"A tiny red drakeling, no larger than a rat. That is all it takes, so it seems. Such a small bite to cause so much pain and a quick death." - King Jurren Biljvank II, the Silver Sword, on his death bed, one day before dying from the Red Grip. 36th of Motch, 283 PR

"Eefje Mathink, the Duchess of Mathieden, I would very much like to speak with you!" King Rikkert stood fifty yards in front of the gates of the city of Mathieden; flanking him from behind stood Duke Martien Ruuding to the left and Duke Vaars Zelderloo VIII to the right. All three were clad in their plate armor save for their helmets, which had been left with their squires, each bearing their family blazons across their torso. On their backs sat heater shields, each one equally adorned; at the hip of Martien was a battle axe that could be wielded with one or two hands depending on the users preferences, while both Vaars and Rikkert had longswords sheathed in their belts. Standing another five yards behind them was a row of sixty soldiers, twenty from each army, the personal guard of each of the three nobles. From atop the battlements, the old prince could see some commotion as several of those standing watch slowly were pushed aside to make room. Much to Rikkert's surprise, the entire Mathink brood brought themselves forward to parley. At the center stood Duchess Eefje Mathink, head to toe in splint mail, including her helmet which had had the visor lifted to show her face. To her immediate left was who the old prince presumed was her brother, Magnus. His armor was also splint, at his feet sat the head of a large maul, which he used the handle of to rest his hands just above his waste. Behind them stood Eefje's four sons: Dirk, Dolf, Douwe, and Dries, all prepared for battle just the same as their mother and uncle. Rikkert was unable to see what they wielded, though he could see Eefje resting her hand on the head of a horseman's pick that had an added spike coming about two inches out of its top. Emblazoned across all of their torsos was their family crest: per chief red and murrey with fretty red, in chief a dog courant gold. 'Hounds of War' indeed. Rikkert was impressed by how quickly the Duchess had mustered, armed, and prepped an army for a siege all within just seven or eight days of receiving word that Rikkert was approaching, having arrived on the twenty-seventh of Darsu to begin the siege. It then took a full fourteen days to construct their siege engines after that. He assumed his cousin made his way here to either seek refuge, aid, warn, or all three from House Mathink after fleeing the capital.

"Speak, cur, I do not wish to waste my time dealing with traitors and sycophants." Duke Martien spat on the ground.

"You have a nice city, Duchess, one which I have fond memories in. I would rather we not come to bloodshed, and your city be spoiled by your stubbornness. My siege engines are built, my army is ready, all I need is give them the command. Lay down your arms, swear your fealty to me, and join your well trained soldiers with mine."

"From last I knew, King Jurrien II was still our king?"

"My cousin was our king the last I knew, yes. I also understand he has been wounded, quite gravely I hear."

"Then long live Queen Jolijn." Duchess Eefje raised her left arm high at a ninety degree angle. Immediately, Rikkert ran back to his guards, all twenty taking out their shields and forming a testudo around their leader. Looking quickly to his left and right, the self crowned king could see his allies had done the same, all three blobs slowly backing away as a barrage of arrows came raining down upon them. The constant thunk of arrows against shields finally faded away as they reached a safe distance. The three nobles regrouped at their command tend in camp, while their remaining guards went to fetch new shields - a total of ten fell across all sixty.

"Duke Martien, take your flank and make your way for the southern side of the wall, set your ladders up there and begin making your way into the city. Duke Vaars, your soldiers will handle the siege towers, have two go to the right of the gate and the third go to the left. My ranks will be stationed at our two trebuchet and the battering ram. Once the towers reach the walls, Vaars, send your ranks flooding up to the walls. When the gates are opened, by ram or by hand, mine will flood the streets. Martien, once on the walls on the southern side, send half of your ranks to the keep, cut off any source of their retreat, send the other half into the streets to set fires and carve your way to the gate. We will squeeze them for their refusal, so that any others will hear of this and learn."

King Rikkert sat upon his steed a good two-hundred yards away from the front gates, his visor up so that he could survey the battle taking place before him. Calmly, and with pride at his plan, he watched as the three siege towers slowly advanced the walls, arrows raining down upon the Zelderloo heads of silver, a small trail of bodies was left behind as the towers neared their destination. A loud explosion was heard from the right of the gates, as one of their trebuchets had managed to strike an archer tower, sending stones and soldiers crumbling several stories down. A black Biljvank rose had been secured to the front of the battering ram his soldiers were pushing forward, their protective canopy having now been all but removed by the constant shredding of oncoming arrows. The casualties would be high, higher than any leader would be comfortable accepting; but, such was the case with a siege. The defending party always has the upper hand, until you break through that is. the sooner their towers reached the walls, the sooner the ram was being bashed against their gates, the sooner this would all be done. He had at his disposal eighty-thousand soldiers, and in the city before him could not have been more than fifteen. Rikkert's eyes suddenly widened as a chill of horror ran down his spine. 'Hounds of War.' The old prince remembered House Mathink's motto, but it was too late. As the towers were inches away from the walls, and the battering ram was just being pulled back for a second swing, tiny gates all along the front of the wall swung open as what seemed like hundreds of war dogs burst forth. Screams of surprise, pain, and death could be heard a half a mile away as the hounds of war tore into their attackers, stopping all approaching momentum by the towers or battering ram. Soldiers swung wildly as they were overtaken by the onslaught of canine fangs, gnawing and biting at their weak spots - neck, inner elbow and knee, and ankles.

"Drop the trebuchets, our siblings in arms need our aid! Charge!" Rikkert drew his sword as his guards sounded the charge. The soldiers that had been kept in reserve for when the gates were breached, now ran in behind their king full tilt to destroy the canine threat. Their spears were let down as they charged, skewering their foes as they ran their points all the way to the walls. After what had felt like an hour of combat, the soldiers returned to only defending against their old aerial enemies raining down from above. One of the towers to the right had caught fire during the commotion with the hounds of war, the Zelderloo forces pushed their two remaining towers the final stretch as they felt the hit of the city walls against their fronts. Racing up the towers, pushing down the bridges, and rushing out with a fervor in their hearts, the Zelderloo forces began taking the battlements, cutting down the forces on the walls. Leaving his steed behind, Rikkert ran to the aid of his soldiers at the battering ram, drawing it back and letting it fall again and again, each hit splintering the gates before them. They splintered, then they cracked, and then they shattered, sending wooden spikes flying threw the air and into the eyes of the waiting defenders. Sword and shield in hand, Rikkert rushed forward with his guards, as well as a number of shield bearers who had made up most of the wielders of the ram. As the black and gold colors flooded threw the gates, Rikkert could faintly hear over the roar of steel the screams of the people of Mathieden. Looking out into the horizon, the white and azure of House Ruuding came streaming threw the streets, setting fires, sacking buildings, and killing anything that moved in front of them. Not the civilians. By the gods no, leave the civilians you fools! Rikkert ran through the defenders, hacking with his sword in both hands so that he might find Duke Martien and command he control his soldiers. He would not be able to do that, however, as he felt his shield, which had been re-hitched to his back, cracked under the force of a maul, sending Rikkert smashing to the ground.

