The Prince's army was not three days from Rainguard when a rider rode in bearing word from the mounted army that was sent ahead four days ago. it was a young man with a clear scar on his right cheek from a recent battle and his colors were of some small house under House Oaran. He was brought to Tauron immediately, saying he had brought news from both Yorod Dayvey and Horith Ryden.
For the first time in weeks, the Prince felt his spirits lift. The besieging army consisted of about fifteen thousand Morcars, a poultry number compared to the rest of their hordes but nearly twice the number of the mounted army. In a brilliant maneuver, according to the messenger Parendir Davey, the second son of the Duke of Forthren orchestrated a night attack that took the Morcars running and had their army in flight before their general was out of his bed. Even better they had captured the general himself, apparently a relative of the Morcar King. The name of the general was not known to the messenger, but after the marvelous tale was told to him Tauron had the man given food and relieved him of the letters.
The first one had the seal of Dayvey and so he opened it first to see what that good of a duke Yorod had to say. It was a repeat of everything the rider had told him a few minutes before, except that the fool opted to give himself a bit more credit. Parendir was not even mentioned in the letter.
The next letter was sealed with the Boar of Fury, the mascot for House Ryden, the beast that had run down the tree of Rorchistyr. The envelope itself was green in coloration, and gave a off a pungent smell when the Prince opened it.
Prince Tauron Heflite,
You have my gratitude for the quite excessive force you sent to aid my castle. Your men have proved very impressive at surprising the enemy whilst he sleeps if nothing else. With that, it would be inconsiderate of me to not to offer you the full hospitality of Rainguard. Upon you arrival, we shall scrounge up whatever scraps we can find and have supper together, if you will accept my invitation. Your men are currently stationed on the the Banks of the Great River as I have no reason yet to allow the to overrun my castle and create a mess of it. As I'm sure you have heard your men hold the Morcar General prisoner, though they have not seen fit to allow me to speak with him, the man who plundered my land and laid siege to my castle. Nevertheless, I eagerly await your arrival. Myself and my sons shall be honored to meet your acquaintance.
Horith of House Ryden, Duke of the Westland and the Hammer of Rorchistyr.
Hostility was already growing in the young Prince towards the Duke of the Westland. He had sent nearly half his army and they routed the Morcars. Horith Ryden did not, however deem it important that his men have shelter and food for their efforts. At least they had the satisfaction of keeping the Morcar general to themselves. That will be the first worthy thing Yorod Dayvey IV has done in his life.
"Robert," the Prince snapped and the boy stood at attention, "How many days did Lord Gramman say until we reach Rainguard?"
"A-a-according to Baron Nicholas, we should be there by tomorrow, my Prince."
"Send orders to the lords. We move at double time. I want to be at Rainguard by dusk," and I will teach Horith Ryden to disregard my men, he said as he crushed the letter in his hand.
"Yes, my Prince," the plumb little boy scurried his way out of the Prince's tent to spread the Prince's orders.
Tauron glanced at the ball of paper as it fell gently from his loosened grip. Hd it really taken just some mere harsh words to ignite his anger. And now he was going to take his anger out on the men pretty much. If he had acted a moment sooner he would have called the boy back and let the soldiers relax. He and a small entourage could ride ahead and let Rengle or Nicholas take care of marching the army the rest of the way. But he turned down the thought at once. Horith Ryden was going to see him at the head of his army, the army that was going to free the Westland from the Morcar plague.
Opposition from the lords were inevitable he supposed. That assumption was confirmed when Rengle came through the tent flaps obviously agitated.
"My Prince, this is an unwise decision," he said plainly.
"Elaborate, Lord Rengle."
"My men are cold, hungry and exhausted as it is. We cannot afford to wear them out more or else they'll start dropping!"
"It will only be one day, Lord Rengle," Tauron noticed the paper at his feet and decided to hand it to Rengle.
"What's this?"
"Read it."
Rengle unfolded ti from the crumpled ball it was and began to do as the Prince said, "It's from Duke Horith. Oh... the siege? It's been broke? This is wonderful!" for the first time, Tauron saw a little color in Rengle's pale face. As the Lord of Ruska kept reading, a glimmer of boyish joy had suddenly turned to anger.
