The Two hundred and twenty-fifth Tournament of Steel was over. All a cheered to see Julius Cassius stand on the box and be given the prize, a gold wrist-chain for the knight to wear both on formal occasions and in battle. The bracelet was made by the smiths of the Yanton forge for him to carry each and everyday of his life until he dies. When that happens he will be buried with it. The tradition will continue until the tournaments have stopped or until the world has run out of gold. It is an honor that only two-hundred and twenty-five fighters have ever known.
Julius' face was not pretty when he was given the band. The spear left a huge gash that ran from the end of his left jaw to the tip of his chin. The healers tried their best to stitch and clean it, but it still stood out on his face like a big, red boil.
He was given the bracelet by Lord Yorod himself in front of everyone who watched the tournament. Even Arhan Saud, though at a distance, was giving him praise along with several of his sellswords. Nakbar Nazeen was no where in sight. He shook hands with Lord Davey after he received it, and was commended by Prince Tauron. Though when Tauron came forward to offer his congratulations, the cheers were only half as loud as they were for Lord Yorod. Lord Desmond was there as well. He was given assurance that his son would live, and so the Lord of Toad Keep was also there to shake Julius Cassius hand. The people's cheers were more silent for Desmond than they were for Tauron.
Last to commend him was his own father and the Master of the School of Chivalry. When he approached Lord Ulysses Cassius he saw sparks of pride in his father's eyes that lit up the whole of Blackfield. Tears of pride were even visible on the rough skin beneath his fierce eyes. He glanced around at all the faces smiling at him. He saw his friends: Stanley, Kenneth, and Anthony.
The last face he looked at was Helg Velrock. Standing among the other knights, his face even broke a smile. Not the sardonic grins that Julius would usually find of his partner's face, but, like his father real happiness and pride.
For the Prince, it was not so festivious. As the excitement of the Tournament of Steel was beginning to pass, the threat of the Morcars once again began to creep back into Tauron's reality. A crawling blackness at the edge of his mind that was cleared out by a brief bright light, brought by the tournament and seeing his Uncle's family. But like a waterway after a storm, the blackness flowed back and wit it brought the sounds of drums and the clashing of swords and axes.
King Austin raised his son to have a wise mind. Tauron believed he was seeing the face of war. Growing up under the stares and scowls of his father's lords and the people of Liticea taught the Prince objectivity. He did not see glory on the horizon. The lords and people would not award Tauron any glory. He knew it from the moment he steppe out into that arena seven years ago. The historians may write and the bards may sing, but they will write and sing of the Sorcerer Prince. That is all that they who listen or read will see, and nothing more.
He was able to see war for what it was, not what the knights and ladies want it to be, pretend it to be.
"What did I tell you Locke?" Bart said to the annoyed young knight, "Julius Cassius is the Champion! And your man Baldrick is not!"
"Bart," Locke slammed his mug on the table. They go together for drinks at the local tavern. Ordinarily, Locke would be hooting and grabbing at the wenches taking their mugs and washing the floor. But, having Baldrick Gaule be defeated, by some Userian camel-fucker has left him sour. That man was to be his future Archbaron, ruler of the Swamplands, where Gaule and Horcaster have worked together for more than a hundred years. Now with Baldrick wounded, possibly dying there would be no heir to Toad Keep, save for Lord Desmond's daughters and the sky would turn purple and the oceans red before Locke took orders from a woman. What he feared more is the man she would marry. Every house in the Swamplands had some bad blood with the Horcasters.
"If you value your teeth I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut!" he growled at Bart.
The other young knight wisely kept silent. There were times to play and taunt Locke, the imminent death of his future lord was not one of them.
"He's not dead, you know," Gor assured him. All five of them and Jon Maverick were sitting around a table. They took pity on the naive warrior and decided to take him in.
"What do you know about it?"
"I know that if Baldrick was dead, we'd hear about it."
"His death would be too important," Jon added, "He's actually well-liked in the Swamps. More so than his father."
"A decent man in House Gaule?" Bart chided, "That will be a first."
"Lord Desmond has kept the Swamplands going for nearly half a century," Locke said, "Him and Lord Oaran bore the brunt of raids during the rebellion."
Jon looked confused, "Lord Peter Gaule was the Lord at that point."
"At that point Lord Peter was old, grey, and going mad. It was Desmond who led our people against Arthur and his bandits. He never cared about the opinions of underlings."
"Like you?" Bart asked.
