A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 10: Deceiver

[Forien's Point of View]

We arrived closer to midnight than that of the evening. You would not believe how hard it was- travelling across all the snow. Many people back east were already restless for the arrival of this year's spring. It seems this might be a cold spring rather than a warm one.

I woke up earlier than all of them. Well, that was what I thought before I went out to the courtyard only to see a young man, around my age, strolling about. I approached, carefully making sure he does not see me. Then, I saw his face. A face of a handsome boy he had, with his hair gold and his eyes maroon. He was a Ballister child, one of the two offsprings of King Orastor.

He had long hair; I could not tell whether he was male or female. Perhaps she was Lady Orelia, the unfortunate bride of the Ravenhan heir, Noran. Maybe he was Orevian Ballister, heir to the throne and prince of the four regions. Little did I know, he himself would answer the very question I had.

He turned around, and saw me lurking. "Who are you?" he asked. "Show yourself!"

Seeing no risk, I rise from behind the shrub. "I am Forien, Forien Strix, heir to the seat of The Spire, and son of-"

"You are the son of the great Folius Strix?" he asked, seemingly excited. "He is the richest man in the entirety of the four regions. You must feel privileged being his son." he remarks.

"I am his son, my lord." I reply. Although, I would have added I do not, however, feel privileged as a son of a madman, my lord along with my reply. I bow lightly.

"How must it be there towards the east?" he asks, looking at me, expecting an answer.

"Oh, uh- well..." do not stutter, he is the prince for goodness' sake! I told myself. "...It is good, my lord. Many farmers sow and reap. Of course, The East Plains is greener than most areas of the four regions." I remind him.

He laughs at my remark. Do you make fun of me, my lord? I wished to ask. "You could not imagine our state up north. The grass may be dead here, but at least you could see it. The grass up north, dead or alive, would always be covered in snow. May it be spring or winter." the prince explained.

"My lord..." I began, "...what brings you here?" I ask.

"Ah, yes, the garden..." he told me, "...it gives peace and solitude even to the most nervous men. Men like me." he explained.

"It is peaceful, my lord." I reply. "That I am glad we can agree with." I remark.

He nods his head, and rests his elbows on the marble railings, while looking east. He pointed to where he looked. "Do you see that large building over there?" he asks me.

I focus my gaze from him to where he wanted me to look. There it was, just as the young lord said- a large structure, made of white marble, with its roof made of tiles painted royal blue. "What is it?" I ask.

"A school." he replied. "Well, a school for scholars, not children." he added.

"Not for children?" I ask. "So, grown men study there?"

"Indeed, my friend." he replied. There was that word: Friend. I know I am not his friend. I wonder what his face would become when he eats my father's poisonous cake. Deep down, I despised the very thought.

"Why waste all of that time..." I began, "...when you could be working at the fields for your wife and children?" I asked him. Really, it made no sense. Not even an eastern folk would take himself up to study another decade at some university.

"I asked the same question to a friend." he replied. "He told me people study there because they desire to serve the people..." he looked at me with a smile, the light of the sun making his face shine brighter. "...they discard their chance to have a family to become advisors, and diplomats and messengers. They give up their life for the better of others." he answered.

I look to the building again. So, it honors they seek, I thought to myself. Being a man of family is more honorable than any other job or position there is. "What makes it... honorable?" I ask.

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He listened closely, then paused for a moment. To be honest, he was quite the interesting boy. Perhaps he could be my... no. Never. My father would forbid any sympathy to the Ballisters. "If a man sacrifices his for the better of others, do you not call it honor?" he asked.

"Well, if you put it that way, then..." I stopped to think. He was right, that was honor, but it still made no sense. Why waste the chance to help your family and help strangers? I asked myself. "...it is honor. However, why help strangers when you have your family to take care of?"

"Last I checked, being an advisor and a messenger pays a lot." he remarked. That was true, I suppose.

Wait, I thought, why am I talking to a Ballister? What am I doing gathering sympathy for them? I asked myself. It felt wrong, to be bonding with someone I would soon murder. "My lord..." I asked him, "...what does it take to judge someone righteously?" I asked. "How would one know who to trust?" I asked. This was one question I always wanted to ask to anyone- especially a Ballister.

"I remember the words of my friend..." he began. "A man must be moral and wise..." he tells me, "...give them no second chance. When they wrong you, never trust them again. Furthermore, never make reckless alliances with thieves, traitors, and deceivers." he answered.

