The days went by as series of sleeping and marching patterns. In that time the plains were slowly beginning to change into patches of light wood. It was the first sign anyone would have of approaching the Great Forests of the Westland. The mountains grew bigger with each passing day, but Anton continued to elude their sights for another week.
One morning, eleven after they departed from Blackfield a black speck stood against the green landscape. It was Anton. In sight at long last to the relief of all the soldiers; Nobles, knights, and commoners alike. Prince Tauron ordered his war council to ride with him at the helm of the army. At the center he rode, and to his left was Nicholi, Martin, Clayton, Helg and Bartera. To his right was Jon Malken, the Dayvey brothers, the two Cassius', and Rengle. They all rode to meet the Lord of Anton.
Lord Balter Oaran was known for being a jumpy fellow. Anyone living between the Swamplands and the Westland would learn to be a little bit cautious, but many considered Oaran to be downright paranoid. Frequently there has been clashes between the Swampland and Antonium. Balter would accuse Desmond of sending his dogs the Horcasters into his land to pillage for extra gold. Meanwhile Lord Desmond would accuse him of encroaching on his land. It was disputes like this that the rank of Duke was made for. There was no way a single king would be able to manage all duchies by himself. People like Lord Yorod were what kept these disputes from breaking out into full-scale civil war.
Even more than Desmond, Oaran feared Horith Ryden. Ever since the end of the Rorchistyr Rebellion and Horith's ascent to the rank of Duke of the Westland, the bordering holds always feared that his ambition. The Westland was not always ruled by the Rydens. Years ago, when Austin was just a young Prince, Liticea and the Westland were two different countries. The Heflites ruled Liticea and her holds, while the Westland was ruled by the Rorchistyr Dynasty. But in those days, the Sparticans were carving out an empire all the way down the continent. They overran Corasia, the Northern Provinces, and they soon made it to the Borders of Theyola. In desperation, Austin's father married him off to the Theyolan Princess and his brother off to the daughter off to Jannissar Xaro. securing alliances with both and signed a pact with the Westland making them a vassal of Liticea and allies against the Spartican Invasion. Together they were able to defeat the Sparticans and enjoy peace as a united country, until the Rorchistyr king died, and his ambitious son took over and led them down a path that would eventually lead to his family's demise and the rise of Horith Ryden as the Duke of the Westland.
Columns of soldiers lined the road leading to Anton. It was halfway between the size of Carell Keep and Castle Blackfield. It had a tan coloration, unlike the grey and black of the other keeps that the Prince and his comrades have come by. It was said to shine red in the light of the rising sun. It had four tremendously tall towers, meant to observe armies marching from miles away over the open areas. Though the vast plains have now vanished, there was still enough clearings for the eyes to see for far distances.
The army halted before a drawbridge, which Tauron and his senior officers continued over. When they entered the courtyard, they were greeted by an organized mass of kneelers. Towards the entrance to the great hall which lay at the center of the area enclosed by the walls was a large figure with a bright red and orange cap and a flowing orange cape. It was Lord Balter Oaran and his bushy beard was visible even under his bowing head.
Tauron was quite flabbergasted. Normally this treatment would be reserved for his father, but the people of Anton treated the King and the heir as one and the same. The Prince did not mind the treatment, but this is the first time he received it on such a scale.
"Lord Balter," the Prince and the others dismounted and approached the Lord.
"Oh, my Prince," he said, with a voice almost like a squeak toy. Next to him was his equally large wife Merida, and his plump children. One might mistake him for a less imposing Yorod Dayvey.
"My Lords," he said to the others, but he approached the Prince, "I-it's an honor to have you here. W-we are happy to welcome you to Anton."
"On behalf of the army and my officers I thank you."
"Oh, Lord Yorod. Good to have you here my young lord," he said to his future duke. Yorod the fourth was not screaming for a feast yet so perhaps he would be a more tolerable creature here.
He also happily greeted Nicholi Gramman. The two fought together during the Corasian War. With his one-fingered hand, Nicholi shook hands with him. He passed by Bailor and Blackwell. He went to the Prince's right and passed Jon Malken and Bartera, but shook hands with Rengle. It appeared Balter was a man who did not waste time on those without a name for themselves. He then ordered his men to deal with the rest of the army, while he and his family escorted the Prince into the Castle itself.
