An army of nearly seventeen thousand strong left Castle Blackfield the second day after the end of the Festival of Steel. Most of the troops arrived the previous day when Nakbar Nazeen agreed to join Tauron's ranks. Along with Yorod's armies came his two oldest sons, the Cassius', and any of the Lords that happened to be at Blackfield at the time of the Festival. The army left Blackfield with Prince Tauron at the helm. Riding alongside him was Jon Malken and the Dayvey brothers. Close behind was Helg Velrock also came at the Prince's personal request.
"Quite a group you have somehow rounded together," Helg spoke as he rode up to the Prince.
"Did what I could, Helg," the Tauron said proudly, the proudest Helg had ever heard him. Never before has the Prince rode with such confidence.
' "Do you think it'll be enough?"
"No. I don't think so. Quite frankly, just between you and me it will take all of Liticea to drive out the Morcars."
"But no you just have this rabble."
Tauron smiled, "It's a start."
Riding with Lord Dayvey's army were Eva, Terrall and Merric. Merric felt that they had blended in quite well. Well enough that they would be able to stay close to the Prince, their main goal. Terrall was not accustomed to marching. He was given an aging mare to ride into Balckfield which Merric made him sell. Eva had some experience, but Merric was a hard and true marcher. He had marched with Austin during the Corasian War and now he was marching off with the Prince.
"Terrall."
"What?"
"When you get to my age you begin to notice a few things."
"Like what?"
"The world never seems to be short of wars," Merric said, sorrow played in his words, "People always seem to need to kill each other."
"Of course. We're an army. An army needs to fight. If we don't fight we get soft and we get invaded. Such as the Morcars," Kade pointed out.
"Well, why do the Morcars need to invade Terrall?" Merric asked.
"Because men need to conquer everything," Eva said.
Merric and Terrall both gave her disapproving looks, "We do?" Merric asked.
"I feel that the world would be a bit quieter if women ran everything."
"Than maybe women should stop pushing men into this world," Terrall stated.
"And don't forget our good lady Diana the Conqueress, the greatest woman in history," Merric added.
"Yeah, Eva," Terrall did not miss a beat to rub in Eva's face as he was marching, "What about her? She conquered the world. Not exactly a 'quiet' woman."
Eva said nothing. She only shook her head and kept marching. They took a brief glance back and saw that they had made quite a bit of progress from Blackfield. Soot City was now a blurred, smoking jumble of buildings in the distance, and Castle Blackfield itself was the only distinguishing feature that they could still make out. Even when the buildings went out of sight, they would still be able to see the smoke rising for hundreds of miles.
"Maybe Diana was a hermaphrodite?" Terrall whispered and he got a good laugh from Merric and an elbow in the stomach from Eva.
Among the recent graduates from the School of Chivalry, Locke was singing an old song from House Horcaster about the courage and the ferocity of his ancestors. Most of the rest rode in silence, unsure of what the road ahead would lead to. Jergan especially felt in his gut that this road was leading to a massacre. He had always been inclined to believe that the worst lay ahead. Ever since he was a child. Ever since Hod died. Since Hod died in that river.
Locke's voice was booming and pompous, especially when he sang of his grandfather's triumphant destruction of the Spartican flank. It was one of the many battles that was fought around Brother's Crossing that took place during the Spartican and Corasian Wars. The biggest ever was the Battle of Blue Bank Ford, when a young Yorod Dayvey led a daring assault against the Spartican general for King Aiden Heflite. The spear of the attack was young Desmond Guale, and the tip of the spear was Loyde Horcaster. The battle was not going well for the Litici army, until Loyde's army smashed into their ranks and forced them to flee. Since then, the Horcasters have been known as great warriors throughout Liticea, but they remained Desmond's thugs in the Swamplands.
Her father's expectations weighed heavily on Eliza's shoulders as she drew closer to her first battle. Her elder brother was born lame and her mother never birthed another son. And so, she was the warrior child of Markus Elenor. She had never wanted to be a warrior when she was younger. But the Elenor's were the guardians of the southern border, and the Kingdom had no shortage of enemies in Useria. There must always be one to lead the battles against Userian raiders. Since her brother could barely walk and her father was approaching the end of his prime, she had to take up the sword and swear to defend her family, her duke, and her country. It was five years since her father sent her to the school. After this battle she would return to Noor and take the place that should have belonged to her brother. He would become Duke, but she would be the Sword of Elenor.
Gor also rode in silence. House Velrock was among the most powerful forces in Liticea, second only to the Heflites. It was no wonder that the two houses were bitter rivals until Amos and Austin reconciled that. And now his father is the Archduke, the family legacy was even more precious and it now was carried by Gor and his brother. Father always told Gor that it would be he who carried on the legacy of the Velrock family. Helg squandered it at every turn. He was a teacher at the school of Chivalry, but he chose to go off with men and make mockery of a bloodline that has flowed through the veins of Velrocks since the days of Rannos Litikus. Helg would inherit the lands and titles, but it would be Gor who would be carrying on the legacy. Amos did not expect Helg to have children.
