“We won’t save Katherine with this lot, Father. We have no real leader in this army. All we have is a bunch of wannabe generals who cannot decide on a single strategy. I fear our rebellion is in danger of disbanding,” Edgar pointed out.
Sighing roughly, Braun agreed, “You may be green and inexperienced when it comes to war, but I’m afraid you are right. It is as you say. We have the numbers, weapons, and political influence, but we have no stable leadership. What we are lacking is a symbol to rally behind. Something to bind us together into a cohesive force. The only question is where to find such a symbol.”
Shrugging, Edgar said, “We have to find that mystery symbol soon. Foxden Castle is just a day’s march away.”
Braun and Edgar sat in uncomfortable silence as they contemplated the gravity of their dilemma. Suddenly, their thoughts were abruptly disrupted when the sound of a war horn bellows through the camp outside. The Torrens could hear the troops emitting words of confusion and unease.
“What in the name of the Gods is going on out there? Is King Robar sending a welcoming committee to wipe us out?” Braun demanded.
“I don’t know, but we need to check it out before the men get too restless,” Edgar said.
The two Torrens hastily ran out of the tent to find their army in disorganized anarchy. Despite their lack of discipline, the Torrens noticed that all of their soldiers were looking in the same direction; to the forest next to the camp. Upon following their troops’ gaze, Braun and Torren were caught off guard by the sight of an army of Welts marching out of the trees. In the Welts’ hands were animal hide flags bearing a familiar sigil. Unsure of how to handle the situation, the rebel army stood at the ready in case the Welts attacked.
Leading the Welts was a young man on a mighty black stallion. It immediately became clear that the youth was not a Welt. Still, despite just reaching manhood, the Welt leader possessed a powerful and commanding presence. His crimson eyes were full of cold anger and iron determination while his shoulder-length black and white hair billowed in the wind like the veil of a ghost. The Torrens could see something eerily familiar about the young man’s handsome face.
“Father . . . is that Cousin Numen? He looks so different? What is he doing leading a Welt army?” Edgar asked, bewildered.
Amazed, Braun smirked and commented, “The little lad we remember has become a man, Edgar. I thought we lost him when Magnus Keep fell. Thank the Gods we were wrong.”
Chuckling, Edgar said, “The Gods answered our prayer, Father. It looks like we might have the symbol we were missing. Let’s go meet him.”
__ __ __
As Numen led the Welts out of the forest, they came upon a military encampment. At first, Numen thought they accidentally stumbled upon Robar’s army too early. Fortunately, Numen noticed their banners as those Houses Torren, Drada, and Marmor. Relief washed over Numen when he realized he was in the presence of more of his kin. Initially, the Welts thoughts they had to fight, but Numen raised his left hand as a sign of ease and the Welts calmed down.
Numen continued to lead the Welts until stopped one hundred yards from the assembled army, who were apparently scared and uncertain of the Welts. For what seemed like an eternity, neither army spoke or made a move. Then Numen rode his horse towards the Civil Folk with the Welt army remaining where they were.
Halting in front of the hastily assembled vanguard, Numen declared, “Countrymen! Kinsmen! I am Numen of House Magnus! Where is this host heading?”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Foxden Castle! We are going to take the King’s head!”
Smiling with delight, Numen said, “Then we are all heading in the same direction! My comrades and I were on our way to kill King Robar ourselves to avenge my family and the destruction of my ancestral seat!”
Another soldier jeered, “And you plan to do that by siding with a bunch of rabble and barbarians? You talk too big, Lad!”
Then the rebel host burst into mocking laughter. Seething with tranquil fury, Numen drew his sword and showed it to the army. At first, the army ceased laughing and prepared to shoot Numen with a crossbow, but they waited for what Numen would do next. However, the men-at-arms gasped in both shock and awe when they saw Gramfyre’s unique appearance. Within moments, the glyphs on Gramfyre’s fuller began to glow bright red and the rebel army jumped in surprise.