It was typical for the host to speak to an important guest when they arrive. According to tradition, this is when the guest would explain his reasons for coming and when the host would decide whether or not he would accept them. Most times it ended with them accepting, but there a few times when a host would refuse the hospitality of his house.
In this case, Balter Oaran was happy to welcome the Prince to Anton, but he did have many questions. Nicholi warned him that he would have such.
"Why? Why is there an army outside my gates?" he hurriedly asked.
"We are marching to Lord Ryden's aid. He asked for an army to be on standby at Blackfield, but we took the initiative and are marching west to drive the Morcars out of Liticea."
"Oh, I see," Lord Oaran's fingers were tying knots around each other, "And what do you want from me?"
"Duke Yorod sent word to all his arch-barons to mobilize for war. His orders to you are to march with me."
"Oh, I see," his breathing was creating a whistling noise between his two big front teeth, "My men have reported that there is a band of Userians following you. Is this true?"
"It is. They are the company of Nakbar Nazeen. Supposedly some of Useria's greatest."
"Oh, no," Oaran cried, "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! My Prince! My hold has been free of Userians for years! And you now bring a whole army of them? They'll disturb the peace!"
"Our number are limited at the moment, Lord Oaran. There were two thousand soldiers available for hire and I took advantage of that."
"But why did you have to take them here? To my hold? Now they'll rob and rape anywhere they go!"
"My son had Mr. Nazeens assurance that the company will cause no trouble," Ulysses Cassius spoke up.
"You can't trust the word of a Userian! Markus Elenor tells us that all the time. And now there are two thousand outside my castle."
"You will just have to live with that until we are done here!" Yorod scolded mockingly.
"Oh, very well. But not a single one enters my castle! They'll go after my maids and kitchen wenches."
"Nakbar has actually requested that he be invited to the next feast," Tauron said.
"No! Not a single one! Before long they'll be swarming all over the kingdom. Nothing but trouble the lot of them!"
"Mind your tongue, Lord Balter," Tauron said, "Do not forget that my aunt is Userian, and my cousins have her blood in them. I will hear you slander their people no more."
Oaran recoiled as if a spider had crawled by his foot, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my Prince. You aunt is an outstanding woman I'm sure. And her children as well. I should have known better. I just don't trust mercenaries. They have the loyalty of a whore."
"Maybe," the Prince agreed, "but I don't need their loyalty for long."
"They'll turn on you. Userians... sellswords always do."
"I'll keep that in mind. If you'll excuse us, me and the Lords are tired. We'll discuss this later, Lord Balter."
"Yes, my Prince."
Lord Oaran may be a jumpy little man, but he knew how to throw a feast. It was feast more extravagant than anything Lord Davey ever threw. From the ceiling hung at least a dozen fifteen foot long tapestries bearing the Great Owl of House Heflite, along with another dozen of the with the Buffalo of the Oaran family. He must have thought the King himself was coming because he made enough food for each of his guests to have five courses. They were more than happy to indulge themselves after two weeks on the road.
The tables were overflowing with fiery orange table cloths, and the plates were silver glimmering like moonlight. Oaran himself was like a rainbow, with orange and red, baggy pants that were tucked into blue party boots. His shirt was red and baggy to his his gut, and his cape was studded with tiny silver Buffalos. He stood out the last tree in wintertime about to lose it's leaves.
Tauron and the others did not find any room for party attire, except for Yorod. To them he had dedicated at least two carriages. The Prince wore a festive outfit with the dark and light blue colors of his family, but it was not as extravagant. The same went for the rest of the Lords, except for Lord Rengle, whose cloths would be considered formal at best. Yorod pestered him to represent his duchy in a more ceremonial way until the Prince put an end to that nonsense.
As was Arch-baron Balter's request, the no Userian was allowed into the castle. Nakbar assured the Prince that he would not let this strain their business relationship.