"Aye. We're all underlings compared to that man! He's the one who should be leading the charge against the Morcars! Not the Sorcerer Prince!"
"Mind your tongue!" Eliza warned, "You could lose it for speaking such words."
Locke scoffed, "Always the brown nose, aren't you Eliza? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you probably opened your legs for half the lords in Blackfield to get into the school."
Eliza shot to her feet. The table painfully shifted against Locke's body as she drew her sword.
"I will not have my honor belittled by a lapdog such as yourself!" she shouted. The whole tavern had their eyes on them, "You speak of me as a brown nose, yet you sit there with Desmond Gaule's cock up in you, riding around as you endlessly sing his praise. The only reason you favor him so is because House Horcaster is the bitch of Gaule and nothing more! Your father and his father before were all rabid dogs on leashes and you are no different, Locke Horcaster. So look in the mirror before you start passing judgement on who's being ridden!"
Locke never went for his sword. No women was worth that trouble. For years, it was a mystery why the School allowed girls in at all. Most dropped out and went home after a few months, not because of the rigors of their training, but because of the abuse levied at them by their male classmates. But there were some like Eliza who were different. She put with and eventually fought off the abusers and made it all the way. Possibly it was because she had the bummers at the table protecting her from all the pinching fingers. Locke heard of a few times where the lady-knights got their maidenhood stolen away in the lower washrooms by the more undesirable cadets at the school. Served them right for trying to play at war as Locke saw it.
"Eliza put the sword away," Jergan pleaded. gripping her wrist and slowly moving her sword had away from Locke.
"It's alright," she shoved him away and sheathed her sword. She went back to her drink and slowly the rest of the tavern did.
"I heard that Baldrick will live," Jergan spoke, trying to keep Locke calm.
"Yeah, the Userian spear went into his neck but he'll live"
"Doesn't matter if he lives. That sand rat cheated! The next one I see is gonna wish he had never left his mudhut!"
"I had no idea you were so devoted," Bart said.
"I'm devoted to those who deserve it, and fat Lord Dayvey and the Sorcerer Prince are not among them."
"Well, we'll be joining the Prince's company," Gor pointed out, "So you might as well get used to it."
"I'm just looking forward to the fight. Been too long since I killed something. My sword arm is getting flabby."
"This will be the first time Prince Tauron has commanded anything!" Jon Maveric said excitedly, "I think I might go and become a part of history."
"Still looking for your knighthood?" Bart asked.
"Definitely. If I join the Prince I may even get it from him himself!"
Locke almost choked on his ale as he burst out laughing. The rest of the group ignored him.
"Would your father allow it?"
"He knew of the situation in Raingaurd and said that if there is anything I should do I should go. For the good of the Maveric Family and Liticea."
"You'd make a good footstool," Locke said.
"Piss off, will you?" Jon said.
After Julius was presented with his reward, Prince Tauron called a meeting of his commanders before the final feast. They met in Lord Dayvey's council chambers where the Duke of Forthren would meet with advisers, Barons and other important individuals. In there was a large rectangular table on which Prince Tauron sat at the end, where the Lord of Blackfield would normally sit. Once Malken, Noc, Bailor and all the others were present he began.
"The news from the Westland continues to worsen everyday," Noc spoke, "My men have heard from refugees that the Morcars are moving further east," the Captain of the Brukalil indicated on a map.
"They are moving both Northeast and Southeast, and many fear that the northern column is heading for Rainguard. If the castle is taken all of the northern Westland will belong to the Morcars."
"And, gentlemen, what will stop them from continuing East into the rest of Liticea," the Prince asked.
"If the situation is as bad as it is wouldn't the Duke send word for aid?" Martin Bailor asked. All of the older generals chuckled.
"Horith Ryden is not one to ask for aid."
"Lord Malken is right," spoke Baron Nicholi, "Horith would rather see Rainguard burn than see it rescued by soldiers from the Royal Lands or Forthren."
"At this point it's unsure if Forthren will even join us," Tauron uttered.
"Lord Dayvey will come around," Nicholi assured, "His holdings do border the Westland and if the Morcars take it he will be next. His priority and ours should be to contain the Morcars."
"Contain?" said Martin, "We should be taking the fight to them, not waiting for them to come out."
"The Morcars are used to fighting in wooded areas. The forests of the Westland reach all the way to their homeland. They just finally carved a path through it. A long path. A path that they will have to keep well supplied if they seek to defeat Horith Ryden."
"They've already done a fine job at that."
"The western regions are hardly defended. Horith keeps most soldiers in the east to keep Craxton under control."