"He's letting the troops rot outside their walls when they had just saved him," he stated, not surprised, "Very Horith Ryden thing to do."
"That's why I want to move quickly. I want to relieve my men of this weather," Tauron said. Rengle only shook his head.
"Getting there quickly will not likely solve anything. And you throwing a tantrum in Horith's face will not move him either."
"Tantrum?" Tauron felt that anger swell up in him, but he would not allow himself to throw a fit in front of Rengle. He may not be the most pleasant fellow, but he was a man who could see character and Tauron wanted him to see it in him.
"I understand your point, Lord Rengle. But I cannot allow this insult. An insult to my men is an insult to myself and therefore my father."
"Do not try to play a game of morals with Horith Ryden."
"I have no intention of doing so. What I do have intention of doing is arriving at his gates by sundown and letting him understand what it means to insult House Heflite."
"My Prince, I fail to see how doing this will..."
"You don't have to see, Lord Rengle," Tauron interrupted, "You just have to understand my orders."
"My Prince..."
"Do you understand?" Tauron asserted. It was clear in Rengle's face that this was the first time in years he had ever been talked down to and disciplined. Possibly the first time in his life. Lord of Ruska did not say anything, he just exited the tent without skipping a beat.
The Prince wished he still had some Leaf to smoke, but he went through through only days after they first entered the Rainwood. The night seemed to be approaching hours sooner than it should have been. Clouds were forming overhead and tiny hints of snow flakes came down and rested on the fallen leaves. There were clear sounds of exertion from the men who were moving at a near jogging pace.
It was well past dark when a flickering light appeared in the sky, outlining the sides of the mountains to the north. They were less than a mile from Rainguard.
The next thing they noticed was the smell. Those who fought at Brother's Crossing and in any other battle would recognize it as the smell of death, of rotting bodies. It seems that they were not yet done cleaning up after the Morcars were routed.
As they approached the keep, a party of riders came to meet them.
"Prince Tauron!" one of them called. When their faces became visible in the torchlight, he recognized the face of Parendir Dayvey, the supposed planner of the attack that sent the enemy running. Martin Bailor, Clayton Blackwell, Bertrand Oaran, Julius, Helg and others were following him. They were all in their armor, all had dirt and blood stain and some men carried new scars.
"My Lords," he greeted, "I have heard of the feat you've accomplished here! Might I say well done!"
"It was not us, my Prince. Parendir sent the Morcars running back to where they came from," Martin said loudly. The wild look in his eye said that he was still jumpy from the battle.
"The letter and the messenger spoke of your deed, Parendir. I also heard that you lead the charge."
"Actually it was Sir Julius who holds that honor," Parendir humbly corrected, "I was following close behind."
"It looked like a contest on who was going to get the first kill!"
"The archers stole that honor, unfortunately," the group let out a torrent of hearty laughter as a rider crept around them and approached the Prince. He was a short man, but had broad shoulders as big as his head and a red beard reaching down to his belt. A warhammer was slung to his back and the Boar was painted on his breastplate.
"Prince Tauron, I am Killian Ryden, second of Horith. I have been sent to welcome you to Rainguard."
"The Warpig," Tauron spoke the man's nickname, "This seems like a warmer welcome than the one you gave my men."
Killian's red brow tightened and he looked like he was ready to snap Tauron's neck with his massive hands.
"We gave your men food and fire."
"After they saved your castle. And to show gratitude you left them out in the cold."
"We don't have room in the keep for all these men."
"Not now, but you will. I'll be speaking to your father about this. Now take me to him."
"As my Prince commands. My father has a magnificent supper and all your lords are invited. Follow me," Killian turned and rode towards the keep. Tauron passed on orders to get the men settled. In time they will have the warmth and shelter they deserved after their weeks of marching through the frozen woods.