In a tone made of solid iron, Numen declared, “I will not be questioned at a time like this! For three hundred years, my family has pretended to be something we are not! No more! House Magnus is the true Imperial Dynasty, which makes me the true Emperor! King Robar had the audacity to devour my kin as if they were lambs for the slaughter! I will not let this heinous crime go unanswered! Will you join me and make it right?”
Initially, the rebel army did not know what to make of Numen’s claim. They looked at each other and murmured amongst themselves.
Suddenly, two men Numen recognized came out of the crowd: Braun and Edgar Torren. Both men smiled with joy at the sight of Numen while their eyes dazzled with amazement when the glanced at Gramfyre.
Focusing on his kinsmen, Numen announced, “Uncle Braun, Cousin Edgar, we have to talk!”
__ __ __
Numen was taken into the command tent, where he told the Torrens, Dradas, and Marmors everything he endured. Their expressions were full of disbelief, shock, and amazement. By the time Numen finished his story, night was falling and the barons were left speechless for several moments.
Finally, Braun said, “That is quite a tale, Numen. Most of it is hard to believe.”
Numen firmly assured, “It’s the truth, Uncle Braun.”
William interjected, “It’s rubbish! The last dragon died three hundred years ago! What he is saying is impossible!”
Harald bitterly commented, “And he has sided with wild barbarians. How can we trust anything he says?”
Roland countered, “If he claims he slew the Graega, then he has avenged the loss of Father’s leg and the desecration of my face. I say we give him a chance, Brother.”
Wart boasted, “If he really accomplished all of these feats, does he have any proof besides a magic sword and the word of savages and freed slaves? How do we know that his weapon even is the Sword of Power and not some Aetherian Steel replica he found in the woods?”
Slamming his fist on the table, Edgar ordered, “Enough! Can’t you see that Numen has been through enough? Stop insulting him and questioning his loyalty!”
Sheepishly, Numen said, “Thanks for defending me, Edgar. I know this is going to cause some debate among you, but I wish to lead the attack on King Robar’s army.”
The Dradas and Marmors burst into laughter, but the Torrens gave Numen looks of concern.
In disgust, William said, “You have some nerve of wanting to take over this army, boy. You are so green your blood might as well be green. I will not follow some arrogant brat who thinks he’s better than me.”
In a much gentler tone, Braun said, “As much as I hate to agree with William, I must say he is right, Numen. You do not have the proper experience to lead us. Fighting monsters, slavers, and mutineers is not the same as leading an army in open warfare. Besides, I thought I lost you after Magnus Keep fell. I think it would be safer for you and the Welts to take up the reserve, where you will be safe.”
Bemused, Numen countered, “King Robar killed and ate my family! If I am going to participate in this battle, I want to be on the front lines so I can carve out his heart myself. Also, I think the Welts would be more useful in the vanguard due to their ability to take on larger armies. I wield the Sword of Power, which makes me your true Emperor!”
After those words, the Dradas and Marmors briskly rose from their seats and left the tent.
“Know your place, boy!” Wart hissed as he exited the tent.
Numen was left alone with the Torrens, who were still looking at him with great concern.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Numen demanded.
“Numen .
. . we are glad that you’re alive, but we don’t believe that you are the true Emperor. That bloodline died out three hundred years ago along with the dragons. Your arrival has caused mixed feelings among the men. Some see you as a blessing sent by the Gods while others are planning to desert because they refuse to fight alongside the Welts. We were already having issues before you came and now those issues are getting worse. At this rate, the army may disband in a day or two and our attack on Foxden Castle will fail,” Braun explained.
Smiling shyly, Edgar added, “That was a good idea to have the Welts make up the vanguard, Numen.”
Fuming, Numen pointed out, “Why does Edgar get to be in the real fight? He is as inexperienced in open warfare as I am!”
Raising a hand to calm Numen, Braun explained, “Enough! You will be in the reserves and that is all there is to it. Now get some rest and prepare to march at dawn.”
Swallowing his pride, Numen whispered, “Yes, My Lord.”
Then Numen slowly rose from his seat and left the tent . . .