"Face me, traitor! Only a coward sends assassins while he hides away plotting." King Rikkert steadied himself into a wide stance as he came face to face with Magnus Mathink, who stood in the midst of fallen black and gold wielding a bloody maul. Magnus swung his maul from the left, hoping to break Rikkert's right rib cage, but the old prince leapt back, pushed off his back foot and thrusted his blade at the enemy's side. Magnus, seeing Rikkert's move, let his momentum take him as he circled around, his maul making contact with Rikkert's back once again, this time taking out what was left of his shield, sending the wooden pieces erupting around them as the old prince fell to one knee as he caught himself from falling all the way. The wind knocked out of him, the prince slowly rose, sweat pooling at his eyebrows threatening to blind the battered man. He assumed a low wide stance, holding his sword inside right. He rushed forward, feinting a thrust, which had the desired effect of causing Magnus to leap back, using the momentum to swing his maul up over his head. As the maul was prepared to come crashing down on Rikkert's, head he pulled back and swung his sword, slashing under the left armpit of his opponents raised arms. Magnus immediately lost his strength in that arm, forcing him to fall to the side so as to not be crushed by his own weapon. With one arm immobilized, Magnus placed his right hand directly under the head of the maul, raising it up to block an overhead swing from Rikkert, sending the prince stumbling backwards. Magnus pulled his arm back, running forward, using his momentum to help him swing his right arm up and towards Rikkert's head. The old prince fell to one knee, hefting his sword upwards as he did so. Magnus' lifeless body crashed into the prince, his run and the weight of his maul still pulling him forward despite his neck being impaled by Rikkert's dented sword. King Rikkert was able to roll out from under Magnus Mathink's corpse, taking his sword with him. He inspected the blade, with one side having been ruined by the block with the maul.

"My lord, your highness." Rikkert swung around to come face to face with Duke Zelderloo, his silver armor having gained some crimson splatters.

"Yes, Vaars?"

"The walls are ours, the city is taken. Duchess Mathink has managed to get into her keep with a small retinue and what remains of her sons."

"You know some have been killed?"

"Dolf was on the battlements, my lord, my soldiers killed anything wearing red and murrey."

"Very good. Have your soldiers and Duke Ruuding's begin putting out these fires. We are taking this city, not destroying it. Next time, I will have to be more precise with what it is I want Martien to do. Once the Duchess is handled and the city cleaned up, we will rest here and continue west in four days."

"At this rate, your highness, we'll have the kingdom secured by the end of summer." Rikkert smiled and nodded as Vaars went off to do as he was told.

Rikkert motioned to his guards, who had managed to catch up with him towards the end of the fight with Magnus, to pick up the maul and follow him. King Rikkert slowly approached the keep doors, his soldiers having sufficiently surrounded it, and knocked.

"Duchess Eefje Mathink, will you not treat with me?" There was no response. After a short time, Rikkert turned to face his guards, nodded at the maul and motioned to the door. As an improvised battering ram, six of his guards pounded against the door, finally splitting it open. The old prince let his soldiers rush in before him, listening as they dispatched the retinue that had stayed with their Duchess. Once the sounds of combat had died down, maul in hand, Rikkert slowly approached the inside of the keep. Sitting on her throne, a smaller throne used by the dukes of the kingdom, with two of her sons behind her, axes drawn, Duchess Eefje looked up at the approaching figure, a blood stained horseman's pick sitting across her lap.

"You and yours have fought nobly." Rikkert dropped the maul on the floor in front of the duchess, cracking the stone beneath it.

"However, Duchess, I give my final offer. Swear fealty to me, I will take what is left of your fighting force into mine, they may still fly your colors - in fact, you may still lead them if you so choose. Enough of your house has died today. Your brother fell by my sword, Dolf died defending the battlements, and while Douwe's fate I do not know, his absence here does not bode well."

Duchess Eefje Mathink, using the arms of the throne to help raise herself from her seat, stumbled forward a few feet. Her right hand clenched her pick as she looked down at the maul at her feet. She turned her eyes to Rikkert, scowled, and slowly lowered herself to one knee before him.

Wind howled through the branches and down into the underbrush, piercing even the thickest of gambesons. Though they were already at the middle of Spring, the night air had been quite cruel to the Desramaux soldiers laying in wait amongst the trees. Eight-thousand infantry, armed with spears, shields, axes, and wearing cloth gambesons, all of them farmers, shepherds, day laborers, loggers, and all other sorts of peasantry which had been recruited enroot from Desramaux City to Hemroux. Another four-thousand were lucky enough to be levied as archers, given the same armor with a recurve bow, two quivers filled to bursting, and an axe or dagger at their side just in case. Leading these twelve-thousand undertrained people of the land, was there nobility, from the lowliest marquise to the highest prince, rounded out with their squires and personal retinues of highly trained troops. And I stand to lead them all, may Bershion bless me in my leadership. Prince Mathias stood leaning against a tall oak tree, his skin protected from the cold metal of his plate armor by his double layer of a gambeson over a tunic. At his side was a longsword, its pommel a blooming rose, and at his back sat a wooden heater shield reinforced with metal framing. Emblazoned across his shield was a new crest, one which still took some getting used to - per pale gold and sable with a rose per pale sable and gold. It was a combination of both House Desramaux and House Biljvank's crests, creating the crest of House Desravank. Prince Mathias Desramaux no longer fought for the Desramaux Dynasty, but rather the Desravank Empire, which was officially established on the Eight of Darsu, 346PR with the passing of King Jurrien Biljvank II. A clunky soldier struggled to reach the prince, the sounds of grunts, curses mumbled under breath, and snapping branches told the old prince precisely who approached.

"Good day to you, cousin." Mathias did not turn to face Prince Guillaume, who was similarly dressed as his cousin, though he had a morning star at this side. An effective but cruel weapon of choice, as far as Mathias was concerned.

"I hate this, all this waiting." Guillaume finally reached his cousins side, the wind seemingly having been knocked out of him. He took his place leaning against the same oak.

"We do not know when they will come. Our scouts have yet to report their immediate approach, but we do know that they are near. Enjoy this waiting while you can, cousin. It is the calm before the storm of battle."

"Yes, yes, I know I am being impatient. I just feel my stomach prepared to jump out of my throat with every crack of a branch or hoot of an owl." Prince Mathias removed a small leather sack that had been wrapped around his waste.

"Here, drink." The old prince handed the wine-skin to his cousin, who grabbed it with haste and quickly began ingesting.

"Mmm, sapphire. Thank you, cousin. I most certainly needed that."

"Keep it. I need my head clear for the battle."

"Very well." Mathias took in a deep breath of the cool night air. Yaqshan was high in the sky, marking the night three quarters of the way passed. It would soon be morning, with the sun rising ever so earlier with each passing day now. Guillaume was heard wiping his mouth and recapping the wine skin.

"You know, cousin, I sometimes find it so hard to believe that we are in this situation."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, us, here, awaiting with an ambush to strike our enemies flank. An enemy that, as far as your brother knew, would be Phillipe's vassal one day."

"House Van Niljveld will be Phillipe's vassal one day, even if that means reminding them of their place with steel."

