people of Tolad.
Now Wolfric’s people are trying to conquer
yet another nation, Cal thought as he surveyed the long swath of
neatly arranged tents running up the gentle slope away from the
river. One last nation stood between Wolfric and total domination
over the entire peninsula.
The thought frightened Cal in a way little
else did. He knew the power that Wolfric wielded. Though the
militant king ruled his ever-growing nation in complete peace, he
was always seeking the next victory. The nations under his control
were now considered safe lands, so long as the locals resided in
peace under their overlords, and for the most part they did. Fear
was a great motivator.
Most of the nations now under Wolfric’s
control had been conquered so swiftly and so brutally that no one
dared attempt any rebellion against their new lords. It disgusted
Cal to see his people subservient to the Aardê nation.
Then again, he had basically become one of
those lords, though without the official title. He was a knight,
but a knight in the king’s good graces, often residing in the
king’s castle and eating at the king’s castle. He couldn’t be a
greater hypocrite even if he tried.
The scarred knight pushed these sobering
thoughts out of his head as he mounted Éimhin and began making his
way through the large army camp, confirming that each unit leader
was training their men or preparing for their assigned duties for
the day. There wasn’t a major push scheduled for the day, but that
didn’t mean the men got to spend the day lying about with
whores.
One more day and I’ll be free to return home,
Cal thought as he turned his gaze away from two men exchanging
money over some secret deal. Cal assumed it involved a woman.
Didn’t these women know there were better
places to be than on the frontline of a war?
“Cal!” cried a voice from down a row of
tents.
Cal pulled his horse to a stop, slowly
turning the animal around just as one of the other royal knights
appeared. Sir Olaf Gregory emerged from between the tents and
jogged to Cal’s side. Olaf was a dedicated man and one of the few
men to believe in what they were doing. He thought one king, one
nation the best course for the peninsula. Granted, Cal suspected
Olaf to be looking toward a distant future when the residents of
Wolfric’s nation no longer thought of the nation of Domhain or
Topaq, no longer identified with their ancestors, but considered
themselves to be true Aardê people.
“What?” asked Cal.
“Sir, the unit we sent out yesterday is back.
Their leader says he has news. They’re at General Drystan’s
tent.”
Cal urged Éimhin down the nearest cross path
between the tents, leaving the other knight behind. Though Olaf was
in the king’s inner circle, and one of Wolfric’s most trusted
knights, Cal was still his superior. Sometimes Cal wondered how he
had managed to come to such intimate terms with the king he hated,
but mostly he tried not to think about it. It was easier to live
his hypocritical life if he didn’t think too much.
“What’s the word?” Cal asked as he swung down
from Eimhin’s back in front of the general’s tent.
A large group of men stood in the clearing
around the large tent, bloodied and looking tired. They had been
fighting though he specifically sent them out purely to do
reconnaissance. In fact, if Cal wasn’t mistaken, their numbers were
greatly diminished.
Cal trained his well-developed glare onto the
unit leader. “What happened?” he demanded.
“We found a caravan.”
“They attack you?” Cal asked when it became
clear the leader was tripping over his own tongue.
“No. We… I mean…it was a royal caravan. And I
thought… well, I mean, what if…”
“You attacked the caravan?”
“Yes, sir,” said the leader before swallowing
a lump in his throat.
“I thought I told you to slip in quietly and
find where Middin is hiding his army for the summer. Search towns,
villages, valleys, whatever. How is it you
Now Wolfric’s people are trying to conquer
yet another nation, Cal thought as he surveyed the long swath of
neatly arranged tents running up the gentle slope away from the
river. One last nation stood between Wolfric and total domination
over the entire peninsula.
The thought frightened Cal in a way little
else did. He knew the power that Wolfric wielded. Though the
militant king ruled his ever-growing nation in complete peace, he
was always seeking the next victory. The nations under his control
were now considered safe lands, so long as the locals resided in
peace under their overlords, and for the most part they did. Fear
was a great motivator.
Most of the nations now under Wolfric’s
control had been conquered so swiftly and so brutally that no one
dared attempt any rebellion against their new lords. It disgusted
Cal to see his people subservient to the Aardê nation.
Then again, he had basically become one of
those lords, though without the official title. He was a knight,
but a knight in the king’s good graces, often residing in the
king’s castle and eating at the king’s castle. He couldn’t be a
greater hypocrite even if he tried.
The scarred knight pushed these sobering
thoughts out of his head as he mounted Éimhin and began making his
way through the large army camp, confirming that each unit leader
was training their men or preparing for their assigned duties for
the day. There wasn’t a major push scheduled for the day, but that
didn’t mean the men got to spend the day lying about with
whores.
One more day and I’ll be free to return home,
Cal thought as he turned his gaze away from two men exchanging
money over some secret deal. Cal assumed it involved a woman.
Didn’t these women know there were better
places to be than on the frontline of a war?
“Cal!” cried a voice from down a row of
tents.
Cal pulled his horse to a stop, slowly
turning the animal around just as one of the other royal knights
appeared. Sir Olaf Gregory emerged from between the tents and
jogged to Cal’s side. Olaf was a dedicated man and one of the few
men to believe in what they were doing. He thought one king, one
nation the best course for the peninsula. Granted, Cal suspected
Olaf to be looking toward a distant future when the residents of
Wolfric’s nation no longer thought of the nation of Domhain or
Topaq, no longer identified with their ancestors, but considered
themselves to be true Aardê people.
“What?” asked Cal.
“Sir, the unit we sent out yesterday is back.
Their leader says he has news. They’re at General Drystan’s
tent.”
Cal urged Éimhin down the nearest cross path
between the tents, leaving the other knight behind. Though Olaf was
in the king’s inner circle, and one of Wolfric’s most trusted
knights, Cal was still his superior. Sometimes Cal wondered how he
had managed to come to such intimate terms with the king he hated,
but mostly he tried not to think about it. It was easier to live
his hypocritical life if he didn’t think too much.
“What’s the word?” Cal asked as he swung down
from Eimhin’s back in front of the general’s tent.
A large group of men stood in the clearing
around the large tent, bloodied and looking tired. They had been
fighting though he specifically sent them out purely to do
reconnaissance. In fact, if Cal wasn’t mistaken, their numbers were
greatly diminished.
Cal trained his well-developed glare onto the
unit leader. “What happened?” he demanded.
“We found a caravan.”
“They attack you?” Cal asked when it became
clear the leader was tripping over his own tongue.
“No. We… I mean…it was a royal caravan. And I
thought… well, I mean, what if…”
“You attacked the caravan?”
“Yes, sir,” said the leader before swallowing
a lump in his throat.
“I thought I told you to slip in quietly and
find where Middin is hiding his army for the summer. Search towns,
villages, valleys, whatever. How is it you
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