"And they're led by his son, the Warpig," Crayton Blackwell said.
"Lord Killian is more of a brawler than a general," Malken uttered.
"He scares the hell out of the Craxton's," the generals laughed.
"And," Lord Nicholi leaned forward to drive his point, "If some miracle happens and the Morcars defeat Horith and his son they will be badly bloodied. The road that leads out of the Westland goes right to the Castle of Anton. If we deny them that fort, they will not have any base to invade the rest of Liticea. And we could do it without an exorbitant amount of men."
"If we do that, all the Westland falls. Lord Ryden has only barely been able to keep them loyal to the crown since the Rorchistyr Rebellion," Tauron said, "If we lose the Westland to the Morcars, if only temporarily, we will eventually lose it to the Craxtons. I will not hide in Anton while the Morcars slaughter the people of the Westland. My people, and your countrymen."
"My Prince," spoke Lord Blackwell, "Are you seriously suggesting we march?"
"No. I'm ordering it. I will march to the Westland and drive out the Morcars just as my father drove out the Corasians, just as my grandfather chased away the Sparticans, and just as my ancestor, Rannos Litikus drove the filth from this beautiful land and made it our own. I will march to the Westland, with or without Lord Yorod, and with or without word from Horith Ryden."
Not a drop of drink was touched by Prince Tauron at the feast. In a gesture only seen once a year, Lord Yorod Dayvey gave a seat to the Champion of the Tournament of Steel. Julius Cassius was red in the face and was smiling like a child. Even the nasty gash on his face could not dull the light coming off of him.
No Userians, not even Arhan Saud were present at the feast, and all for the better. Desmond Gaule put out an order to his men not to allow a single 'brown-skinned rat' near the Castle. If they tried to enter they were to have a spear shoved through their gut. He even pleaded with Lord Yorod to take the head of Nakbar Nazeen as payment for maiming his son. Lord Yorod was quick to remind him that his son was aware of the risks of the tournament and that his loss was unfortunate, but fair. And so Lord Desmond put the order out to his men. One dead Userian was better than one living.
Tauron had not taken a drop of wine. Though everyone around him including Helg Velrock was happily indulging themselves, he could not shake the anxiety of asking, if not begging Lord Yorod to rally Forthren. Horith Riden and Yorod Dayvey had little reason to like each other and even less to forge an alliance. But perhaps the imminent threat of Morcar invasion would be enough to sway them both. That is if Horith Ryden is still alive by the time the Prince arrives.
But until he could have an audience with Yorod, Tauron had to watch everyone around him get drunk on heavy Ganjin Wine, a valuable import from far east.
"You look depressing, my Prince," Helg said as he staggered up to the table. The Prince was in the third chair from the center of Yorod's massive front table. He was the only one sitting down.
"You should drink! You'll feel better!" Velrock went on, "Don't you know that 'A man without a taste for drink is a man with no friends.'"
"I'm not interested in friends, Helg. I'm thinking about how I'm going to ask Lord Dayvey for his troops," Tauron explained, "Do you think he'll say yes?"
Helg bellowed with laughter, "Tauron, when Lord Dayvey is drunk he will say yes to anything. Arhan Saud once tricked him into selling a huge flock of sheep. For a huge discount!"
"I just hope he will allow me to take his army."
"You'll do fine, my Prince. Lord Yorod respects you, even if you are a sorcerer."
The Prince scowled, "That's very reassuring, Helg."
"I do what I can," Helg grabbed another bottle of wine and returned to the party.
Yorod was walking around with his sons, shaking hands with all the Lords and introducing them to Sir Julius. Yorod's face was red with the influence and he was being supported by his second son. His first son was drinking away as fast as he could as his wife looked on in disgust.
It was quite a revolting sight, but the smell of wine was very heavy in the air and the Prince enjoyed a drink once in a while. But he knew he could fall under its power and it could consume him. By all means, he should be a drunk. The whole kingdom looks at him and suspicion and the Dukes and Barons resistant to the idea of being ruled by one of those sorcerers, even if they do not express it. Tauron can see it in their eyes.
"My Prince," said a woman's voice to his right. He looked over and it was Lord Dayvey's second daughter Emera.
"Lady Emera," the Prince composed himself as he was trained to when he was talking to a lady.
"I noticed you were sitting alone so I thought you might like some company."
"Yes, please," Emera took the seat next to him. Her red hair was weaved into bonds and her cheeks were rosy and full. Tauron admitted to himself that she looked quite beautiful.