__ __ __
Night fell as Numen and the Welts set up camp next to the main encampment. Their tents were made from animal hides and tree branches while bonfires were set ablaze. The Welts chanted in an attempt to curry the Gods’ favor for the coming battle.
Meanwhile, Numen lay inside of his hunt, consumed by volatile emotions and conflicting thoughts. It was an infuriating and demeaning sensation to be disbelieved even when he told the truth. Although he was glad that his relatives welcomed him, Numen desired more respect than they were giving him.
As Numen dwelled on his situation, Wil entered the tent and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Imperial Majesty?”
Shaking his head without looking at Wil, Numen replied, “No, Wil. How is it out there? Any trouble I should be aware of?”
Pausing for a moment and shifting his weight, Wil explained, “Well, the relations between the Welts and Civil Folk are becoming more antagonistic. Naera and Hondo warned that if a fight breaks out, the Welts will turn into berserkers too early and potentially destroy the rebel army overnight. Also, it is as the Torrens said, the Welts’ presence is creating great discontent within the ranks. If a fight does not break out, there is still the risk of desertion. What are your orders?”
Sighing, Numen answered, “It really is not my call to make. The Civil Folk want nothing to do with me and won’t give me a say. Just keep the Welts away from the Civil Folk camp until it is time to march.”
Bowing briefly, Wil said, “As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Then Wil briskly left the tent, leaving Numen alone with his frustration. In the gloom of Numen’s hut, his frustration was replaced by bitter despair. If the rebel army disbanded, any hope of saving House Letum and avenging Numen’s family would be lost.
Softly, Numen prayed, “Gods help us!”
At that moment, the rebel camp was hit by a powerful gust of wind. The banners and tents flapped violently in the sudden hurricane. Numen could hear the sounds of men screaming and horses becoming restless.
Wil burst into Numen’s tent with an excited expression and announced, “My Lord! You have to come see this!”
Numen followed Wil out of his hut in time to see branches from the nearby forest snapping off trees. The camp fires whirled against the wind, threatening to set the tents ablaze. Then the light from the moon and stars faded, forcing the rebel army to look into the night sky. Numen followed their gaze and smiled at what he saw . . .
CHAPTER 35
The army outside of Foxden Castle was silent like a hungry predator waiting to strike. Their encampment was deceptively peaceful as the soldiers sang and feasted on their provisions. At first glance, the Baal host was not in any particular hurry to complete the siege.
Foxden Castle was starting to take on a ruinous form. Its walls were on the verge of crumbling apart after being relentlessly bombarded by catapults and trebuchets. The hoardings along the battlements were burnt and fragile. Below the walls, the moat was filled to the brim with corpses and the remains of siege engines. To make matters worse, the defenders were tired and their morale was beginning to fade. The inevitability of their fate seemed almost certain.
Within the castle’s great hall, the Letums were just as demoralized as their men-at-arms. They were still mourning the death of Richard and had dreams of vengeance. Despair was washing over them like a dark veil that threatened to smother them to death.
“What do we do now, Brom? Father’s dead and probably eaten by King Robar. We are now down to our last four hundred men. Our walls are hanging by a thread and we went through our rations faster than we originally planned. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up,” Benjamin explained grimly.
Lara, who was suffering from a wound around her right eye, said, “Ben is right. I am also losing faith in this fight. Before this siege, I never killed anyone. Now, I may have killed a hundred. I don’t know how much death and madness I can take.”
Edward firmly assured, “Stop thinking like that! We sent messenger pigeons to all the barons in Umbran! Someone has to come!”
Slamming his fist against the table, Brom ordered, “Enough! All of you! We are not beaten yet! Pull yourselves together! King Robar may be planning his next move any moment!”
__ __ __
Inside the invaders’ command tent, King Robar was with his squire, who was putting Robar’s plate armor on. Due to Robar’s deformed body, his armor was customized to accommodate his hump. On the table on the other side of the tent were the skeletal remains of Richard Letum, his claymore laid across his ribcage.
