by Pirateaba
“It is one plan. If it fails, the coalition army will crush Flos and burn Reim to the ground. But it would be simpler if his head could be taken before so many lives are lost. Is that not the best result?”
It might have been. But Venith’s soul revolted at the thought.
“It is not honorable.”
The mounted man’s face twisted in annoyance. He snapped down at Venith.
“Honorable or not, all you must do is not interfere. If your patrols had not clashed with ours, we would not be having this conversation!”
“Had you decided to avoid cutting through my lands, I wouldn’t have paid attention. But even a small army is my business. And your forces didn’t cover their tracks well enough. They were sloppy.”
Venith relished the flash of anger in the man’s eyes. But the messenger controlled himself. He shook his head coldly.
“You have sworn an oath, Venith Crusand. Your wife, Lady Maresar—”
He paused. Venith’s blade had inched out a bit from his scabbard. The men tensed. The messenger continued, choosing his words carefully.
“Your subjects have renounced their homes and joined the King of Destruction. But you fought and attempted to uphold your oath. The kingdoms see you as an ally, which is why your lands have been spared.”
Ally? The word was insulting. The other kingdoms saw Venith as someone they could ignore. They didn’t need to waste men on him if they could just let him be.
“This ambush will fail. All it will do is slay more innocent lives. Those refugees are not soldiers.”
“One day they might be. It has already begun. Do not interfere.”
The messenger was tired of the argument. He wheeled his mount. The escort followed him, keeping together, watching Venith’s soldiers warily.
Now would be the time. To stop them, to call out their dishonorable actions and fight. Venith knew it. He felt the blood pumping through his veins. His hand was on his sword.
He let them go.
—-
Half an hour later, Venith was in his war room. It was just a small cubicle in his keep really, a place for him to survey the terrain. It wasn’t as if he had ridden to war since he had taken his oath against his former King. All he had ever done was slay the occasional monster or crush a group of bandits.
Now Venith stared at a map covered with small flags. A vast army was on the march, to the north east, winding down the long road towards Reim. But his eyes were on the patch of land to the west of the capital, where a second road led to other crossroads and kingdoms.
There were more flags there. Venith could only guess the ambushing force’s location, but there were only so many places they could hide. They were camped in the foothills, waiting for the King of Destruction to ride out to save the refugees being attacked by raiders. They would swoop down on him and encircle his position.
And kill him. It was a sensible measure. Without him, his kingdom would fall apart, despite Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi. But it was not honorable. Those butchers would kill hundreds of men, women and children just to kill a single King.
But Venith had sworn an oath to do just that. So he could not do anything about it.
Venith had a cool drink of grape wine from his cellars. He was not thirsty, but the thought of drinking himself into a stupor was enticing. He had never done it, but now—
The door to his small war room opened. Venith turned, about to curtly dismiss whoever had opened the door and paused.
“Calac.”
His son stood in the doorway, armed for war. The plate armor had to be hot in the sun’s rays, but Venith had ordered every man and women to ready themselves for battle when he’d seen the armed force approaching. He wondered why Calac hadn’t taken off his armor yet.
“What’s the matter, son? Is there news?”
“No news. Nothing’s happening here. The soldiers are leaving.”
Calac’s face was blank. He stared at his father, eyes searching Venith’s face. Then he shifted his attention to the map. He looked at Venith.
“Is this the kind of man you are?”
Something about his tone made Venith angry. It was insubordinate, the prelude to a fight. He glared at his son. But Calac didn’t flinch.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You heard what they’re going to do. They’re going to kill the King of Destruction. Lure him out by killing innocent people. And you didn’t stop them.”
The words twisted into Venith’s heart. He turned away roughly, staring down at the map.
“So? I swore an oath—”
“Is that the kind of man you are? The kind of man who hides behind oaths when injustice is done?”
Those words. Venith spun. He hurled something—the cup of wine. Calac flinched as the liquid sprayed across his face and armor. But he didn’t back down.
“I swore an oath. Are you suggesting I break it? I have never gone back on my word, never lied. That is the kind of man I am!”
He snarled at his only son. But Calac just wiped away dripping wine from his face.
“So it’s fine if everyone else breaks their oath, just not you? That man—Hellios is sending an army out to kill our people. If they’re on the road, they’ll die. They’d dishonor themselves and break the rules of war just to kill the King of Destruction. And what happens if he dies? Does that mean mother and everyone else get slaughtered too?”
“It won’t come to that. They’ll lay down their arms.”
Venith felt the words twist in his mouth. Calac made a sound that wasn’t a laugh.
“Mother? Never.”
That was true too. It was true. But Venith had—he clenched his fists.
“The King of Des—Flos broke his oath long ago. I owe him nothing.”
“You told me that all my life. Every time mother told me about him, you’d always say he was a fool. An oathbreaker. A coward who abandoned his kingdom. And I believed you. I thought he didn’t have a shred of pride or honor.”
Calac’s voice was quiet. He stared at his father.
“But now I see the truth. These kingdoms, and these other [Rulers] have no honor either. Less. At least the King of Destruction was willing to fight his own battle. And he spared you.”