"Yes, of course. I suppose I mean. Well, just, all of this. The attack at the wedding, Thierry running off with that, what was her name?"

"Duchess Zelderloo."

"Yes, that old bat, she looked as if she were nearly one-hundred. He had talked about doing whatever was necessary, but I never actually thought he was so serious about it." Prince Mathias perked up his head, eyes focused on a small sapling just four feet in front of him. A sapling that will one day grow to compete with the princes leaning oak for space.

"When did he say something like that?"

"Something like what?"

"That he would do whatever was necessary."

"Well, you were at those meetings, were you not?" Mathias felt a chill run down his spine.

"What meetings?"

"The meetings, up on the - oh... right. You, em, well, you... you only attended the first."

"Thierry held more?"

"Yes... not many! Do not be angry with me, I truly thought you knew about them. There were... well let's see. Um, yes, there were about five of them - "

"Five!"

"Shhh... yes, erm, five. We just talked, we sat around in the outlook, we smoked, we drank. It was just commiserating about our mutual dislike of the wedding and thinking of different ways to dissuade Phillipe, that was all they were. The last one, well... the last one was different." Mathias spoke through gritted teeth."

"Different how?"

"Thierry was very frazzled. Our final attempt to dissuade him failed again, and it seemed there was nothing more to be done. Then... well... Thierry, he - he had an idea. It was never spoken allowed, it only felt implied, I never thought he would go through with it, I never believed it, and I spoke out against it! The moment the implication was understood I put my foot down, I stood tall and I told him - "

"Get to the point, Guillaume."

"Right. Right, yes of course. He said something along the lines of... of needing to find new strategies, and mentioning that he would inherit should anything happen - to - to... to Phillipe." Prince Mathias whipped around, gripped the leather straps at the top of his cousins armor and pressed him into the tree hard.

"And you did not think to mention this to anyone at all? You may just be the saddest excuse for a Desramaux that I have ever known, and your brother is a close contender. So far from the fruits of your father have you both fallen."

"I did not think he would go through with anything! Please, Mathias, you must believe me. If I had thought there was any real danger I would have done something, you must believe me!"

"Why are you here? Why did you not join your brother and Thierry? Hmm? Are you an agent of theirs? Hoping to undermine our chances with your idiocy?"

"No! No! I am loyal to House Desramaux, I am loyal to the crown, I am loyal to King Phillipe and the Desravank Empire! My brother is a fop, and a terrible one at that. His appearance is all that concerns him, and that includes the appearance of power. I know where my blood lies, I know the morals of my House and those who share it. I fight and I will die for the crown of King Phillipe." Mathias slowly lowered the daft prince to the ground, his eyes never ceasing to burn through the skull of his cousin.

"You. You could have stopped all of this."

"I know... I - "

"Stop talking. Not just the lives of nobility, but the now thousands, and yes I mean thousands, of people, our people, who will die in this war because of your inaction, incompetence, or both. There is nothing that we can do to go back on that. The deeds of our brothers, the foul deeds of our kin has been done. We must now do our best to mitigate the destruction this fighting will bring to our lands and those who tend to it. You will fight by my side. And you will make amends for your catastrophic failure with the heft of your swinging arm." Prince Guillaume kept his gaze down at his feet, unable, or unwilling, to look his cousin in the eyes. Mathias thought he saw a tear or two descend onto the forest floor, though it was hard to tell in the shrouded moonlight. Clouds had formed overhead while both moons were gone, and the sky had sat nearly completely blackened ever since. There was then the sound of small drops, one after the other plopping onto the leaves above. The rain could provide good cover. And then they heard it. One horn, followed by another, and another, four, five, six, seven, eight horns blowing. From the East. Mathias smacked Guillaume and pointed towards their divisions, the daft prince threw his helmet on and ran to prepare their fifteen-thousand to die for his sins. The old prince listened. The signal, the signal was all they needed. Within minutes Prince Guillaume had their entire army in ranks, hunched within the underbrush, shield walls in place and spears out to meet their foes. Arches carried carafes of oil and strips of clothe in the event fire was needed to put down their targets. Those would be mostly useless tonight if the rain got any worse. The sounds of heavy marching grew louder as the Van Niljveld army slowly came into view from across the edge of the woods. Thousands, upon thousands of armed levy walked in rows of eight. Their shields, large and circular, sat upon their backs, with axes by their sides, only about half of them wielded spears, while some - perhaps an eighth - wielded large double handed axes; the rest were a mixture of archers and nobility. None of them had their weapons in hand, even the spears had them strapped to their backs. They are not marching to fight, they are marching to siege. A wide grin came across the old princes face. Bershion was smiling down upon them this day, as their enemy marches forward without the faintest idea an enemy army is waiting for them.

"We are ready whenever, cousin. All we need is the signal." Mathias nodded to his cousin, drew the shield from his back, and waited. Seconds turned into minutes, as those marching before them filled their entire sightline. It began as the sound of buzzing, small, quiet at first, easily mistakable for a bug flying around ones ear. But as it grew in intensity, the old prince watched as those marching suddenly stopped and began looking all around them. By the time the buzz was loud enough and the enemy knew what was happening, it was too late as the buzz was quickly replaced by the thud of hundreds of levy, all hitting the cold mud as arrows pierced them all over. Horns began to blow again, this time coming from the West, followed by the charging of twenty-five thousand sergeants rushing behind a woman crazed with vengeance. As the enemy scrambled to arm themselves, Prince Mathias raised his sword high into the sky, and let it fall with great speed.

"Bershion blesses us this day! Soldiers of Desravank, take vengeance for the Dread Wedding! Charge!" Mathias rushed forward, his retinue trailing him, Guillaume to his right with his retinue in tow as well, a legion of gold and black following behind. The bulging eyes of shocked soldiers adorned in blue and green were quickly met with the cold steel of spears thrust forward, the damp wood of shields pressing them to the ground, and the hard reality of a spiked metal ball coursing for ones head. From the front and right flank, the armies of Desravank took full advantage of their surprised enemy, cutting down all whose scattered this way and that in a vain attempt to organize. Arrows from both directions filled the night sky, descending down hard on the enemy lines, though by the second volley, the sounds of buzzing was met with the sounds of thudding shields and only the occasional body hitting the body. Mathias leapt into the middle of a group of Niljveld levy, took to one knee, and swept around, his blading going just beneath shields and taking the soldiers out at their knees. His retinue rushed in behind him and made short work of the lame levy clutching their legs in the mud. The rain had begun to downpour, drenching each side as the ground they fought upon became a sludge of water, dirt, and blood. Pressing deeper into the enemy lines, Prince Mathias was finally met with real resistance as a shield wall began to form by the enemy, spears behind them being held out in a phalanx. Mathias leapt back just as this group made an attempted advance, spears being thrust forward to catch any unfortunate enough to be before them. Scanning to his left and right, the old prince noticed the Niljveld army finally organizing itself, and upon listening closer he understood how and why. Screaming at the top of his lungs, high above his troops on a massive steed, sat a large man, covered in plate armor with a flanged mace in one hand and shield with the Van Niljveld crest in the other. Duke Lars II. Who else could command his troops in such a frantic state?