Musing, Robar asked, “Marrow, would you say Baron Letum was tasty?”
Sheepishly, the squire replied, “I would not know, My Lord. If you think so then I agree with you.”
Displaying a sickening smile, Robar joked, “What would I do without you, Marrow?”
As Robar contemplated on future events, Baron Karlor entered the tent and bowed to the king. Karlor kept his gaze down as he waited for Robar to address him.
Sighing, Robar ordered, “Rise and report, Baron Karlor.”
Standing straight, Baron Karlor said, “Sire, I don’t know how long we can keep this siege up. We have lost over three thousand men and our provisions are all but spent. Some of the men are considering desertion because they believe taking Foxden is a lost cause. A few of them believe you have gone mad with this obsession of yours.”
Chuckling sickeningly, Robar said, “Perhaps I am. Rip out the tongues of the men who spoke dissent and tell the rest to stop complaining. Fortunately, it is almost over. What is the status of our sappers?”
“The sappers have completed the mine under the castle. They await further instructions.”
Grinning grotesquely, Robar instructed, “Load up forty barrels of black powder and blow the wall up. I will join you shortly.”
Confused, Karlor asked, “Do you mean to join the men in battle, Sire?”
Plainly, Robar explained, “When the walls are breached, I will personally lead the attack into the castle. I want to taste the Letums’ flesh firsthand.”
After those words, Marrow finished fastening Robar’s armor. Immediately, Robar possessed the appearance of a demon in human shape. His suit was black iron decorated with red-gold. The breastplate and gauntlets looked like the ribcage and hands of a skeleton. Most frightening was Robar’s helm, which was fashioned with his crown on top and had a gilded visor that resembled a human skull. In Robar’s hands were a rusty meat cleaver and a falchion with a pale black Aetherian Steel blade. Strapped to Robar’s belt were a collection of knives with bone handles. A flowing cape bearing the sigil of House Baal flowed over Robar’s hunched back. Overall, Robar was an unholy sight to behold . . .
__ __ __
Brom visited Katherine and their children, who were still in the main bed chamber of the keep. Robin and Willa looked frightened and wary as they hugged their father. After weeks of constant battle, Brom
was overjoyed to spend time with his family from time to time.
“Are the bad men going away, Father?” Robin cried.
Solemnly, Brom answered, “I’m sorry, Son. They won’t give up on attacking us, but I will do my best to drive them away.”
Grimly, Katherine asked, “How long can we realistically keep this up, Brom? Your father is dead and probably eaten while we have a third of our men left. Is anyone coming?”
“We sent messenger pigeons to every barony. Your father will no doubt come, but I cannot speak for the other barons. Our fate is in the Gods’ hands now. That really is all there is too it,” Brom explained.
“Hold us, Darling,” Katherine begged.
In response, Brom gently embraced his family as they sat in temporary peace. Despite the hopelessness of their situation, the Letums did not want their moment of happiness to end. It was a bittersweet sensation because while they were briefly content the call to war would divide them at any time.
Suddenly, the entire castle was shaken by a tremendous explosion. The walls almost collapsed on top of Brom and his family and the furniture briefly jumped into the air.
When the shockwave subsided, Katherine asked, “What in the name of the Gods was that?”
Confused, Brom replied, “I don’t know.”
One of the castle guards burst into the chamber and loudly announced, “Baron Letum! The king’s sappers brought the outer wall down! A thousand men are about to enter with the king himself leading the charge!”
Without another word to his family, Brom grabbed his claymore from the far side of the room and ran to face King Robar and his minions . . .
__ __ __
Brom entered the courtyard in time to witness his siblings and the remaining defenders forming a shield wall around a large section of wall that crumbled. There had to be at least three hundred men-at-arms clashing with a thousand invaders. The entire area was full of dust and smoke with rumble and debris littering the ground. A chorus of steel against steel and men yelling and screaming filled the air. Overall, the situation was complete chaos and anarchy.
Numen the Slayer (Magnus Dynasty Saga Book 1) Page 15