"Did you watch the tournament, my Prince?"
"Yes, I did. I sat with your father."
She laughed, "oh, of course I forgot," her laugh proved to be somewhat contagious as the Prince even cracked a smile and he did not know why.
"Please call me Tauron. Or Prince Tauron if you must."
"You don't care for your title Prince Tauron?"
"There are times when I could live without it, Lady Emera. Don't you care for your title."
"Well, it does have it's good side," she was heavily red in the face and the fingers on her hands were shifting uncontrollably. Tauron guessed this was her first time talking to a member of the royal family. He liked to think of himself as approachable, but he came to enjoy the awe that people have of him when he enters a room. He would enjoy it more if it was not mostly out of fear. This was his first time talking to a girl in a while. Whilst many Lord's brought their daughters to court, they seldom ever spoke a word to Tauron. He was a handsome man, but to them, as with many others he was the Sorcerer Prince.
"You speak as if it has some downsides," Tauron pointed out, "What could possibly be bad about being a noblewoman. Your sister seems to enjoy it greatly."
Emera smile, "Lisa has always been father's crowned jewel. She has all the suitors, all the dresses, and gets all the attention from father."
Tauron was silent. He was expecting a tough discussion with Lord Dayvey but now he was completely lost.
"I suppose you would not know that would you, my Prince? A man such as yourself must have a thousand women circling outside your door."
"You would think that, but it is not that way," Tauron could not stop himself, the words just began to flow from his mouth like a flooded river over a bank.
"Their fathers present them to mine, but they all look away from me. When I walk down the hall, they flee down an adjacent one. When I come to dinner they all stare silently at their food, and only respond to my conversations with brief sentences. Lady Emera, this is probably the longest I've talked to a girl in years. At least the longest I've had a meaningful conversation."
"Out discussion on history one the first night of the festival was very meaningful I believe."
"Well, I suppose so. It's the most intelligent conversation I've had with a woman or anybody in general for a while. I still say that it was Rannos Litikus who had the biggest effect on history."
Emera smiled again, "And I still say that it was Diana the Conqueress."
"Without Rannos, none of us would even exist. Liticea, the Northern Provinces, everything we know would not exist. And he was Rathas reborn! Diana was no daughter of Rathas."
"Many believed she was."
"Yeah, and they were wrong. Rannos was Rathas reborn and that's why there is a temple to him in every city in the Kingdom."
"Not in the Westland."
"Yes, well look at them now!" he wished she had not brought up the Westland. A break had been given to him through his talk with her, which is the first moment of enjoyment he has all night.
"Are you alright, prince Tauron?"
"Yeah, it' just I'm going to ask your father to have the Forthren armies to join me as I drive out the Morcars from the Westland."
"And that is why you're so nervous."
"What are you talking about? I'm not nervous!"
"You are, my Prince. You are."
"I... you should learn how to..." he tried to talk back, but her emerald eyes saw right through him, "Yes, I am nervous. Dead nervous actually. In fact I'm terrified of this whole Morcar thing. And so should everyone else. It seems that I am the only one who cares for the welfare of this country. The only one who sees that if the Westland falls, all of Liticea and the rest of the Eastern kingdoms will follow."
He almost jumped when Emera put her hand on his shoulder, "Trust me, Tauron. Everyone here is as worried as your are. Especially my father. He just refuses to show it to anybody."
"How can you tell?"
"Woman's intuition," she replied, "But my father will not give your his armies freely. he will ask something of you, so you must play your cards carefully."
"Why are you helping me so?"
"Because I know what it is like to be alone," she gave the Prince a little kiss on the cheek, and his face lit up as red as her hair, "That's for good luck."
"Thank you, Lady Emera."
She took her leave as her father began stumbling over to the Prince. It appeared that the Lord of Blackfield was finally ready to talk.
Lord Dayvey and his sons Yorod and Parendir esorted the Prince Tauron to their council chambers. At this point, the younger Yorod was even wider than his father, while Parendir had the stature and the look of a tried and tested warrior. The chambers were big enough to hold a hundred men, but only these four took seats. All three of the Dayvey's sat across from Tauron, which did nothing to boost his confidence, but there was still a spark left from where Emera's lips met his cheek. Her warning also kept him on edge.
"Lord Yorod," Tauron said, kickstarting the talks.
"Prince Tauron," Yorod replied, "You brought me here to ask for my armies."
"That's the bottom line. Yes," Tauron said bluntly.