"First and fourth, reform shield walls! Spears form your phalanax. Circle around me! Gods be damned around me! Axes, stand behind, stand firm!" Prince Mathias quickly retreated back with his retinue behind his own shield wall, which had maintained its formation thus far.

"Left flank! Curve around! Archers! Form up behind! Oil and rags!" The old prince shouted as loudly as he could, the sound of rain and battle doing its best to drown him out. His orders were passed down the line as lieutenants took command of their individual squadrons. Mathias watched in bated breath as his line stretched itself out and then began curving to encircle the Niljveld formation from two sides. Due to a combination of timing and luck, the Desravank forces from the woods had attacked the middle flank of the Nijlveld army, allowing them to fully encircle with little fear for the rear guard, which would be another mile away at least and be overloaded with most of the siege supplies. This also granted the Niljveld army little to no escape path, save for south into the Trentenn woods, as both ways east and west were now completely cut off. Both sides clashed as their shields and spears erupted into each other. The forces of Renangers and Hemroux were keeping the vanguard and left flank well entertained as Mathias' soldiers attempted to break the wall of their right flank and middle guard. After three clashes and neither side gaining much ground, Mathias looked over his shoulder and gave the signal. A wave of light came streaking across the night sky as a wall of flaming arrows flew out of the forest and descended within the ranks of the Niljveld middle guard and right flank.

"No push!"

Taking advantage of the successful flaming hit, Mathias' side was able to rush the enemy once more, this time securing a few weak spots and pushing passed, successfully breaking the shield wall at multiple points. Mathias grinned as his soldiers maintained their shield wall while they pressed deeper into the enemy lines, splintering them even further from a safe distance with spear and shield.

"Axes!" Duke Lars' bellowing voice gripped the old princes attention for a brief second before the splintering of shields overtook his ears. Mathias looked on in horror as his lines began to crumble as the Niljveld two-handed axes ran passed from behind their own lines and with great ferocity ripped through the Desravank ranks. Prince Mathias gripped his longsword tightly, raised his shield, and rushed in to aid his troops. Slashing and cutting, tromping through the mud, the old prince found his way to the front lines, having managed to dispatch two enemy axes on his way. One came rushing towards him, swinging his axe downward, Mathias side-swept out of the way and slashed his foe across the back of his head, sending her barreling to the cold wet ground.

"All ranks! Reform wall! Reform wall!" The prince found himself shouting in vain, as the battlefield had become nothing but a sea of chaos, as troops bearing all sorts of colors found themselves broken and intermingling. Looking far ahead, the on exception was that of Duchess Emilie LuRene, who had managed to keep a few battalions centered around her in a wedge formation, shields high and spears out, slowly advancing, piercing any who crossed their path wearing blue and green. The fighting continued on for what had felt like a lifetime, each second simultaneously flashing by while taking an hour. The old princes sword arm began to give, his strength not being what it used to be, and he feared the rear guard would soon reach the main Niljveld force. Something had to be done, and quickly, as the advantage of surprise was beginning to wain due to the broken nature of both sides. Then he heard him, Lars II had dismounted and was swinging his mace through the skulls of black and gold soldiers. A new found strength found its way into the old princes veins as he rushed the large duke.

Shield outstretched with sword tip barely visible, the prince attempted to stab at the furious duke, but Lars was surprisingly quick and managed to step back and swat Mathias' blade away with his free hand, his shield seemingly having gone missing. A crack came down on the old prince as the duke's flanged mace embedded itself within his shield, leaving several indents as it was yanked back out, though it almost took the old prince with it. Regaining his composure, Mathias was able to just get his shield up in time to block another blow from the duke. This time, however, when Lars ripped his hand back, he took the shied with him. The duke grunted, tore the shield off of his mace, and jumped at the old prince, both hands gripping his mace tightly as he swung from the left side. Leaping back and to his right, Prince Mathias quickly assumed a two handed grip with his sword and, swinging around with his wrists, brought his blade slashing across the back of Lars II again and again, berating the duke with a barrage of hits to his back plate. The duke eventually was able to plant his foot forward and whip around to smack the sword away, using his momentum to follow up with a one handed swing with his mace from his right side. Mathias felt the wind run from his lungs as the flanged mace met his chest plate, crushing the metal and sending him soaring through the air and clanking into the mud below. He struggled to breath, the caved in chest piece now hampering his ability to inhale, that along with the possibly fractured rib or two. Duke Lars II stood over Prince Mathias, the prince could hear him breathing heavily from underneath his helmet.

"Your brother sends his regards." The Duke lifted his right foot to stomp the helpless prince, but was quickly stopped as Mathias heard the crushing sound of metal to metal. Lars II large frame wavered for a moment before collapsing to its right side, Guillaume stood behind him, the spikes of his morning star dripping with fresh blood. Guillaume bent down to help his cousin up, handing him his sword to help balance himself. A few of Mathias' retinue, who had been lost to the fray, made their way to their prince, surrounding him with their shields while another helped him remove his breast plate so that he might breath easier. The two princes slowly made their way to the cover of the tree line as the battle raged on before them. As the sun began to crack over the horizon, the sounds of horns from within the Van Niljveld ranks blared all around as they attempted to make a retreat to the east. Mathias, from horseback, led his troops in pursuit of the fleeing forces, the Duchess Renangers made her way to the old princes side, herself still on foot.

"Prince Mathias, you were injured?"

"Not badly, though my breastplate will need mending or replacing." Mathias looked out and could see the approaching colors of the rear guard, arrows came whirling their way as they attempted to provide cover for their retreating compatriots. Mathias road across the line of advancing Desravank soldiers, waving his sword high as he paced back and forth. A group of Niljveld cavalry raced passed and out from behind the Desravank lines. The prince squinted to see in the center of their formation sat a horse with two riders, one of which was covered with blood and being held up by the other.

"Halt! Halt all advances!" Their pursing army came to a complete stop, a shield wall forming to face the oncoming arrows.

"Why do we stop, cousin? We could crush them!" Guillaume came rushing forward, morning star gripped tightly with both hands.

"We have already achieved a great victory today, Guillaume. Besides, how far would you have us pursue them? And for all we know they have reinforcements waiting only a few miles away."

"Our soldiers need a much deserved rest, too, Prince Guillaume. Duke Lars II will be reeling from this loss for some time." Duchess Emilie placed his axe into its loop, securing it at her waste.

"Duke Lars II will not be reeling from anything any longer. His skull now bears the imprint of my mace." Guillaume rested his weapon on his shoulder as he raised his visor, a smug expression across his dirt and sweat caked face.

"Today truly was a great victory then. Let this be a lesson to all who oppose this union." Duchess Emilie turned back to face the retreating army, which by now was well into the horizon. Prince Mathias looked to his cousin and the Duchess.

"Where is Duke Yves? How did he and his soldiers fare?"

"When last I saw him, he and his soldiers were rounding up as many Van Niljveld forces as they could. Though I fear we may not have much room for prisoners."

"No, we do not. Nor do we have much room for traitors." Guillaume gripped his mace tighter. Mathias shot both the Duchess and daft prince a look of contempt.