Unlike on previous occasions, Julius Cassius was not present at the high table next to his father. Instead he took one a seat at one of the four long tables that were gargantuan compared to the ones at Carell Keep. It was a traditional setup used throughout most of the Eastern Kingdoms, and a Lord's popularity and party going was usually measured by how many people he could accommodate. Today, many of the Barons that serve under Balter Oaran were present at the high table and Julius was not important enough to reserve a seat. Therefore, he took a seat with Helg Velrock, Chester Brumfield, Randalf Polk, Stanley Waliser and other good friends. Most of these men Julius became friends with at the school. The others were brought to him during the Corasian War. They were all present at the intense battles that raged at the northern border and outside the walls of Brother's Crossing. All except Helg. The future Duke of the Royal Lands was the youngest in the group, and Julius' ,minor by a few years. But Helg was always the one who he went to. The one who he could trust with his weaknesses.
Many of the men beside him were trading gloats about how many Morcars they were going to kill. They were at the battles, but none were as intense as the breaking of the siege of Brother's Crossing. Where the young King Austin personally led the attack that freed his ancestral homeland. He led the attack on the outer flanks, while his brother Arnos led the impoverished men of Brother's Crossing out the gates and into the fray. The two brothers met at the center of what was once the Corasian position and they knew that the battle was won. Julius, Stanley and Randolf won their knighthoods that day. Julius received it from Edwin Pollo, the Shepherd Knight. Randolf received it from Ulysses Cassius. It was a glorious day for the Cassius family, a family that had only seetled in Liticea in the seventy years. Julius sensed, however, as did many of his friends that this coming battle will be what they are remembered for.
"You look occupied," Helg pointed out when he noticed Julius was not drinking.
"I'm not thirsty. Or hungry."
"Eat up. This will be the last decent meal before we go west."
"We're not leaving tomorrow. We are going to wait for Lord Desmond's troops."
Helg let out a tipsy laugh, "And you think he will send them?"
"If I had to bet my life, I would put it on him sending a measly number."
"Maybe he'll send the Bastard Brigade."
"Oh, Rannos forbid it," Helg shuddered. The Bastard Brigade was the scourge of the Swamplands. A group created by Desmond Gaule and helmed by his bastard son. It is made of of murderers, rapists, thieves, and bandits who dedicate their lives to the service of House Guale in exchange for their lives. In every war the Gaules have fought in since their founding, they were the first ones they sent into battle. They were arrow fodder and little more, but not a group that anyone would want to have knocking at their door. When not at war, the Brigade did jobs that were to dirty for even the Horcasters to sully their hands with.
"Knowing Lord Desmond, that's probably what he'll do."
"Just to piss on the Prince."
"Is that not what you would do if someone took your son hostage?"
"Yes," Julius exclaimed, "I would be stricken."
"Well, I wouldn't know since I have no son."
"I'm sure your father is looking for some fine fruit," cut in Chester, "Both your fathers are I'm sure."
"Well, Chester. I'm not quite ready to be married yet," Julius said. He gave Helg a brief look that said he wanted it later tonight.
"Yeah. The Brandy House suits us well enough."
"You will never find happiness in a whore," Stanley said.
"Maybe, but I will find a good night's sleep," Helg joked.
"And an empty pocket in the morning.'
"What is it you have against fun, Stanley?" Julius asked. His good friends always scolded him when he and Helg went to the Brandy House.
"Yeah, you might benefit from from a night in the House."
"I spent a night in the house," Stanley said, "I was sick for weeks. I vowed never to set foot in that cesspool again."
"Oh, come now. We should find some nice brothel in the Westland and get you a girl."
"I don't need a 'girl.' I have a wife back in Blackfield."
"Yeah, but she ain't here," Helg pointed out, "Sooner or later you'll be looking for some warmth, and there will be some open arms for you."
"Open arms and open purses," Stanley stated, "Exploiting men of their primal desires."
"Exploited?" Helg said, raising an eyebrow, "You think you're exploited?"
Julius nodded in agreement, "Do you not think the women of the trade suffer more wrath?"
"They made the choice to be there."
"Either that or on the street," Julius said.
"Aye, either way they get fucked. Might as well get paid for it."
"If I had it my way, we would drive that vile profession from our borders."