“I was prepared to die. I did not ask him for mercy.”
Venith wanted his son to shout back at him, to make it an argument rather than—but Calac’s voice was level. It wasn’t angry; there was too much of his mother’s voice, Mares’ voice in the way he spoke.
“I admire my father. The man who raised me taught me how to be honorable, to keep my word. He taught me to defend the innocent and never bow to injustice. He taught me to do what was right.”
Arrows at his heart. Venith’s voice rose and he shouted at his son.
“Not to obey orders, apparently! You disgraced yourself in battle not a day ago!”
It was a petty thing to say. Calac’s head lowered, and then he looked up at his father.
“I did. I thought I could end things easily, even if it meant being dishonorable. That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. It was dishonorable. There is no excuse for such actions, regardless of the reason.”
Finally, something Venith could say with conviction. Calac nodded slowly.
“Then why are you lecturing me and not stopping those men?”
Silence. Venith searched for words, and found none. Calac turned.
“I’m going. Me and some of the soldiers are going to ride to the King of Destruction’s side. We’ll probably die, but at least we’ll die doing the right thing. Like you taught me.”
“You cannot—you’d abandon your post?”
Venith forced the words out, a gasp through his suddenly tight chest. Calac nodded.
“It’s the right thing to do, father. Mom was right.”
“Then you’re a traitor too! You—abandoning your home, your people!”
“What people, father? What home? There’s just you here
, and some soldiers. Everyone is with the King of Destruction. Flos. Mother’s King. Our King. Your King.”
Calac turned and began walking down the narrow corridors of the keep. Venith stumbled after him. He felt drunk, disoriented. He shouted at his son’s back.
“You swore to obey my orders! Come back!”
For a second, Calac turned. He stared at his father and Venith felt a surge of hope. But then he spoke.
“I’m sorry. You taught me how to be proud, how to keep my word. How to be honorable. But father, I guess I never learned what loyalty meant.”
Then he turned and walked away. Leaving Venith with nothing at all.
—-
The air was hot. Uleth, the [General] leading the coalition army of six nations, stared ahead at the small army barring their way.
“Not even five thousand soldiers? Is the King of Destruction mad?”
“Drunk on his own fame, perhaps. But he’s not even with this army, so perhaps it’s his [Steward] who’s made the decision.”
One of the strategists from Germina commented as he squinted at the army ahead of Uleth’s forces. Uleth shook his head.
“I’ve studied the battle tactics used by Orthenon. He’s no fool. Regardless of their reasons, they’ve come to us. Ready yourselves! I want [Mages] and [Archers] to begin firing as soon as they come within range!”
“And the formation?”
The [Strategist] frowned. Uleth glared at him.
“As I ordered.”
The man hesitated, which annoyed Uleth. But he wasn’t one of Uleth’s subordinates. The [General] wouldn’t have worked with him at all, save for his level. But the orders were passed down and Uleth saw his forces begin to rearrange themselves out of the long column they’d been marching in.
The [General] had a Skill. [Battlefield Eye]. It allowed Uleth to see, or rather, create an image of the battlefield from any angle based on his own line of sight and the reports he received. With it, he saw his army spreading out, encircling his position while his mages and the siege weapons he’d brought moved into the center.
They weren’t all bunched up in the center; that was an invitation for a mage strike, and Uleth wasn’t about to risk it, for all that Flos wasn’t supposed to have any strong mages in the field. Rather, his valuable units such as [Mages] and the two trebuchets were scattered around him, buffered by soldiers. At the center of what was a giant ellipse of soldiers lay Uleth’s command and the [General] himself. From there he could issue any order and the dozens of [Tacticians] and [Strategists] he’d brought could assume command of individual groups of soldiers.
Uleth knew it was not an orthodox formation. He didn’t care. Against an army of equal size, his deployment would leave him understrength if the enemy committed to any one side. But he was up against an army a fraction of his size.
“The instant the enemy comes within range, bombard them. When they attack, we will seal their exits with cavalry and envelop them.”
He repeated the plan to his gathered officers, making sure they could move even without orders. Uleth had [Sergeants], [Captains], and so forth, but his [Strategists] could provide incredible benefits to a battalion by using their Skills at the right moment.
That was what would tip the scales here. Not grand strategy but Skills. Uleth knew he was outmatched in terms of levels by Orthenon, known far and wide as the King of Destruction’s Left Hand. But he was only one leader. Uleth had brought dozens to match him.
And he had the numbers on his side. So many it wasn’t a fair battle, however many of the King’s Seven were on the field. Uleth kept repeating that to himself. His plan was solid. Overwhelm with sheer numbers. So long as Uleth kept his most valuable assets shielded by his soldiers, he would triumph, regardless of the King of Destruction’s superior individual might.
But the army of four thousand wasn’t moving. Uleth squinted at them. He could have had a [Mage] use a spell to enhance his sight, but they were visible in the distance. A good deal of cavalry; far less foot soldiers than Uleth had expected. Were some defending the city? Why? Why split up forces?