"They will be treated with care and respect. Most of them did not choose to fight in this war. They are people of the land, people of the Desravank Empire who were only serving their liege lord as they were ordered to. Lars has received his punishment, and should his successors carry on after him then they too will meet a similar fate. But his levy, his lesser nobles, they have little say in these matters. See to it that they are fed and offered pardons upon joining our ranks. We did suffer some losses today, and could use replenishment of fresh loyal subjects."

The Duchess Rengangers and Prince Guillaume exchanged looks and bowed to Prince Mathias. The three watched as the sea of blue and green dissapeared over the horizon.

Duchess Obbinkerloo stood tall, radiating a white glow as the afternoon sun reflected off her plate armor. At her hip was a battle axe, sizable to be used with two hands should one want to, a shield emblazoned with her crest - per pale white and sable with two minotaur combatant sable and white. On her helmet, on both sides, was two large horns of bronze; though Prince Thijn could not imagine the practicality of ever utilizing them as such, he was certain Nadine had used them to vanquish a foe before. Dressed in his own plate armor, which had to be adjusted slightly given the more slender frame he had when last he wore it, the old prince sat upon his horse to the left and just behind the duchess. To the right and behind the duchess, also on horseback, was Heleen Dietma, Aert Dietma II's eldest child and heir. Her plate armor had been painted completely black save for her right gauntlet, which kept its natural steel shine; this was the typical fashion of knights from House Dietma, their blazon being double chevron gold, red, and sable with the steel gauntlet centered. Behind them, in equal rows, armed with round shields, spears, axes, as well as some with double-handed axes and even the occasional great-sword, was an army thirty-three thousand strong. The five-thousand strong Biljvank force was left behind to defend Obbinkerloo, the prince and duchess hoped the attacks on the siege camp from those wearing Biljvank colors would help sow distrust amongst the camp as well as fear. Fifty-yards away from the duchess and prince, standing tall and wide, centered directly on the South Road, stood Fort Licon. If Nadine's intel was to be believed, they had a small force of only one-thousand for the purposes of maintaining the fort during times of peace. That was a little trifle when compared to the stockpiles the the Licon forces kept within the fort. Nadine estimated there would be enough grain and cheese there to feed an army of fifty-thousand for three months. Now was the more difficult part - taking the fort before they could call for reinforcements. They had arrived around mid-day, having made the decision to make camp while still a few miles out so as to not be spotted approaching or while camping. An astonished guard on the battlements had run away roughly a half hour earlier and there was finally some commotion as they returned with three others. In the center was a tall woman in a green tabard with the brown peryton resplendent across the front - the crest of House De Licon. Flanking her sides stood a man and woman, the man had short black hair and a poorly trimmed goatee while the woman had a shaved head with little amounts of dirty-blonde stubble growing back; they each wore the same attire as the woman in the center.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing this fine day?" The woman in the center shouted with authority.

"I am the Duchess Nadine Obbinkerloo, this is Prince Thijn Biljvank, and this is Lady Heleen Dietma. Behind me is an army of assorted soldiers baring all of our colors. Who among you has the authority to treat with me?"

"You speak for your prince, do you, Duchess?" There was no response for some time, Thijn watched as the smirk on the middle woman faded over the silence.

"I ask again, and this time respond to the question asked or I will skip this nicety all together. Who among you has the authority to treat with me?" The man and woman to the side stepped back slightly as the woman in the middle moved forward.

"I am Lady Delphine Du Licon, third child of the Duchess Licon. You come before our fort so heavily armed, I trust you are not here to fight for the Kings Thierry and Rikkert?"

"I do not, though I do congratulate those traitors on their self appointed ascensions and coronations. I give you the chance to surrender your fort to us now, or we will leave none within alive once it is taken by force." Prince Thijn looked to Nadine with his eyes wide and mouth ready to fall. She returned his look with a glare followed by a quick smirk.

"Will that be before or after you have your way with everyone here, Duchess? It is well known to us here in Licon of your affairs, and comes as no surprise that you would side with your lover over your own rightful king." Thijn leaned forward as if to speak, but was quickly shushed with the hand of Nadine being raised. With the other hand she motioned for her squire to approach.

"Oh I see! Who is it that truly commands who, then? Do you follow the scent of your wastrel of a prince, a sorry excuse for royalty, or does he find himself so desperate for power and attention these days that he allows you to - " Lady Delphine Du Licon was unable to finish her thought, however, as the Duchess Nadine Obbinkerloo launched a crossbow bolt through the lady's throat, causing her to stumble backwards and into the arms of the two behind her. Nadine handed the crossbow back to her squire.

"Who else among you has the authority to treat with me? And, might I suggest, you do not treat with me as she did." The man with the bad goatee rushed forward to the battlements, his mouth wide open and eyes reaching out.

"Have you no honor? Have you know understanding of the codes of war? You strike down your enemy under the guise of discussing terms! I should have archers unleash a torrent upon - " He too stopped mid-sentence, however this time it was not at the behest of a bolt to the neck. Rather, it was more at the possibility of the bolt, that the man stopped himself, stood upright, and adjusted his tabard. He turned to others on the walls and simply nodded his head. Shortly after the gates began to raise.

"Your tactics never cease to impress me, love. But did you need to kill her?"

"To be completely honest, Thijn, I missed. I was aiming for her shoulder but overshot."

"Really?"

"Of course not, you fool. I would have aimed lower if she had not seen to besmirching both of our honors. Now, we have soldiers to convert to our side and - wait. Shields!" Just as the army began to approach the gates, the battlements were filled with archers, who quickly let loose a volley of arrows into the joint army. Few screams were heard, Thijn hoped that meant they were able to raise their shields just in time. He then heard Nadine pull her axe from her hip and spin around.

"If it is a fight they want, it is a fight they shall get! First and second, ladders! Third, to the gate! Fifth and sixth, provide cover, I want those walls cleaned of archers before our first ladders are even planted to raise. Charge!" Taking the helm of the third division, Nadine, Thijn, and Heleen road with their retinues at their backs head first towards the gates. Just before reaching, however, they were forced to reel up their reins and come to a sudden stop as the gate came crashing down in front of them.

"Cowards, they must broken the chain! Very well, third! Fall back to first position!" Thijn reared his horse back and galloped away from the gate, the third infantry reforming quickly just fifty-yards away once more, now forming up a shield wall with the fourth infantry. They suffered very few losses from archer fire as the fifth and sixth shot true, taking their time to fire at will, taking down individual targets along the walls rather than wasting volley after volley. Within a short amount of time, the roughly two hundred archers that dotted the walls had met their end by the arrows of Houses Obbink and Dietma. With little to no resistance along the battlements, the ladders went up quickly, the first and second began pouring out and into the fort. Nadine let out a scream and, after dismounting, ran to the ladders with the third and fourth in tow. Within seconds, the walls were filled with Obbink and Dietma soldiers, the courtyard of the fort playing host to the remaining eight-hundred or so Licon soldiers all huddled in a circular shield wall. Directly in the center, shield raised and sword arm shaking, was the man with the bad goatee and the woman with the buzzed head. Thijn watched as Nadine slowly descended the stairs by the gate and made her way to stand just in front of it inside.

