A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 30: The Tent City

[Forien's Point of View...]

The army finally arrived to Ale Hall, and the tent city was once again risen... and so were our banners. Without the leadership of Lord Loreys Tiberrun, the remaining men were led by Ser Maserr, who managed the artillery, Ser Mareste who was set to lead the cavalry and Ser Magrae ready to march with the infantry.

Then there was my father, Lord Folius Strix. King Folius now... my mind reminded me, he calls himself a king. Ever since the victory at Northrest Keep, my father changed, becoming more prideful, quicker to anger, and even more paranoid than ever before. He would have guards stationed at every corner of his tent, and he would always have a dagger by his side.

My father now has a long beard partnered with long nails and longer hair. He feared assassination more than anything nowadays, not even allowing his own servants to cut his nails or trim his hair. He would still bathe, which was a relief, but other than that, he became a delusional man, hidden under his own pride and lurking in the shadows, admiring the only thing that shined- his crown adorned with rubies of red.

Most of the men don't even believe he exists. I could hear chatters of men saying that the king they served was not a real man. Others say that king was Lord Loreys, posing as a mere commander. The very few assumed that perhaps I was that king they served. Most, however, hoped this was simply another trip to ravage the lands and loot their gold and women.

Free folk... I thought to myself, the true barbarians of the lands.

News of our arrival already reached the lords of Ale Hall, most were of House Levarion, a great house in the south, the most powerful and the second richest with House Ravenhan taking the first place. Their sigil is a white horse on a grey and white banner, showing their superiority in the fields as they supplied the south with its horses.

Lord Caston was the holder of Ale Hall, and his brother, Lord Caeron, now held Iron Port in the south, bordering Hardsteel Bay and supplying much of the food in the keep. The south only has one hope, I assumed, House Levarion's mere existence keeps the south alive.

"The battle won't begin until my brother arrives, you know?" a voice asked.

There was no need to see who it was. The rough voice and the large thumps as his feet touched the ground was all too distinct by now. "I know, Ser Magrae." I replied.

"Why are you sweating so much on it?" he asked, examining my expression as if trying to read my thoughts. His face was blushing red. "You've been to battle before, my lord- Ale Hall isn't so different than you think, and the whores have gotten wild inside the tent!" he reassured with a laugh, looking out into the large castle as he stood beside me, taking a large bite from an apple and a sip from a cup as the moon lit most of the land. "Same procedure every time- I tell you. Rain down rocks on the walls, enter the gate, set fire to the keep or spare it, kill the men, fuck the women, and you move on-"

"'No man can simply walk into the walls of Ale Hall' is what old men say..." I told him, "...and they tell warnings to those who try that 'Ale Hall is impregnable by neither men nor machine'... I do not believe this is the same. Our chances are low-"

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"Ha!" Ser Magrae laughed. "Give me a handful of these free folk and an array of machines and I'll rape the fortress bitch within nightfall!" he exclaimed pointing at the castle, swaying as if losing his balance.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" I asked with a light chuckle.

"Just a pint of wine..." he replied, "...or two... or three... maybe more." he admitted.

"Since when were soldiers allowed to get drunk?" I asked, a look of outrage clearly plastered on my face as I stared at him. "If the men of House Levarion attack our camp at night, who will lead the infantry-"

"Oh, don't bother!" he exclaimed. "My brother's coming back tomorrow at first dawn. The best those white idiots with their greasy cunts can do is sit tight and hope your father grants them amnesty-"

"Father won't give them mercy..." I told him, "...nor will they surrender. House Levarion is firm in keeping the Ale Hall-"

"Well, they're fools if they think they can defend against thirty-five thousand men..." Ser Magrae remarked, admiring the moon shining from above, drinking a sip from his cup that leaked with wine, "...I just can't imagine how bloody this will all be." he said with a light smile and a laugh.

"Quite fond of blooshed, are you, Ser?" I asked, a subtle, fake smile on my expression. Nobody is fond of war, I thought. Surely, the men would ought to hate it instead. Ser Magrae was a different kind of man.

"Aye." he answered. "It's the only thing bringing me joy other than bedding harlots and drinking all the wine in the storage." he explained, taking another sip of wine.

"The leader of the infantry shouldn't be getting drunk at the night of his war council." I scolded him, punching him in the side of his stomach. I let out a laugh as he coughed up spit and drops of wine.