For Bart, as with many of the others, it was his time to prove his family's honor. The Brunowil family has never been a well-known house. His family had no lands and not much wealth. The only reason Bart ever came to the school is that Ulysses Cassius owed a debt of gratitude to his father and ensured he got in on merit alone. Artor Brunowil died at the Battle of Brother's Crossing, and his wife Lana passed while giving birth to Bart. If not for his friends and the mercy of Ulysses Cassius, Bart would be alone in the world as the last survivor of an unknown and unremarkable house.
After two days on the march, the Army of Tauron Heflite came to the small town of Rushka. It was a tiny collection of Hamlets and farms. The tallest and only notable structure was Carell Keep. It was a unique specimen as it's walls were extremely tall for its size. The keep was almost as tall as the walls of Blackfield, but only a third the size. To this day, no one quite knows how it was built, only that it dates back to the time of the First Empire, when almost anything was possible.
Tauron, Yorod the fourth, Lord Nicholi, Jon Malken and the Cassius' rode at the front of the army. Ahead on the road, through the tiny jumble of buildings was the keep, and waiting for them outside the gates were the people of Rushka and Carell Keep. They all met the Prince in the courtyard that came right before the gates of the keep. At the middle of the group, standing right beneath the path that led to the doors was a man with a long flowing black cloak and hair and beard to match. His eyes were small and dark and the Prince found them piercing as he rode into the courtyard to meet the Lord of Carell Keep.
"My Prince. My Lords," he said in a deep, gruff voice as he and his subjects bowed, "Welcome to Rushka. The hospitality of Carell Keep is yours."
"Baron Rengle Fallaner," said Prince Tauron, "We thank you for your warm welcome, and your willingness to take us in," not like he had much of a choice, the Prince thought to himself. Even being the Prince of Liticea, Rengle Fallaner had a look and carried himself that sent a message that he was not a man to make angry. The Prince did not want to test those waters.
Tauron turned towards a more bright lady standing next to Lord Rengle. She shared the same black clothing, but her blonde hair and fair skin made her a bright light next to her dark husband.
"My lady," the Prince greeted. He forgot to ask his advisers the name of Lord Rengle's wife.
"Jenni of Brittenford, my Prince," she said as she presented herself. The Prince gave her a little nod of thanks.
"You should kneel, Lord Rengle," Lord Yorod rode forth, his weight being supported on a mule, "You are speaking to your future king and future lord," he said in a mocking tone.
Lord Rengle's face darkened and even the Prince became scared. It was more penetrating than the gaze from Lord Desmond's giant eyes or the cold stern look of Ulysses Cassius. Though he was a warrior, Lord Rengle had the look of a man who cold stop a heart with his sheer will.
"That will not be necessary, Lord Yorod," the Prince tried to ease the tension.
"Pardon, my Prince. Just trying to teach this upstart some manners. Hmph," the heir of Blackfield rode over to the stable boys and hopped off his mule and immediately handed it to them.
"Where is the feast, Lord Rengle?" he asked, "You have hungry guests waiting!" he brushed past Rengle and his brother Horace and made for the doors. He came to last step and turned around expecting them to send someone to open it for him.
Rengle ignore him and approached the Prince as he dismounted. The Prince was broader and more built than the Lord of Rushka, but Rengle stood at least six inches taller than him. Many said Rengle was one of the tallest men in the kingdom. On the edge of his beard, Tauron could make out the ends of the scars from the a wound Rengle received during the battles of the Corasian War.
"Lord Fallaner!"
"I'm terribly sorry about that," Prince Tauron whispered as they shook hands. He was struck by how powerful Rengle's grip was.
"It is to be expected. The simple-minded son of a Duke," he replied.
Not expecting the harsh words for his future Lord, Tauron stood in a shadow for a moment before he gave the order for the army to settle down for the night.
"Lord Rengle!" Yorod shouted, his chins jiggling under his jaw.
"Horace, get the fool his feast."
"Yes, brother," said a more comely version of Lord Rengle. Horace Fallaner sent two men to open the doors and to tell the servants to set out a meal for Yorod.
"We have no need for a feast Lord Fallaner," Tauron insisted, "We only require shelter for the night. We suspect rain on the horizon."
"And you shall have it."
Lady Jenni stepped forward, "It would be an honor if you and your Lords would join us for supper," she said, "We have some fine pie that I wish to share with you."
The Prince took Lady Jenni's hand and kissed it, "My Lady, the honor shall be ours."