"Fools and cowards all. Who are you that cowers within the limited safety of your own warriors?"

"I - I am Lord Isidore Isideau, knight of House Licon." With the man said with a quivering voice. A more firm but higher pitched voice followed.

"I am Lady Anne Claudelet, knight of House Licon."

"Well, Lord Isidore and Lady Anne. I give you one final opportunity to surrender willingly, and you will be given the choice of swearing fealty to Prince Thijn Biljvank instead. Or, you may die valiant but ultimately pointless deaths." Thijn watched as the two knights turned to look at one another, then back out to the soldiers surrounding them. Before they could make a noise or motion, one of their soldiers put down her shield and spear. Shortly after two others put down theirs. Thijn had to keep himself from laughing as he watched the eight-hundred strong force lay down their arms with out the consent of their lords. After exchanging one final look with one another, Isidore laid his sword and shield on the ground, as Anne followed suit.

"Well done, Duchess Obbinkerloo. I know these two will serve me well. As they will serve the entire Desravank Empire." Prince Thijn smiled down to the two knights, who were now averting eye contact with all, staring blankly at their feet and the dirt below. On to Licon, then. 

Phillipe and Hein slowly made their way through the grove. At their front, leading them with an eye of suspicion, was a male centaur with a sturdy frame; aside from the leather vest he wore, a fur shawl was draped over his shoulders, the string of the bow that he had strung over his back pressed into the black material at a diagonal. On a belt at his waste, where his human torso met his horse half, there were two quivers filled to the brim with arrows. 35. Phillipe counted the total, one for each member of the royal retinue, along with the King and Prince. The royal retinue, of course, had not been allowed to enter the grove along with their liege, despite much protesting. After talking them down, Captain Jacques agreed not to follow, but he vowed to be at the ready should anything untoward happen to the King and Prince. Captain Jacques was, at the end of the day, a member of House Hemramaux, whose motto was "Ever Watchful, Ever Loyal." The king knew there was nothing he could do to truly comfort and calm his guards, but they would obey even if he told them to charge head first at the centaurs before them - a death sentence for no crimes committed. King Phillipe turned to face his cousin by marriage, who by now was shimmering with nervous sweat. It was a cool Spring morning, despite having arrived at Mannes Rite around mid-day the day before, they were not permitted to enter the sacred grove until an appropriate escort could arrive. Despite knowledge of the kings approach and desire for a meeting, Blazing Arrow did not seem the least bit concerned with appearing expectant or hospitable.

"Phillipe, did this gentleman ever give us his name?" Hein whispered softly, leaning over the left side of his saddle to focus his voice even more so on the intended recipient.

"I do not believe he did, cousin, no." Phillipe did not give the same regard for privacy as his cousin by marriage, giving Hein a look of shock. Though, the king was unsure if the old prince was more surprised by the familial term of "cousin" being used towards him by Phillipe, or the volume of his response. Hein took a moment to relax his face, lean back to the center of his saddle, and respond.

"I can not see Captain Jacques or the rest of the retinue beyond the trees behind us anymore."

"Yes, cousin, these are thick woods. Some of the densest in the world I understand, part of why this grove is so sacred to the Mannes." More centaur began to make their way out from behind the trees, poking their front halves just within the clearing so that their presence could be seen by all.

"They do not seem happy with us being here." Hein began to breath faster, his eyes darting between the ever growing horde surrounding them.

"It will be alright, cousin. The Mannes value strength, bravery, and honesty, so long as we can express those three traits between the both of us, we should be well on our way to riding down my uncle and his traitorous army." The old prince did not look back at the king, instead continuing to eye the shrinking circle of hooves, though slower than his initial hyper ventilation.

"How many do they number?"

"I do not know. Some estimate several hundred, others estimate tens of thousands."

"Tens of thousands? That cannot be possible."

"They also have free roam over the Plains of the Last Garlieux, effectively granting them half of the Duchy of Pelariaux. I would even believe one-hundred thousand, men, women, and children." Phillipe let out a small grin, hoping it would catch the eye of his once again hyper ventilating cousin by marriage. It did.

"That is not as funny as you think it is, my liege." The over emphasis on the rarely spoken words between kin of the crown, mixed with the chuckle the followed, reassured King Phillipe that Prince Hein would be able to keep his head and his humors about him.

"I was only joking about my last estimate, cousin. Some believe they could be as populace as fifty-thousand, though more conservative estimates put them around one-thousand. We rarely see them, they keep to themselves here in the Trentenn Woods and hardly anyone with an intellect would pass through the Plains of the Last Garlieux unless at the helm of an army."

"Why? Are the Mannes that territorial?"

"No. It is just home to an assortment of nasty creatures, the king that like to eat and kill passers by. Though, the Mannes have managed to survive them for hundreds of years. My safest estimate is fifteen thousand men, women, and children make up the entirety of the tribe."

"So we are risking your life for the possibility of, what, three thousand soldiers?"

"Closer to ten, but all the same, one Mannes centaur is worth five of our best knights on horseback." Hein turned to respond to his king, but quickly decided not to as their guide stopped and turned to face them.

"Our numbers matter not to you. We do not fight for you, we have never fought for you. You will do well to remember this when speaking with Chief Blazing Arrow." The hulking figure glanced from pair of eyes to pair of eyes, starting with Phillipe, and then Hein, and ending with Phillipe again. Without another word, he motioned behind him, signaling the two to go on passed him. In the very center of the clearing sat a large leather tent with smoke coming out from its top. The structure was roughly the size of ten stables shoved together, with its walls being almost ten feet high. King Phillipe looked to Hein, shrugged, and coaxed his horse into entering slowly. Beyond the flap was an array of shelving and racks, each stocked high with weapons and provisions. A long rack with nothing but hooks at the top held several articles of clothing, all for the torso. Centered in the room, was a firepit that burned bright and hot, filling the tent with great warmth as its light grey smoke exited through the the hole in the top. Standing beyond the fire, directly opposite Phillipe and Hein, stood three centaurs. The furthest to the left had long, flowing black hair that hung almost to the bottom of their knees. They appeared to be female, with smaller breasts pushing up from under a closed vest that wrapped torso. Tufts of fur poked out from under the vest, explaining the lack of a cloak. In her right hand was a long spear, with a spear tip that must have been at least two feet in length and having been sharpened on both sides, allowing the wielder to utilize it like the blade of a short sword. Furthest to the right stood a male presenting centaur, whose hair was equally as long as the female, though it was braided to allow it to hang to a shorter length. A similar vest adorned his torso, with three quivers on a belt at his hip, five daggers were in another belt that strapped across his chest from his right shoulder to his left hip, and in his left hand was a similar sword-staff. Centered between these two, adorned in a tunic made of the scales of a black drake, wearing a crown of antlers, stood who could only have been Chief Blazing Arrow, High Chief of the Mannes Tribe.