On the way to the keep, a large crowd surrounded the procession. For a single naive second, the Prince let himself believe that it was for him. The name 'Perendir' was being chanted over and over. Tauron glanced over at the young warrior. His face was as bright red as the embers in the torches. As much as it was hard to admit, Tauron felt a twinge of jealousy in him. He recalled that for years, the people of Forthren have been chanting for Parendir to be named their future duke. What kind of anguish could that have stirred in Yorod, the real heir.
The crowd just got bigger and bigger. There were knights and common folk like. When Tauron traveled with his father they would get a similar reception, but the cheers have never been for his. Not then, and not now. As he did before he faced forward, his eyes stone and his mouth a thin line above his cheek.
Rainguard was an exceptionally well-defended fortress. If the Morcar army had attacked they would have easily lost half their army. The walls were near fifty feet high and there was another for the inner section, much like at Anthre. Tauron counted six towers on the gate wall alone and each were waving the flag of House Ryden. Behind the walls was the keep. It was a jagged and sharp structure, built for a man as famously ferocious as Horith Ryden.
The keep itself would be an intimidating target for any approaching army, but its greatest defense lay in front of the gates. Tauron and the Keep were separated by the Great River itself. This was one of its narrower points, but it still required a long stone bridge to cross. The Bridge itself had its own gate and small wall encircling the entrance. It bore signs of attack, but no major damage. The Morcars were prepared for a long siege when they arrived here.
The Warpig shouted for the gates to be opened and they crossed. It was more than a seven hundred feet wide and took a few minutes to cross. The opposite bank itself was steep and Killian led them up a winding road that bent left and right three times before arriving at the massive gate. In the dark of night, the walls appeared to be a solid wall of blackness with not a single flaw to be found. Not even the torches found any cracks or signs of fading. This castle was built during the First Empire and they built it to last.
What struck the Prince the most was the silence. It was not like Blackfield or Anton where the outer walls were buzzing with activity. The only sounds were the hoof beats on the road. Not a single bird or insect was singing that night. There was only the deafening silence of the approaching winter. Did the battle drive away all the sounds, or was it simple the shadow of the Butcher of Rorchistyr that made all sounds quiet?
They passed through two gates before they came into sight of the keep. Only a few dim lights kept its figure from blending into the dark mountains behind it. The inside of the walls was as quiet as it was outside. All the other lords were feeling uncomfortable in their saddles. Not even Prince Tauron could look away when they passed by a massive, forty-foot wide stump. It was the base of the old Titan of Rorchistyr, what used to be the tallest tree in the world. Now, it was just a seat for the men of the castle to sit and drink on like any table. There were men everywhere, but they kept quiet. They did not seem to acknowledge that their future king was riding past them. Though Tauron received few cheers in his life he at least expected the formalities that came with his position.
At the entrance to the castle, as with the other stops there was someone to meet them. A tall figure with a scholar's robes a soft green hat. He was clean shaven, except for a tuft at the bottom of his chin.
"Welcome to Rainguard, prince Tauron. I am James Ryden, son of Horith Ryden."
"Well met," Tauron said growing increasingly tired of introductions. He could not believe that this thin book reader was the older brother of the warpig.
"And where is your father?" he asked harshly.
"He is awaiting you inside," he beckoned the Prince to follow, "the men will tend to your horses," he snapped his fingers and several stable men came and held the reins as Tauron and his followers dismounted.
The doors to Rainguard Citadel itself were opened and Tauron braced himself as he entered the lair of Horith Ryden.
James Ryden led them to a door on the north tower of the keep. a dim light was visible on the floor, though the room itself was quiet. He knocked three times and announced to his father that Prince Tauron had arrived.
"He will see you, my Prince. Only you. The rest of you will accompany me to supper. My father and Prince Tauron will join us shortly," James brushed past the other lords, without even stopping to see if they will follow. They all looked to Tauron and he gave them leave. Reluctant to leave their Prince behind, they trailed after James. When they were gone Tauron turned.
His heart was pounding in his chest as his trembling fingers turned the latch that opened the door. It creaked loudly as he stepped in. It wa a simple study, with bookshelves and an open window. And a desk with a single candle lit. At that desk sat a hunched figure scribbling over paper as if no one had entered.
