The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Bastard Brigade

The days and nights came by. The day grew noticeably shorter and colder as the waning days of fall began to draw near. On a day that just weeks earlier was basking in the light of the setting sun, there were only grey clouds to the west and the encroaching night that would last for months until the sun broke the clouds to announce the arrival of spring. The soldiers now walked around in heavy leather to keep themselves warm, and the Lords and Ladies of Anton pulled out bear and seal fur to insulate themselves. Tauron did not take such luxuries. He was wrapped in a simple blanket as he waited for word. From anywhere: his father, Horith Ryden, Desmond Guale. But there has not been a single letter in almost a week. Tauron felt adrift and the trees to the west were the land, but he had nothing to paddle towards it. His supper has been sitting at his bedside for an hour, and he never touched it. He did not even acknowledge Robert Oaran as he brought it in. The same as when he brought in lunch and breakfast.

"I fear for him," Helg and Julius were on their way to their meeting place and they passed by the Prince's room. They have not seen him since the council meeting, and it was clear to everyone who attending that meeting that the Prince was not well. His hair was unkempt and his beard was growing and untrimmed. He looked like he had aged a decade from the young man who left Raenna with his head held high and his blonde hair blowing in the wind like a maid's fairy-tale.

"Everyone does," Julius said, "I've never seen a commander so..." he could not find a word other than 'mad.'

"He's got a fifth of the soldiers in the Forthren, and half of the Royal Lands and he has no idea what to do with them. Why don't we just leave?"

"He had orders from the King not to enter the Westland unless he was called for by Lord Horith."

"In other words, we're not going anywhere," everyone knew Horith would rather see the Westland burn than ask for help from the Eastlanders.

"Perhaps one of his sons will be sensible."

"James Ryden is too timed," Helg said, "and Killian, the Warpig only skill at writing is with his hammer and his enemy's blood."

"We can't just stand by as the Westland burns!"

"We did during the Rorchistyr Rebellion. Truly the only one who can save the Westland is Horith Ryden."

"He did not win the Rorchistyr Rebellion!" Julius exclaimed, "He merely cleaned up the scraps of the Rorchistyr army that his father left behind."

"True, but he has kept the Westland stable for more than fifty years. They do not call him 'Horith the Bloody' for nothing."

"If Horith can't scare it into submission this time, than perhaps our only hope is the stare of the Frogman," Julius said, the only other person in Liticea who could match Horith Ryden for infamy. He lived i the swamps just beyond the reach of Duke Yorod Dayvey. Though he was a vassal, the Lord of the Swamplands ruled on his own.

"You know Desmond Guale will not cooperate."

"We have his son," Julius pointed out.

"That won't stop him from fucking us over somehow. And when he does, he'll have the Prince in the palm of his hands," Helg knew Tauron better than all the men in this castle. He was a smart, rational man, but he had a breaking point. Helg felt he already did something stupid by taking Baldrick Gaule, and if Desmond pushes him hard he could make mistake that could cost the country dearly. Lord Desmond would not care. He would go hide in his swamp as the world around him burned.

Before they could get to their room, the pair heard horns sounding outside the walls. They signaled the approach of an army. Two horn blows signaled the approach of an uncertainty. One was for friendly forces and three was for enemies. It could not be the King, nor could it be Lord Desmond if that was the horn they used.