Contrary to how they are often referred to the Mannes are in fact multiple tribes, with their main tribe being that of the Velos Tribe. In their first inception, they were a collection of tribes that were united under the banner of the Mannes Tribe, an ancestor of Blazing Arrow. After several wars with the humans that began to wander into and settle the lands that now made up the Desravank Empire, the members of the Mannes Tribe were killed off entirely. Through intermarriages, however, the head families of each of the remaining tribes could claim relation to the Mannes Tribe one way or another. In place of direct hereditary succession, the tribes would convene at a Chiefs Moot after the passing of their High Chief, where they will elect amongst themselves who shall be their next High Chief. Blazing Arrow was the daughter of the last High Chief of the Mannes, but, to King Phillipe's limited knowledge of their customs, this was allowed to happen. For what felt like thirty minutes, not a word was spoken between those present inside the tent. Phillipe could hear the wheezing from Hein, ensuring it remained steady. He did not know how much, if any, of his medicine he had readily available with him.

"Phillipe, King of the Desravank Empire. I welcome you to my land and my tribe." Blazing Arrow bowed her head slightly, Phillipe did the same. For the Mannes, to bow low was a sign of submission, to bow slightly was a sign of equals, and to not bow at all was a sign of superiority.

"I thank you for your welcome, Blazing Arrow, Chief of the Velos and High Chief of the Mannes." Phillipe bowed his head slightly once more, as Blazing Arrow did the same.

"Who have you brought with you?"

"This is my cousin, Hein, Prince of the Biljvank Kingdom." Hein bowed his head slightly to all in attendance. The king looked over to Blazing Arrow, who continued to look the old prince up and down with curiosity. Phillipe bowed his head slightly to Hein, glancing over in hopes the high chief would understand. She narrowed her eyes, and allowed her head to move ever to a meager downward facing angle. The three then lifted their heads back up, the prince and king exchanging looks of relief.

"This is my daughter, Swift Arrow, and my youngest brother, Raging Arrow." Swift Arrow bowed her head slightly to the king and prince while Raging Arrow bowed low, bending at the hip rather than the neck. Phillipe and Hein bowed at the neck to Swift Arrow, raised their heads, and turned to face Raging Arrow, neither making another move. "You impress me with your knowledge, Phillipe, King."

"I hope to do more than just impress you, Blazing Arrow, Chief and High Chief. I hope to convince you of your place within our empire."

"And within the fighting it does, no doubt."

"That is an always an unfortunate possibility, yes."

"We have no interest in fighting your wars for your, nor do we desire to become subjects in a land in which we are already free."

"My father, Francois, King, granted you and your tribes many privilege's, all with the understanding that the Mannes would answer the call if and when given."

"The privilege's your father, Francois, Father and King, 'granted' us, were nothing more than threats should we not submit. We lived as we always lived prior. We roamed free, we hunted as we pleased, we worshipped as we desired, and we paid no mind to his kingdom, monetarily or otherwise. Had Francois, Father and King, ever called on us to fight for him, we would not have shown. And then what, Phillipe, Son and King? Would he have sent soldiers to burn our homes and kill our young? The Mannes are not a conquered people, and we serve none but our own."

"Let me not come to you as arrogant and foolish, then, Blazing Arrow, Chief and High Chief. Let me come to you as not an overlord, nor a conqueror. Instead, let me come to you as a friend. A friend in need who now fights a common foe." Swift Arrow let out a sharp exhalation, signifying a stifled laugh. Her mother shot her a look, causing the young centaur to straighten her stance back upright, her eyes facing out at nothing.

"Who would this common foe be? Our borders are secure. The Forests of Mannes have not been attacked for two hundred years now, and have repelled all sorts of roving hostile groups within that time - bandits, holy warriors, and other despicable collections of those out on the prowl for the weak and defenseless."

"My uncle, Thierry, Traitor and Prince. He currently leads a force attempting to overthrow me and take the crown for himself. I know he will stop at nothing to achieve this goal, and that he would rule these lands with an iron fist. You can declare yourself self-governed, but you cannot declare yourself totally free of the fluctuations and the goings-on of the empire that surrounds you."

"No, we cannot declare such foolish things. But neither can we declare such foolish things as that of needing help from those who wish to be our overlords."

"I have no such desire, Blazing Arrow, Chief and High Chief. I will even promise a formal declaration, that the Mannes Tribes are a totally self-governed and free state within the borders of the Desravank Empire."

"But we will die for it, yes? Fight its wars for it, yes? Be on the front lines, taking spears and arrows that otherwise would kill your soldiers, yes?" Phillipe felt the palms of his hands clam up. They have no need for us, we have every need of them. 

"Shall I show them out, mother? Or have they insulted you enough to deserve execution?"

"Blazing Arrow, Chief and High Chief, may I suggest something to you? A hypothetical, let us say." Prince Hein nudged his horse ever so closer to the fire, allowing the focus to fall on him now. Blazing Arrow looked over with great surprise, looked to her daughter and brother, nodded her head and motioned for Hein to speak.

"Thank you. The Mannes are a proud and powerful people, in all truthfulness you can survive and sustain yourselves here for all eternity. My cousin, Phillipe, King, has no grand ambitions of conquest. Unlike those before him, he does not see these lands as his by right, but as his peoples, as being owned by those who work tirelessly upon it day in and day out. The people of these lands, they work, they create food, professional goods, and provide services that benefit all around them. In all truth, what need have they of lords, or kings, or chiefs? What need is there of rulers for kingdoms and tribes, when they do not work the land themselves? I ask genuinely, Blazing Arrow, Chief, Mother, and High Chief." Blazing Arrow stared deep within the flames of the logs centered between them all. they crackled and flung themselves ever higher, before simmering and popping back into place.

"Without those who rule, there would be none to intercede when help was needed. When quarrels arise between tribes within the Mannes, it is part of my duties as High Chief to mediate peacefully between the two opposing tribes. I lead our people into battle, when such unfortunate needs arise, and I plan in the storing of foods, when those amongst us who follow the patterns of Bershion predict a drought. I lead the Mannes, because there is always such a need, no matter how large or small a tribe is."

"You are a part of these lands, Blazing Arrow, Chief, Mother, and High Chief. The Mannes are within the Desravank Empire, and can therefore request that Phillipe, King, intercede when help is needed. He may send provisions should they be required to outlast a drought, a sudden blizzard, or any other such catastrophe from Bershion or Geshana. While there is no doubt of your ability to defend and govern yourselves, should a neighbor see the Forests of Mannes as an ample source for timber and attempt to push the Mannes away, Phillipe, King, would serve as mediator so no lives are unnecessarily lost. When the unfortunate needs of war strike, he will lead his soldiers. We ask that you fight alongside him, as fellow members of these lands." Blazing Arrow continued to stare longingly into the blaze. Phillipe could feel his heart pounding, attempting to leap from his chest and into the roaring flames. Finally, Blazing Arrow turned to her daughter, and then to her brother.

"Leave us." Swift Arrow looked as though she would protest, but slowly made her way out the other side of the tent after her uncle. Blazing Arrow looked up to Hein, her eyes piercing his. After a moment, after perhaps an unspoken conversation, Hein bowed at the neck and left the tent.

"The Mannes will never serve. We will never fight for another, we would sooner die by our own weapons than for any one else's cause." Phillipe swallowed hard, his hands slick with sweat. "But, we will fight with another. An equal. A promise must be written, one that will never expire, even should one of your replacements feel more ambitious down the line. The Mannes will join your empire, Phillipe, Son and King, but we will never serve it."