They weren’t moving. That wasn’t what Uleth expected of Orthenon. The man should have launched a surprise attack while Uleth’s army was on the move. Fast, lightning strikes were what he was known for. Why was he—
Someone blew a horn. A warning. Uleth saw a distant figure move in Orthenon’s army, but saw nothing happen. He turned to the [Strategist] from Germina.
“What’s happening?”
“Someone’s firing an arrow.”
The man had a Skill and he was shading his eyes to see. His gaze traced the flight of the arrow—Uleth, watching, saw only a blur and then heard a scream.
“A lone archer? Are they targeting someone?”
“No—they didn’t aim at any of our [Mages].”
“Well then, send a volley back! Have our highest-level [Archers]—”
“Look!”
The man cried out. Uleth turned and saw fog. It was billowing up. Fog. Despite the harsh sunlight, it rose out of the ground to the surprised shouts of the soldiers. From where the arrow had landed.
“More arrows!”
They were falling amid Uleth’s army, releasing fog which obscured all vision. Uleth gritted his teeth. He turned his head and roared.
“[Mages]! Lift the fog!”
For a few minutes he heard no response. Then one of his messengers ran towards him.
“The [Mages] are attempting to lift the fog, but it will take them several minutes! The arrows are high-Tier magic—”
“Attack!”
Someone shouted it. Uleth’s head turned as he heard the horn calls from the side. They were unmistakable.
“The army has charged us in the fog! They’re engaged with our left flank!”
“I will move our forces out to engage—”
“No!”
Uleth stopped everyone with a word. He stood still, heart pounding. But he was certain.
“Do not move. Let Orthenon attack. He is attempting to force us to break formation. But we will hold position.”
“[General], the casualties—”
“We will hold position until the [Mages] lift the fog. Even if Orthenon charges his army, he will only be fighting a fraction of this army. When the air clears we will encircle him and destroy his army. You, you, you—go and reinforce the battle zone. Everyone else will hold position.”
There was no argument on the battlefield. Not with the [General]. Uleth saw men and women running and waited. Minutes until the mists cleared. All he had to do was wait. Orthenon was famous for mind-games, for striking an enemy’s weak spot when they reacted to his provocations. All he had to do was wait—
The sound of clashing arms was distant, and Uleth could hear shouts, screams, horn calls in the distance. He fancied he could even smell the blood pouring already, metallic. Sharp.
But then he heard something. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep. So deep it cut below the sounds in the distance. Uleth began to rub at his ears.
“What’s making that sound?”
He turned his head, but could barely see his command, let alone the soldiers in the dense fog. He could see faint shapes in the mist, but they turned into shadows and then nothing. But the sound continued.
“I said, what in the name of sands is—”
And then it grew louder and Uleth realized what it was.
Humming.
Ahead of Uleth, the fog parted. A slim silhouette emerged from the white oblivion. A stranger holding a huge sword in one hand. She walked forwards, humming that haunting melody under her breath.
Dark shadows ran towards her, and Uleth heard the voices of men and women shouting. The figure swung her sword. Shadows fell to the ground. She walked on.
“Enemy attack!”
Someone shouted. But more voices were yelling the same thing. And the soldiers weren’t moving. They couldn’t see in the fog and they were a force of many nations. If they rushed to attac
k, they might find themselves locked in combat with their own forces.
Some were. Uleth heard the clash of arms behind him, where no one was attacking. But he only had eyes for the advancing shape. No one could see in this damned fog. No one. Except perhaps someone who had earned her title for doing just that.
Uleth felt a chill. He knew she was on the battlefield. He knew she was here. But it was one thing to hear of her, and another to see her. He whispered her name.
“Gazi the Omniscient.”
The half-Gazer walked into view. Her sword was red. Her armor was dyed crimson. Her central, main eye was closed, but all four of her smaller eyes were focused on him. On Uleth.
He drew his sword. His command formed up, [Tacticians] shouting, Uleth’s elite soldiers forming a wall between him and one of the King’s Seven. Two [Mages] strode forwards, grasping wands nervously. They were all staring at Gazi.
She could not hope to kill them all herself. Uleth’s mind babbled it as he froze, trying to think of orders. But all he could remember were the tales of entire commands slain in the middle of battle, of night ambushes that left no one alive.
“Ch—char—”
His men were staring at him. But Uleth couldn’t form the words properly. How had she come here? They were at the heart of his army! She would have had to cut her way through all those soldiers? Alone?
And then Uleth heard galloping horses and more screams. He saw a second figure appear out of the fog. A man on horseback, a spear in hand. More shapes broke out of the mist behind him. Mounted soldiers. They had cut their way through the stationary troops, led by the leader of the army himself.
Orthenon. Uleth stared at him. The King’s [Steward] raised his spear, and Uleth tried to make his mouth work.
“Char—”
“Charge!”
The King’s [Steward] kicked his horse forwards, and his entire army, cavalry and screaming soldiers, rushed out of the fog straight towards Uleth.
—-
There was a war going on. Trey knew he should be hiding in the city of Reim, away from it. He was no soldier, no fighter. He could barely use a sword. But he rode across the barren ground, following a King.
