few narrow passes to worry about," Ulyseses pointed out, "We have all the expansion of the Westland and whatever else they've broken through."
"Perhaps we should send word to the Sparticans for aid," stated one of the lords. The whole meeting scoffed and sneered at that idea.
"I'll be a rat's ass before I ask them for help."
"We must handle this quickly and efficiently. If we were to ask them for help we would have to wait for them to march all the way around the realm and somehow convince the Northern Provinces to let them pass, or have them march through the mountains have them end up at Raingaurd. It would be a perfect foothold for them to attack us once the Morcars are dealt with," Ulysses explained.
"Ulysses is right; this fight is our own and we must handle on our own. The Morcars have been attacking Spartica for centuries; if we go begging for help the first time we encounter them it will make us look weak."
"Aye, we must show those bastards we're better than them."
"Then we have limited time. Dispatch a pigeon to Anton as well; I want Lord Oaran to have his soldiers on standby. We'll need them as well," the Prince said.
"You are putting together quite a host, my Prince," Ulysses stated, "You wont need less than the Champions of Rannos."
Batera Noc glared at the veteran warrior, "I need more than statements of grandeur, Ulysses," said the Prince. At that time the mud-covered, barely-dressed, and smelling of sheep Lord Jon Malken came stumbling into the tent, taking a seat by squeezing between Ulysses and Lord Crayton. Freedmir followed and stood behind his chair.
"Please, don't mind me," he said; his red eyes veering in and out of focus.
"When I call this meeting I expect all my commanders to be there."
"Here I am."
"On time!"
"Oh, you'll have to forgive me. Freedmir didn't give me a time he just told me you wanted to see me so here I am," he gave the Prince a big, dumb grin.
"You stink Malken," Ulysses sneered.
"I think the sheep will take offense to that."
"Well sorry if he offended your mistresses," Nicholi Grammen said and everyone laughed.
"You know a sow whispered to me from the opposite pen and said 'when is my Lord Nicholi coming home? I have a son begging to meet his father.'"
"I don't need to take this from Westlander..."
"That's enough!" the prince boomed. A flash of red in his eyes ensured the mens' silence, "Now that Lord Jon Malken is here, we may continue."
"Please do, my Prince."
"Lord Ulysses, do you believe lord Yorod will hand over the armies of Forthren?"
"I don't know my prince. He's reluctant to hand over more than ten thousand men."
"If he does not I will order him to."
"That will not hold over well with the people of Forthren."
"I don't care what the people of Forthren think," exclaimed Tauron, "I'm their future king and Yorod will do what I command of him!"
"And if he does not?" Ulysses asked, curious as to the ways his future king intends to enforce his will.
"I'll strip him of his title."
"Only the King has the power to strip away the title of the Lord of Blackfield, and Austin and Yorod have been friends for as long as I can remember.
Prince Tauron's face was reddening, and he knew everyone in the tent could see. He could not let his eyes flare again, he needed to appear as their Prince to be obeyed and not a sorcerer to be feared. He took in breath and let it out slowly, "I will ask the good Lord Yorod to provide us with troops. If he refuses..."
Everyone waited for his answer, "I'll think of something," he said quietly.
"Why not promise him something?" Jon Malken spoke.
"What could I promise him? He has more lands, more men, and more prestige than most men in the kingdom. Adding to that he controls the School of Chivalry."
"There must be something he wants," Jon insisted, "Ulysses, is there anything that Lord Yorod could possibly want?"
"Sir Ulysses to you," Cassius growled.
"'Sir' Ulysses, same question."
"I can't think of anything."
"What about his son's or daughters? What does he want for them?"
The Prince glared at Jon, "You're stepping out of your boundaries."
"Lord Malken may have a point, my Prince," Clayton said as ran his fingers through his thin beard, "You can request lands and titles for Lord Yorod's sons. You will soon have the power to grant them yourself."
"Why must I promise titles for them to do their sworn duty."
"It would be wise to make close friends with the Duke of Forthren. Even for a king, disgruntled houses can be a nuisance. "
"How about I talk to Lord Yorod before we go talking of granting lands and titles."
"He will not hand over troops without payment."
"I'll discuss that with him."
The meeting continued on for another hour before Tauron gave the lords their leave. All who were present left except Jon Malken and Baterra Noc. Freedmir remained in the corner. Prince Tauron did not recall asking them to stay.
"What do you want, Malken?"
"I simply wish to discuss the incident in my tent yesterday. You threw me off my bed and beat while i was lying on the floor."
"I lost control of myself, I...," he could hardly bare to say it, "beg your forgiveness, Lord Jon."
"Oh, yes you are my prince," he stood up from his chair and approached Tauron. Noc began to feel uncomfortable, "You had best learn the courtesy of a King. If your father were to receive word of that by a person other than me it would be a great embarrassment to the royal family."
"Are you threatening me, Malken?," both Tauron and Noc closed in on Jon.
"No, my Prince, I am pointing out the facts. What Lords will want to serve a king that beats his generals like a Schoolhouse bully?"
Prince Tauron's fists were shaking, but heeding Malken's advice, he turned and left the tent.
"He's learning," Jon spoke to Freedmir and Noc.
"You shouldn't insult your future king like that," Noc said.
"Well, someone has to keep sense around here. Before long he'll be cracking the skulls of all his commanders."