"Oh, there he goes being all Godly."
"Rannos forbids such promiscuity," after he recovered from his illness, Stanley became convinced that it was an act of God to punish him for his behavior. And so he makes it his business to go visit a temple or shrine every day and his life's goal is to visit the Great Temple of Anthre to reach enlightenment, or whatever Julius and Helg could gather from ramblings. Whatever act Rannos punished him with, he must have been given the gift of swordsmanship because Stanley is now well-respected around the country.
Because the high table was so full, Jergan did not sit with his father as he did at the feast at Carell Keep. Like Julius and helg, he sits on the long tables with the others of lower rank. Tonight was actually the first time he got to pass any time with his friends from Blackfield. he had a great time catching up with his old friends from Ruska, but it had been more than a week since he had seen them since they were all the way ahead at the front of the army, while the small Fallaner force remained in the rear. Jergan never found the time to go looking for them since he was either with Kruger, Wallis and Daren, or with Rengle at one of the Prince's war councils.
"So Jergan," Eliza spoke to him after the group passed time talking about the Westland, "What was it like? Coming home?"
"It was like I found a part of myself that I have not seen in years," he almost told them of Jackie, but he held his tongue.
"I wouldn't mind spending one last day in Tanner Hall," Gor said. Suddenly, Jergan realized that the son of Archduke Amos Velrock had not been home in nearly six years. His father had visited many times, but never had he returned home.
"Or Noor," the daughter of Markus Elenor agreed. Locke only laughed. His family saying was Home is Battle, and he saw all the little ones crying for their mother's arms as quite comical.
Bart was always home in Blackfield. This trip to the Westland would be the first time he was ever away from home, and it's in another duchy. Worst of all it is the Westland. The land ruled by Horith Ryden andshrouded in a history full of barbarism and war. There was not a soul in Liticea that did not cringe when they heard the name of the Blood Duke. And now here Bart was, marching off to fight for this man. It was sheer madness.
"Why do we have to go fight for Horith Ryden?" he asked all the others. They all gave him their attention.
"My sword belongs to Yorod Dayvey! I went to the School of Chivalry to fight for Blackfield. I do not want to die fighting for the Butcher of Rorchistyr."
"You swore your sword to Liticea when you swore it to Lord Dayvey," Eliza stated, "Like it or not, Horith Ryden and the Westland are part of Litcea. We are all brothers and sisters in this time of war."
Bart spat at the idea, "The Westlanders would love nothing better than to break away again. I say let them. Let the Morcars run them over."
"And by doing so, you condemn Forthren to the Morcars wrath. Right now, Lord Horith is protecting Antonium. If Antinoum falls, so will the Swamplands, and then Blackfield. After that, who knows what will happen."
"The world would be rid of the Rydens," Locke said.
"And maybe the Horcasters too," Bart added.
"Eat shit."
"We shouldn't speak so harshly of the Rydens," Jon Maveric said. Everyone prepared for one of his history lessons.
"The Rydens won the RorchistyrRebellion, and cemented the Westland for the crown."
"Correction," Bart cut in, "Horith Ryden won the war for Horith Ryden. He couldn't give two shits about the crown, he just wanted the position of Duke."
"Doesn't change the fact that he keeps the West stable."
"Until he dies, and then who is there?"
"His sons," Eliza said.
"James Ryden?" Bart scoffed, "He's too timid to be the Lord of Rushka. No offense Jergan."
"None taken."
"And Killian Ryden? The Warpig? He's not a man, he is a weapon wearing human skin. At best the Westlanders will fear the Warpig but they will make a meal out of James."
"And the Morcars will make it all the more easier," Locke said, "Doesn't matter who I kill: Morcar, Westlander, Userian. I just wanna make some blood spill"
"How very Horcasterish of you," Bart jeered.
"Maybe I'll start with you. And go on to Maveric here."
"Maybe Lord Desmond will rebel and I'll get to kill Swampmen," Bart said coldly.
"Oh, Lord Desmond could take the rest of Forthren like a hound taking a bitch."
"Hopefully, one day we'll see."
"Hopefully," Locke said as he returned to his dinner.