"Huh. At least you are direct. I cannot stand people who will not just get to the point. One time I was speaking to Baron Foulk and he was going on and on about..." Yorod paused, "Ahh, that's a story for another time. And I suppose I know the answer for what you intend to do with my armies."
"March west and drive the Morcars out of our country."
"Very to the point you are. Isn't he, Parendir?"
"Yes father," the young man said. He appeared to be about the same age as Prince Tauron.
"And why would I do that? Frankly the idea of Horith Ryden getting his decrepit ass handed to him is quite funny to me. I see no reason why i should be the one to stop it. After all, he request us to let him handle it on his own. Did he not?"
"He did," the Prince admitted, "But you know him. He is blinded by his own ego. He'll never ask aid from anyone, especially the crown."
"Ironic considering it's the crown that keeps him on the seat of Rainguard," Parendir said.
"Yah! Why should we help him? He ain't nothin' but a shit-eating bloodhound!" Yorod shouted.
"Excellent way to put it, my son."
"But Lord Yorod, if the Westland falls to the Morcars, who will be next?" Tauron asked rhetorically, "It will be Forthren. And if they take Forthren the Kingdom is doomed."
"Perhaps this is so," Yorod agreed, "But we just might wait to deal with this problem when it matters to us."
"Matters to you?" Tauron asked, stunned, "Lord Yorod, Blackfield is being swamped with refugees as it is!"
"Good. We've been needing some extra hands to build more forges. We'll soon be able to provide swords for everyman in the army. And then those Morcars will be in for a hell of a surprise! Right, boys?"
"Yes, father," Yorod IV and Parendir both said.
Tauron wanted to scream. Never before had he seen such a lack of concern for nearly a third of the kingdom. But then he remembered what Emera said, her father would try to benefit from this situation. Tauron must remain compose of he does not want to be jerked around like a ragdoll.
"And if the Morcars do attack, Lord Balter Oaran will hold them at Anton. Nice strong fortress that place is. No way those Morcars will get a foot up the wall."
"Lord Yorod, we need to stop the Morcars before they take the Westland."
"Why? In my opinion we can do without the Westlanders. Bunch of godless degenerates if you ask me, especially if we need a man like Horith Ryden to keep them under control."
"What does it say about our kingdom if don't defend our borders from invasion?" Tauron asked, "What does it say about us if we stand by and let Barbarians slaughter our people?" he spoke again before Lord Dayvey could answer.
"Even more so, what will history say of Lord Yorod Dayvey, the Duke of Forthren who refused to help his neighbor to the west. I don't know about you, but I'm sure history will look on in disgust."
Lord Dayvey was silent, but his sons looked startled at the Prince's attitude.
"I've heard from some birds that you are a man who values his reputation. Well, I ask you, what will people think of you if you allow the Westland to burn? Even more so," Prince Tauron smiled, "what will they think if you were the one to save it?"
Lord Dayvey raised an eyebrow.
"And even better. How will it make Horith Ryden feel if the Forthren armies came to save him after his armies had been crushed?
Lord Dayvey nodded, and slowly a smile began to spread across his fat face.
"You have a way with words, I must admit. Nothing would make me happier than humiliating Horith the Bloody by saving his bloody ass. Though, if I am to send my armies with you, I will ask for some things in exchange."
"I'm listening."
"Take my son Parendir as your apprentice. I will expect a knighthood out of him. Second, I want you to ask you father to give me a position in his court. He has surrounded himself with people from the Royal Lands all the rest of us feel awfully left out. "
"I will see to both of those things."
"And thirdly, this is my deal breaker. You do not agree to this and I do not give you my armies unless I am told to do so by the King himself. Even then I will make it hell for him by complaining to the Senate," Dayvey warned.
"I'm sure it will be no problem."
Lord Yorod Dayvey smiled, "You will marry my daughter Lisa, and by doing so you will make her princess and future Queen of Liticea."
Tauron froze. He had just had his most personal conversation with a woman ever and now he suddenly has the choice to marry one. Lord Yorod's term made his heart skip a beat, and made him shift in his chair.
"I'm sure that you can live with those terms. The wedding shall be held on your triumphant return."
Tauron said nothing. A thought suddenly popped into his mind. He remembered Lord Dayvey talking of his daughters at the last feast, and his concern that he wanted to set up a marriage. With the Prince begging him for his armies, the Duke of Forthren had his chance.
"I'll give you until the morning to consider my terms. Agree to them, and the swords of Forthren are yours," Lord Yorod and his sons got up and left the Prince in his seat.