As the army began to dismount, Lady Jenna went to Horace and told him to find her son.
Jergan was shivering in his stirrups as he got off. It had been nearly three years since he had been home, and two since he had seen his father or mother. His uncle Horace Fallaner had visited on multiple occasions, but he had not the stone-cold look that his father had, which Jergan remembers as making him shrink away whenever it fell on him. His mother though was always warm and nurturing. When he was a child, he was sick for the better part of a year. His father and uncle were off at war, and the only friends he had were his servants and his mother. She would sit at his side telling him stories, reading him letters father sent from the battlefield. Not a day passed where he did not see her from the day they lay him in bed to the day he walked again. Just in time to see his father come home.
Though his mother was always kind and gentle to him, his father always looked down on him from atop those high shoulders. When Jergan was young, he appeared to be a giant, as tall as a mountain and just as intimidating. Jergan did not inherit his father's height. He guessed that he reached just higher than his mother. It was always clear in Rengle's eyes that he expected much of his son. His father often told him that he would be responsible for carrying on the legacy of the Fallaners. They were a small house, but they carried great pride. In every major battle fought by the armies of Forthren, the Fallaners, though they lacked numbers were always placed at critical points and never had they let their post down. Rengle expected that of Jergan and Jergan promised himself and his father that he would do so. The Prince would be asking Rengle for his armies. In his first battle, Jergan would be standing beside his father.
"Jergan," Eliza said, concerned, "Are you alright. You're shaking in your saddle."
"I'm nervous about seeing him," he admitted.
"Who?"
"My father. Baron Fallaner."
Eliza laughed, "Why would you be? He's your father!"
"He is."
"How can you be afraid of him? That's absurd!"
"Well," Jergan tried to find an excuse besides the obvious, "He is the Baron of Rushka."
"My father is the Duke of the Southern Borderlands, but I have no fears about seeing him," she explained, "Why do fear him so?" she pressed, "Is your father cruel?"
"No!" Jergan exclaimed. His father, despite having a heart of stone was never hurtful or cruel to his son except when he got in trouble.
"Than why?"
"I'm..." Jergan could not put his feelings into words. He always knew how he felt about his father. But never when an inquisitive mind asked could he ever put into words why he actually feared his father's very presence.
"Well? Speak!"
"He expects so much of me, and I don't know if I've met his expectations," he tried to explain to Eliza. Though when he stood straight he was a few inches taller, his back slouched down under the pressure and now she stood almost as high as his father from his view.
Instead of laughing again, Eliza gave him a warm smile that reminded him of his mother. While at the School of Chivalry, Eliza was like a big sister to everyone of her friends, especially a small boy named Jergan Fallaner. Sent away from the comforts of home and the warm embrace of family for the hard training to become elite knights. He was just bigger than Bart at the time, but he always fell insignificant when standing beneath giants like Gor Velrock and Locke Horcaster. But whenever he fell down, all his friends, but mostly Eliza were there to pull him back up. At a time he might have had romantic feelings for her, but she was a daughter of Markus Eleanor, the Duke of the South, and he was just a small, quiet knight from a tiny village in Forthren. If anything, her father will probably want to marry her off to Brunos Heflite, Parendir Dayvey or Baldrick Guale. Prince Tauron was a given for any unmarried woman in the country, but Lisa Dayvey recently took him off the list.
"You will make your father proud," she said, patting him on the arm and shaking his shoulder plates, "You're the first Fallaner to make it to the School and you graduated. I'm sure he has every reason to be proud of you."
"He told me that men do not deserve respect until they have felt the heat of battle."
"You will have your chance. You will soak your sword in Morcar blood and then he will be truly proud of you," she said, "My father expects the same of me. Since my brother cannot fight, I have to be the sword of my house. I never really liked fighting when I was a girl."
"You didn't?"
"No," she replied as they handed their mounts off to the stable boys.
"I wanted to make dresses with my sisters. Mother always made the best and I wanted to make the most beautiful dress in Liticea."
"Wow. I never would have thought."
"You wouldn't," she agreed.
"You know, I didn't just want to be a knight when I was a boy," Jergan said. Eliza raised one brown eyebrow, "I wanted to be a story teller. When I was sick, mother would read me stories or get Jackle the Red to come and give me puppet shows."
"Jackle the Red?"
"He was a storyteller in a tavern in Rushka some years ago," Jergan explained, "Gods, I wonder if he's still here."
"We can check tonight. Do you remember the tavern?"
"Course I do! I used to go there everyday to see Jackle! But I think we will be too busy. And my father would not approve."
Eliza scoffed, "Jergan, we're marching to war if you have forgotten. This might be the last time to see Rushka."