"It will be drafted and signed before we leave."

"You will not be leaving, you will lead at the helm alongside me, as equals. Hein, Cousin and Prince, may leave once all is written, agreed to, and signed."

"It shall be done, Blazing Arrow, Chief, Mother, and High Chief."

"Prince Hein, may I speak freely?" the old prince looked to his left at the captain of the guard, both riding out at a slow gait. It had been two days now since leaving Mannes Rite, King Phillipe had insisted on staying behind, believing that negotiations were not completely over in spite of the signed treaty. "Go to Garlennes with Captain Jacques and the rest of the guard. Duchess Zoe Pascelet, Duchess of Parseille, is leading her army along the Southern Road and will meet you and Duke Serge Garlen there. Ride out to Lebatou from there, I will do my best to meet you there in time for the siege. May the gods be with you, cousin." Those were his directives, his royal orders. Phillipe did not actually expect Hein to fight, though, did he? Not that the old prince has not dreamed of such heroic deeds on the battle field, but, realistically speaking, it was not a good idea. Hein placed his left hand to rest on the pommel of his sword, which had sat untouched in its scabbard since the day he got it thirty years ago. It was a gift from Rikkert, that and a few lessons on how to swing the thing without killing yourself. It was made to be unique, a bronze center with steel edges, the handguard was made of copper dragon scales, the handle and scabbard were wrapped in manticore leather - a thick, black skin that is tougher than chain mail. The greatest piece, however, was the pommel: an emerald rounded into a sphere that reflected any light, causing it to constantly shine. While the old prince had never fought with the weapon in real combat, he continued lessons whenever he could at home, reading all books available to him on footwork and stances.

"Yes, Captain Jacques, you may speak freely." The captain road just ahead of the prince, leading the party out of the forests and onto the Southern Road. Off in the distance, a ruined wall could be seen.

"I do not feel good having left King Phillipe behind without a retinue. I have failed in my duties by allowing him to continue on alone."

"Jacques, you are a remarkable captain, you do realize that?" the captain averted his eyes from the old prince, perhaps out of embarrassment.

"I - thank you, my lord." After another moment, having over come his feeling of being flustered, Jacques continued. "But, I really must protest, and suggest I send a detachment back north to accompany our King."

"Your protests are noted and appreciated, captain. However, we were given direct orders from our King, and I have no intentions of disregarding or going against them by any means." Captain Jacques stared blankly at the ground in front of him, his horse sending up dust clouds with each hoof hit of the dirt road before them.

"My apologies, my lord. Thank you for reminding me of my duties." Hein looked over the horizon to the ruins ahead of them. Treris.

"Tell me, captain, are you familiar with the ruins of Treris?" The captain's eyes widened for moment as the unexpected question sunk in. Looking around the group and finally resting his eyes on the horizon, Captain Jacques raised an eyebrow and gave a grin of understanding.

"I am, yes. Roughly one-hundred years ago there was a rebellion there, and it was put to the torch by the Desramaux Dynasty."

"That is the basics of it yes, but do you know anything about what the city once was? Who lived there and why they rebelled?" Captain Jacques furrowed his brow for several minutes, his mind lost in genuine thought, before responding.

"I am ashamed to say I do not know much else about the city. Do you?"

"I do. It was run by House Trerieux, the second most powerful noble house in what was the Pelariaux Dynasty. As a result of this, they were the most adamant supporters to House Pelariaux and the return of their kingdom. After not even ten years of having been conquered, Duke Jacques Trerieux led a rebellion from Treris, retaking all of the lands formerly in their kingdom, and proclaimed the old King Renault Pelariaux king once again. All of this within a few short months too."

"How was the duke able to mobilize so quickly?"

"Because of what Treris was. The city was home to an iron mine, renowned blacksmiths, and a forge that would make the gods jealous. With the ability to arm themselves quickly and efficiently, House Trerieux was able to rush across from South to North, crown Renault, and prepare for a siege well before House Desramaux knew what was happening in their eastern districts. However, once the Desramaux Dynasty had mobilized themselves and went out to siege Pelaresse, the odds were suddenly very against House Trerieux. Sensing the impending defeat, Renault Pelariaux condoned the actions of House Trerieux, claiming they do not speak for House Pelariaux. Offended and disappointed, Jacques fled back south with his army, the Pelariaux crown, and Renault's nephew: Arnault. Once back in Treris, Jacques proclaimed Arnault king and hunkered down for a siege. His hope was to either make the Desramaux forces grow weary from a prolonged siege, or that his forces superior armaments and access to constant supplies would grant him a resounding victory over the greater numbers of the Desramaux soldiers." The group halted as they reached the Southern Road, just before they turned to follow it east. Hein pointed further to their south, along the remnants of a dirt road that continued on for another few miles. Just over the horizon, along the foot of the Desramaux Mountains, sat the decrepit remains of once proud walls. Black scorch marks could be seen all along the top of the walls, even from their great distance.

"Duke Jacques Trerieux, along with his head, had his hopes dashed out along the grounds of his once great city. Standing at the battlements, it is said he proclaimed there were no civilians present, that all beyond those walls were soldiers against the Desramaux Dynasty. That was all that the leading commander, Count Gerald Menann, needed to sound the assault. On the 6th of Pictosh, 260 PR, the city of Treris fell. Over the course of the next two days, all soldiers and nobles within the city were killed, the remaining civilians were escorted out, the mine was collapsed, the forge drowned, and the city set to the torch. What was once the greatest smithy in the region, is now a scorched husk, filled with the skeletons of the unburied who died fighting for it." Captain Jacques handed a wine skin to the prince, who happily accepted. Ruby wine.

"Why would they destroy the city if it served such an important military role?"

"To make an example out of it. Though, it does not seem to have worked, given current circumstances." The old prince took another swig from the wine skin before handing it back to the captain.

"How do you think our current affairs would differ had Treris been allowed to survive?"

"I think you and I would be accompanied by much more than just an honor guard right now, and we would be marching towards a siege. Old loyalties die hard, I am afraid."

"Of that, I am all too aware." Captain Jacques took a sip from his wine skin and coaxed his horse on, Prince Hein and the rest of the company following suit. After some more time riding, the captain looked to the old prince again.

"How is it you know so much about the history of the Desramaux Dynasty?"

"I read a lot. I would never call myself an expert on anything, but if there is a topic up for discussion, odds are I have read at least two books about it."

"And this is from your time recuperating from your... affliction?"

"If you consider my entire life since the age of fifteen recuperation, then yes. The gods saw fit to take my body and help my mind."

"Thank the gods that mind is on the right side, then." Prince Hein looked down at his sword, thoughts of his mother and brother coursed through his mind. Was Rikkert safe? Does he know what is happening, and why it is happening? What will happen to mother at the end of this all? The old prince looked back up to the captain.

"You are assuming there is a right side and a wrong side, captain. Both sides believe themselves to be right, and since diplomacy is a lost cause at this point, only sheer force will prove who was right, and who was wrong."