Traitors and deceivers, I thought, that's us. "Have you ever made such a mistake, my lord, trusting someone you never should have?" I asked.

"I believe in goodness..." he replied. "...that there are still people who harbor good whilst most is evil. I have made that mistake a lot of times. All of them, I have learned from, and here I am- grown." he answered, taking his elbows off the railing.

Oh, I do not believe you will grow from this one, I say in my mind. Should I confess it all? Should I tell him everything while it is not too late? Honor, I remind myself. What is more honorable than to save others? "M-my Lord..." I began, my voice shaky, my eyes fixated to the distance. "I must confess-"

"Your grace." a voice called.

That is no maid, I realize. A worker? I asked myself. No... that is a voice all too familiar. I turn around to see a figure. He is tall, with broad shoulders, his hair brown like mine, and his eyes pierce my very soul. "Father." I managed to get out with a surprised voice.

He looks at me, menacingly. His eyes look like one of a hunter, and his hands... an iron grip. "Apologies for my son, my lord." he calmly remarked. "I assume he has greatly disturbed you. I will take him to his quarters." he finished. He took me by the arm and led me away. I look to the young lord for aid, but he could not do anything.

Enough destroying lives, I said to myself. I know who is in the wrong, and that is my father, I decided. It is the time to save and not kill. It is the time to salvage rather than to destroy. Hold tight, my young lord, you will survive this night.

At Snow Port, a large fleet arrives... [Magrae's Point of View]

Who knew spring would be this cold. I figured the south would be warmer than the east, but ever since we entered The Sea of Blades, the wind sent chills down our men's spines. None of them wore their armor as we arrived at Snow Port. As that bastard Lord Loreys commanded, all men would carry their supplies on bags.

Thank the Winged God I could wear my armor. Me and my brothers posed as bodyguards for Lord Loreys, saying that we had arrived late, and that we would hurry on to the keep. For now, we would soon exit the village of Soth Fields, the last old town before reaching Northrest Keep. The houses here were made of cobble, some just wood and straw. The people did not sow nor reap, but instead they fished at the nearby river called The Crossroads. Why'd they call this shit-hole "Soth Fields" if there aren't fields? I asked myself. These southern folk make no sense.

"How's your face?" a voice asked.

I turn to see my brother, Maserr, "The Owl". I prefer to call him Massy, though. "Doing good. The wounds don't mind the cold; it calms them." I told him.

"The artillery arrives soon, probably they'd arrive first." he remarked. "They exited Olton Fields and Caire City, now they will exit Grey Burg, and soon enter the city." he explained.

"Wasn't the plan to preserve the city's state?" I ask. That was true, the bastard Lord Loreys wanted a siege with less than normal bloodshed. He said to "conquer it and not raze it to the soil". So much for that plan of his.

"Aye." he agreed, "But best we be prepared. Scouts say they saw red banners in the distance. Those goats of Ballisters brought banners with them." he explained, spitting on the grass, and closing his helmet.

Red banners? I ask myself, those Ballisters know better than to let their royal family travel unprotected. Of course, we still likely had the numerical advantage. Fifty Thousand men under one bastard's command. I still had the duty to keep the prince alive. That boy's father is a cunt of a man for all I know. Who would drag their child into a war? A dumb father, probably.

"Look there!" one of my brothers yelled. I can't tell them apart by voice. Most of us have the same sound that I often get called "The Hound" sometimes after my brother, Maerys.

Many of us hurriedly rushed forward. There it was: Northrest Keep. The walls of the city were high, around fifty feet. The city was also divided into sections, six in total. In the middle of it all, was Northrest Keep, a tall castle with thirty feet walls. Within them were towers and tall houses. The large courtyard on the side was beautiful, even from afar.

The city inside the walls were all made of white stone with either red or blue rood tiles. To the eastern side of the city, there stood a large marble building with royal blue roof tiles. Perhaps a treasury, I thought.

Down there, beyond the walls, stood the large land of villages. Fields ready to burn were as dry as can be. The houses were mostly wood and cobble- even better. As Masser predicted, the artillery had already arrived, the machines disguised as trading supplies.

The bastard lord moves forward atop his horse, smiling, his old face and balding head was the only thing I could see- I hated his smile. "We take the keep the next day. Make your tents if you must, and enter the inns of the villages. Change into your armor, and burn this wretched place to the ground when I blow my horn!"