"Duke Horith?"
The writing stopped and the man put his pen down. The bent formed straightened to a startling height as the Duke of the Westland slide his chair back and got to his feet. Slowly he turned to face the Prince.
"Tauron Heflite comes to me at last," the voice and the face made the man a more frightening sight than Desmond Gaule. His thin but imposing figure against the candlelight made appear more like a wraith than a man.
Horith was old, but by his face one would not guess his years. He had the same facial hair as his son James, but it reached to his chest. His head and body were all slim. His lips were invisible under the shadows on his face, but the one thing that was visible was his eyes. Rengle Fallaner, Desmond Guale or anybody else Tauron had met could match what stood before him. His brow was a natural v-shape and his green eyes were small but they stared through the prince like he was a glass window. He did not have the red hair of his sons. It has long faded to silver white.
"It is an honor to finally meet you, my future king," he said. He reached the Prince in three long strides and shook his hand. The mere touch made the Prince recoil. He looked at it expecting it to be stained with the blood of Rorchistyr.
"Please, won't you sit and join me for some wine?"
"Yes, thank you," Tauron said nervously, trying to keep his composure. When they were seated Horith took a bottle and poured them both a glass.
"I understand you've become engaged on your journey," he said.
"Yes, I'm going to marry Lisa Dayvey."
"Duke Yorod's daughter. A fine match."
"Thank you, Lord Horith."
"You seem tired, my Prince. I do hope your journey wa not too tiring."
"It wasn't!"
Horith grinned, "I trust you found my country exceptionally beautiful."
"Yes. The Red Titans were especially amazing."
He raised an eyebrow, "Were they?"
"Yes, they summed up the indomitable spirit of the Westland. Especially in this dark time," Tauron wanted to smash his face with that wine bottle when he realized what a brown-nose he sounded like.
Horith put aside his drink, his grin faded and was replaced by a repulsive scowl, "Remember this when you become King, Tauron Heflite. All things are domitable. Even the tallest tree will eventually tumble.'
Deciding to assert his authority, Tauron switched attention to the battle that was just fought, "Lord Horith, my men saved your castle..."
"Saved is over glorifying it. If those savage had taken one step towards my gates I would've had them cut to pieces. But your men did perform nobly. Especially the Dayvey boy. I can understand why the people of Forthren would prefer him to be the Duke than that idiot of a brother."
"Why were they left out there? Why did yu not left them into your castle?"
"I didn't see the point in doing so. They would've taken up too much space."
"So you saw fit to let them freeze out there?"
"I don't accommodate armies I did not ask for."
"You sent the letter asking for reinforcements!"
"No, I merely asked them to be on standby, and it was James who pressured me into doing it, and I only did it so he would stop panicking."
"Winter is upon us, my man can't live out there if we are to succeed against the Morcars."
"Those Morcars have proven to be a troublesome lot. They even drove Killian from the battlefield. But maybe my luck will turn and they'll kill Craxton for me."
"How can you say that when your country is being overrun?"
Horith laughed and shook his head, "Oh, the arrogance of you Eastlanders. You do not know the power of the Westland. You could defeat us a thousand times in battle, but you will never control us. You, in a thousand years could bring this land under your boot."
"Last time the Westland revolted we did," Tauron said.
"As I recall after one battle your entire army went screaming back to the east with their tails between their legs. You did not win the Westland. No Litici King could ever hope of doing that. It was my family who won that war for your. My father who defeated the Rorchistyr in battle and me who gave your king their head. Only Westlanders can control the westland. Not a King of Liticea or a Warlord of the Morcars. I'm sure your father knows that and soon enough the Morcars shall know that too."
"But yet you bend the knee to my father, and your sons will bend the knee to me. What do you have to say about that?"
"It is only by my will that the Westland is loyal to your family if I wanted to crown myself king you could not stop me with a hundred thousand men. Remember that, boy."
Tauron stood up in his chair, but the old Duke did not move a muscle, "But the hour grows late and I tire of politics," he too stood up. he was much taller than the Prince.
"Shall we go to dinner?"