Battle for Amra - First Encounter

[Lionheart]

(Closed to Revenant)

Servants scurried through High General Fermat’s command tent like rats. Theirs was a unheeded, unthankful job, ensuring that the assembled officers of the High General’s command never need fear an empty glass or lack of candied fruits. It didn’t matter what type of fruits were dipped in the sugary jelly that was currently the rage in fashion among the noble courts, the High General’s servants ensured that no platter ever went below half capacity.

Being chosen for serving duty during one of the High General’s strategy councils was a high honor. Though proper protocol demanded that none of the officers, nobles one and all, directly acknowledge the scurrying underclass that served them, the hardest working or comeliest servants were sure to catch the eye of one of the assembled nobles. Such notice could easily lead the servant away from the harsh living of a battlefield servant and back to a cozy job in one of the Amran Noble Houses. Only a handful of servants were promoted in this manner, yet still they fought to obtain a position on the High General’s serving staff. The fact that all of the staff would be harshly quarantined after the meeting to ensure that none of the meeting’s strategic information could be leaked to an enemy spy never seemed to bring down the volunteer list.

Still, thought the young, sandy-haired James Alexander, you can’t win if you don’t play.

James Alexander, of House Alexander was the youngest of the nobles on the High General’s council. He had barely completed Accolade, the Amran nobleman’s test of knighthood, when Kal’Necroth’s invasion of Amra began just over a year ago. After a brief visit back home to reap the congratulations of his family, James had assumed command of the two thousand spearman and support that comprised the Alexandran First.

Only being a junior Captain, James’ unit had been passed around to various commands throughout the invasion. Over the last year, James’ small unit had garnered much praise from their various commanding officers. This coupled with James’ strategic expertise had earned him a position on the High General’s strategy council, despite the grousing of several senior council members. The invading mercenary armies of the sorcerer Kal’Necroth had finally fought their way to the Amran frontline, and this meeting would determine Amra’s response.

“Not that we’ve come to any decision,” James mumbled to himself, sipping from his wine glass as he did. Though he was no elite connoisseur of wines, the High General’s flaunting of his wealth was apparent in the delightful vintage he served. The wine was a mellow red, served at slightly lower than room temperature, shadowed by a lingering hint of cherry which did absolutely nothing to cover the rotten taste James had developed while listening to the petty political bickering going on at the table.

“Unbelievable,” James sighed, finishing his wine and popping a candied treat, which turned out to be a fig, to replace it. “Instead of arguing about the how we can defeat our enemies, we argue about how to maneuver our houses to take the glory from each other.”

James had been honored and humbled to be on the High General’s council and had arrived with high spirits and higher hopes. The following three hours of political infighting had destroyed that optimism. As a man who had been raised to believe that the best glory a commander could achieve was to bring his men home alive, James found army politics a bitter pill to swallow.

When he could take no more of the internecine squabbles, James turned his attention from the mess at the strategy table and looked around the command tent’s interior.

The High General’s tent was both very large and very ostentatious. Lavish tapestries and woven rugs covered the interior of the silk command tent. The gold ornaments and sculptured knick-knacks that filled the room could easily have been sold to finance another two-hundred fully outfitted foot soldiers, and the candelabras that filled the room with light were obviously more art than function.

After all, James thought, it’s important that the High General feel at home while his troops slog it in the mud.

A servant stopped to refill James’ wine glass and, in a devious moment of boredom, the young knight nodded his thanks, taking pleasure in the servant’s startled reaction. The servant scampered away with brimming delight on his way to gush at his peers about the great honor that he had received.

[Revenant]

This thread takes place during William's past in which his demonic essence, named Belesavius, had full control of him. William will therefore be referred to as Belesavius for this thread.

“CHEERS!” the boisterous salute resounded throughout the mercenary’s recreation tent. The large pavilion tent as filled to bursting this evening, everyone enjoying their last night before the impending battle. Each man and woman reveling had faced numerous life-or-death situations during the year-long invasion of Amra and death had become a familiar companion. The cool night air swam with the half-remembered ghosts of friends and comrades who came to join in the revelry, lingering just out of sight but not out of mind.