"For a boy, you can punch!" he exclaimed, clutching the area where I hit him. He was a good sport, however, laughing it off and spitting on the ground. "The council's better off without me, boy..." he began, "...the only thing you'll hear from me is crude jokes with a touch of yelling." he remarked, hitting me lightly on the shoulder as he turned around to leave.

"You will attend the war council, Ser Magrae!" I commanded firmly. "We need you just as much as we need the others. Lord Loreys isn't here to guide all of us-"

"Massy can lead you lot!" he exclaimed as he walked away. "He's just as cunning as the old bastard- I can tell you that one-"

"You will attend the war council!" I commanded him once more, taking a step closer to him as he got further away. "If I do not see you there- I swear in the name of The Three Men and The Winged God, I-"

"Fine!" he shouted, giving in as he limped to the camp. "Send Massy to get me! I don't wanna see Mareste's face yet until I need to!" he requested loudly as he almost trips on a rock. Slowly but surely, he faded into the tent city, where men chattered and prepared themselves with prayers for the battle to come the next day.

If knights are thought to be honorable men, Ser Magrae was not a knight, I thought to myself, remembering all the jokes he told. He is a warrior, though, I reminded myself, and a cunning one at that. The man knew strategy more than I did.

I was sure father wouldn't attend the council. With the absence of Lord Loreys, he could stay seated in his chair, admiring the crown he wore neatly atop his head... If only my sister were here to give me even the slightest feeling of home. Forea, I remembered, my sweet sister, Forea... wait for me well and take care of mother... I wanted to say.

Many tales of old men say that a man has plenty of wishes he can make... and that wishing upon a star would make it come true. Silly superstitions- I know -but I wanted to hope more than anything else. No more thoughts, I thought, on the war or on father... I said in my head, clearing every corner of it, making sure only one thought remained- home.

As I admired the stars that shined with the moon glowing in the middle of it all... I made my wish. Take me home.

In the north... [Aerystor's Point of View]

The chamber was quiet when the lords arrived. King Oren Ballister was already waiting for us when the door to the room opened. I took my seat first, next to the king, where the hand should be. Then, Ser Merien of House Abbister arrived, sweat slowly dripping from his head even though it was cold. His hands turned to fists as well, gripping the handle of his sword as tight as can be. Finally, Ravenman Caean seated himself at the farthest chair from the king.

Ser Merien's hands tremble and his head sweats like a fountain, I noted in my mind, yet it still snows outside... and the windows are open.

The king himself looked weary, tired, and pale. He clutched a silver cup on his right hand, filled with water instead of wine, and his eyes wandered anywhere they could. "Ser Merien..." he called, the mere mention of his own name making the knight shuffle uneasily, "...what news of the lords of the west?" he asked, his breathing... uncontrolled.

"M-my lord, I..." Ser Merien stuttered, looking around the table nervously. Without another word, he slowly took a piece of paper from underneath the table, shakily setting it in front of us all. "I received a letter, my lord. Just this morning from Westhold Keep itself-"

"Caean..." the king called, "...read that letter." he commanded with a stern voice. He's weak, I thought to myself, but why would the king be weak? He was well the day before...

The Ravenman took the letter slowly, and slowly he also read it. "From Lord Baeron of House Faerelion and the lords of House Blackstone and House Leros..." he began, making a quick glance at the king, "...the lords of the west are not yours to command. The Rocklands have deemed Lord Oren Ballister, holder of the north, as an unrighteous king as they have found the true heir to the crown. Therefore, the west renounces its fealty to him openly-"

With a loud shout, he threw his silver cup against the wall towards a servant that stood there, almost giving him a dented head. At the same time, he stood up, but his feet trembled. "The west rebels against the north now!?" he asked, outraged at the idea. Outbursts and weakness... what has happened to the king?

Without hesitation, I moved to calm him down. "My king, perhaps it is wise to-"

"Silence!" he roared, load but at the same time... weak. It's as if he is under a spell, I thought to myself, a spell of rage, weakness, and- oddly enough -madness. "The armies of the north must be ready at the first light tomorrow!" he exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table.

To do what!? I wanted to ask. What would you have the northern armies do!?