Rushka then seemed all the more precious. It was not the type of place where the nobleman stayed in their castle whilst their people slaved away in the fields. Rengle and his family were beloved by all who lived in and around Carell Keep. Though he had the reputation of a hard man, his rule was just and fair. The locals had respect for him, and love for him and his family. Lady Jenna and young Jergan would often visit the Iron Wall Inn, to listen to storytellers and singers. Jergan had many friends amongst the commoners, but none were as close as his friend Hod. But after father learned of Hod and what he was, Jergan was never allowed to leave without his mother, his uncle or a group of guards ever again.
Rengle walked the Prince and his lords through the gates of Carell Keep. The inside was quite dark, very few torches lit the hall which made it seem more like a crypt than a castle. In the shadows of the castle Rengle moved with the grace and silence of a ghost. His eyes were no longer visible under his brow except for a glimmer of torchlight in his eyes, and it shined like a wolf in the moonlight.
"My servants will escort you to your rooms," he said, his voice' echo came from all direction, "Barlow!"
"Yes, my Lord?" approached a red faced man in a simple tunic from down the hall.
"Have the boys show our guests to their room," he commanded, "Prince Tauron. May I have a word with you?"
"Learn respect, you dimwit!" Yorod scolded him, "You do not tell the Prince to do anything! Now show me to the feast."
"And show Lord Yorod to his supper," Rengle added. The sun was setting outside and soon the Lords and soldiers would be hungry.
Tauron quickly spoke to end Yorod's mockery, "I'll speak with you of whatever matters you would discuss."
"Good. This way," Lord Rengle led him around a turn that led him through a hall that was adjacent to the main one. Julius and Ulysses Cassius joined him. Lord Rengle did not seem to notice.
They approached a heavy door. Lord Rengle opened it without any effort from the Prince's view. Inside was a small round table. It was Rengle's council chambers and, as expected from such a small hold it seated at most a dozen. Rengle took the utmost seat, while the others sat across from him. It was as dimly lit as the rest of the castle and Lord Rengle's face was almost completely black.
"You are are your way to the Westland," he stated.
"We are," Tauron said.
"We are the reinforcements Lord Ryden called for," Ulysses added.
"And you wish to take my forces as well."
"Lord Rengle, Lord Dayvey has pledged all his forces to the Prince. Yours included."
"I'm aware, Sir Ulysses, and it would be my honor to serve under you."
"Excellent," the Prince said, "So why are we here?"
"I have a few favors to ask of you. As you know, my son is marching in your army."
"He is?"
"He's one of the recent graduates from the School of Chivalry," Ulysses said, "Young Jergan Fallaner. Fine young man, though not the most lively boy. I suppose he takes after his father," he tried to joke. There was no response, only the feeling that under the shadow of his brow Rengle was staring into him.
"Apologies, Baron Rengle," Ulysses backpedaled and looked away. Rengle made Ulysses Cassius stare at the floor, Tauron thought to himself.
"If I may, I would have him transferred to my forces rather than the Blackfield garrison."
"Why? He's in a good position," Tauron said.
"I don't want him serving one second longer under Yorod the Fourth," Rengle spoke low as he mentioned that name.
"Oh, yes. We deeply apologize for Lord Yorod's behavior," Ulysses exclaimed.
"Don't be. I've gotten used to it."
"He's like that all the time around you?"
"Yes, he seems to make a game out of how much he can torment me."
"You must not think much of him."
"I don't," Rengle growled, "And when I do I conclude that his infant son is more suitable to be the Duke of Forthtren than he is. He's not of enough wit to be the court jester."
"Mind yourself, Rengle," Ulysses warned, "He's our future Duke."
"My thoughts are yours and you know it. I was one of those praying that he would drown himself in wine so Parendir would become heir."
"Don't ever let him hear you say that," cut in Julius.
"Or what? He'll take my head? He'll be too busy drinking to set foot outside his kitchen. He is the Clown King reborn, and I say say that proudly."
"Let's not talk about that anymore shall we?" Tauron ordered, trying to find Rengle's eyes.
"Very well. The second thing I ask is that you grant me a seat on your war council."
"You'll already have a seat. Every Lord in my army has a seat."
Rengle shook his head, "I want to be one of your senior advisers. WIth all due respect to your men, most of them are shiners. Martin Bailor, Clayton Blackwell, Jon Malken," he scoffed at the last one, "You need veterans at your side, not boys seeking glory."
"Your military skills are renowned throughout Liticea. Therefore I will grant you your wish. In exchange, I must ask you not to speak so negatively of my men again."
"After the battle to come, there will not be a single unbloodied man in your army."
"Good. And I'll try my best to control Lord Yorod."
"No need. Parendir can do well enough. The warriors of Forthren are not so foolish as to obey that idiot."