Ser Merien stood up and nodded his head. "Of course, your grace!" he replied loudly. This is madness... this cannot be!

"No, Ser Merien!" I exclaimed loudly as I stood up. "My lord, if it please you-"

"What!?" he asked, his eyes covered by red veins. "What do you want to say!? Say it now lest-" the words of the king died in his throat as he coughed badly. This is no fever... this is too odd for a fever, I noted. He still persisted, however, looking at me with piercing eyes, expecting an answer. "Well, Lord Leoan!? Speak!" he demanded.

For a quick moment, all the words huddled in my throat, refusing to move outward. This is not the king... I thought, he is never like this... it is as if he was poisoned by some foul ghoul. "My lord..." I began, "...we must not take arms against the west. They have declared themselves neutral, my lord- not enemies of the crown-"

"They may as well did!" he exclaimed, cutting me off. "Those lords refused to aid their king in his war-"

"All the better we move south, my king..." Ravenman Caean proposed, pointing towards the South Cradle on the map that laid on the table. "Take the south and the west will follow... if you thought of my plan foolish before, this is the time that proves it all the more useful-"

"I agree, my lord!" Ser Merien nodded eagerly, relieved at the choice. "We must show ourselves worthy of their support-"

"Prove ourselves worthy?" the king asked in a whisper. "Prove ourselves worthy!?" he echoed in outrage. "You are the council to the crown- council! Prove your worth by giving me wise ideas- not some foolish ideas made by the minds of childish lords-"

"Attacking the west is a mistake!" the Ravenman cried out in frustration. "We should not be adding more enemies to ourselves! Taking the south is a far more better idea than foolishly taking the east and having the Tunnels unguarded-"

"And have them take us from the east with their best commander in charge gathering up his armies- is that what you want!?" the king asked loudly.

"The armies of the Old Gate and Ten Towns will suffice, my lord..." Ser Merien remarked, "...together, they have way more than the twenty thousand men Lord Loreys holds-"

"And plenty of reserves to take on an eastern campaign!" Ravenman Caean added.

A tense pause bestowed upon the room, making for an eerie atmosphere. "The western lords betrayed us..." the king began, "...and you want me to forgive them and struggle this war on my own?" he asked, barely keeping his anger within. It will escape soon, I thought. "Why not take the west and raze the castles of the lords that deemed themselves traitors!? What would you all have me do- take the south and put shit on my honor and name-"

"We would have the king save the kingdom!" the Ravenman answered aloud, standing up in defiance.

Enough, I thought to myself, enough madness... "My king..." I began, standing from my chair, "...as much as I agree that the deed of the west is an insult-"

"It is! To the crown and the lords of the north!" he yelled.

The other two looked at each other with unease, then, at me. "As I was saying, your grace..." I continued on, "...taking the south is the best choice we have left. We cannot ignore the additional possibility that the thirty-five thousand men might march north and face us in our domain. Free folk are different... and we must cut the roots before it sprouts-"

"A sensible choice, my lord- indeed..." the Ravenman remarked, cutting me off, giving me a gaze and a nod of reassurance, bravely taking on himself on the suffering that was talking to the king that seemed under a spell. "The south calls the north's hand..." he began, "...and the north must answer. The east will fall when the north and south join forces... we must save what is left of our allies." he finished.

The king gave it a thought. The spell wears off, I thought, he thinks now... unlike before. "That idea's no more than a stupid thought..." he began, "...but if you all compel me to put the armies to march south so defiantly... then all of you will take the blame when you are defeated!" he exclaimed. "Your heads will roll on the day I see the armies fall in the south- is that clear!?"

For me, the very risk posed was all too much. The other two lords, however, saw it as a chance to end the rebellion properly... and quickly. After the king had dismissed us, he was escorted to his chambers by two servant boys. As if it were not odd enough, he now needed servants to carry him to his room.

A spell, I thought, or slow poison?

Many kings in the family had plenty of attempts of assassination, some concerned slitting the king's throat, while others had men trap the king in forests filled with grey hound... but most... were poisoning. It's easy, can't be traced back to you, and has already been done, I noted, remembering the letter regarding King Orastor's demise at the hands of the green men, why pick any other way?

If the king had been poisoned- or at least, swayed by some concoction... what was it? The most important question to ask, however... was who is behind the poisonings, and will there be more to come?