Beer was spilled and beer was raised in salute to those gone ahead and those that remained. Veterans all, the hardened campaigners knew that tomorrow, when the sun rose and steel met steel, none could say whose faces would join the ghostly chorus. And so they raised their toasts, for no amount of quiet brooding or preparation would save a man with a sword in the gut.

For many mercenaries, the knowledge that life was cheap and spent freely was a strangely calming thing. Younger fighters, those with only a handful of scraps and an eagerness to die to their name, and the conscripted peasants could sit alone and shiver their night away in an attempt to hide from a fate that already knew their face. These ones would face their death with a salute, welcoming it among their ranks so that they could fully enjoy everything life had to offer.

And so they reveled, laughing and drinking, telling stories and making friends. They flooded the serving tent, jostling and pressing in until personal space was a figment of the imagination.

Unless one wanted to approach the man in the robes or the three men with him.

Drunken mercenaries who laughed in the very face of death would have rather slit their wrists than approach the silent, still figure at the edge of the pavilion. Even stepping over the invisible line of demarcation that surrounded the man gave off an unpleasant sensation of menace that sent men, quaking, back to their beds in prayer. Those few brave souls who managed the courage to even stare into the dark depths of the figure’s hood from across the room felt their very souls quiver at the sight of the orange-red glow of hot coals staring back.

It’s really too bad that none are foolhardy enough to face me, thought Belesavius, the robed figure who took great pleasure in making hardened mercenaries feel like frightened children, It would give me great pleasure to kill them.

Unlike the demons which possessed shape and form of their own, Belesavius had existed purely as a creature of primal essence and needed to be summoned into the mortal world and bound to a host. Like all other creatures of essence, Belesavius’ birth flowed from the moment of creation, a creature who’s sole reason for existing was to destroy the creation that had birthed him.

During the countless ages that followed his birth, Belesavius had survived and increased his power by consuming his brethren and any other creatures of essence that he came across while around him, inevitably, creation evolved. As the mortals of creation grew and blossomed, they came to discover the hidden pathways of magic and sorcery which would allow them to delve into the secrets of creation. Mortals using their newfound power had summoned and bound Belesavius multiple times in order to harness the power that he embodied. The last of these bindings had summoned Belesavius into the flesh of a woodsman by the name of William Arcus.

Binding immortal essence to mortal flesh was a destructive process if not a terribly difficult one. With the proper application of summoning magic and binding rites, any would-be infernal sorcerer could accomplish the task. The issue arose from the fact that the process resulted in the irrevocable destruction of the mortal host. Mortals were never intended to house the raw power of a primal spirit, and once bound, that power quickly consumed the host’s frail flesh, though it would empower the host as a living engine of destruction as it did so. A sufficiently ancient and powerful demonic spirit could reduce a host body to little more than charred bone and ashes in mere moments.

But Belesavius had become more than this. So much more.

[Lionheart]

Disgusted by the High General’s blatant display of wealth and stocked once more with wine, James turned his attention to the various House standards that hung behind each delegation. His training as a knight meant that he was intimately familiar with the standards of each of the nine Amran Noble Houses and could describe any of them down to the smallest detail. But lacking anything else to engage his attention at the moment, James found himself studying each standard anyways.

At the head of the strategy table, in the highest place of honor, sat the standard of the High General’s house, House Fermat. The standard depicted the proud profile of Amra’s holy lion on a field of crimson and cream, lit from above by the three stars that fanned out over it. The three stars supposedly symbolized the three ideals for which House Fermat lived to serve: the King, God, and people of Amra. James snorted in derision when he thought about the third star and superimposed the overt display of wealth maintained in the tent.

At the High General’s right hand sat the delegation from Amra’s most respected family, House Jeren. Jeren had the distinction of being the only house in Amra whose members were allowed to study the ancient arcane magics, and even then only in small amounts. Their role as lore masters left them as the keepers of the City of Light, Illium, and the High Temple of the lion-headed God of Amra, Leon. The standard of House Jeren tastefully bore a golden flame that spanned the pages of an open tome on a striped field of silver and blue.

On the side opposite House Jeren sat the delegates from House Tilton, whose members had long ago been appointed by the King as the prime justices of Amra. As time passed, each house developed their own judges to maintain Amran law, but tradition and mandate demanded that there be no higher legal authority than the Tilton judges. It was widely known that the judges of House Tilton were above reproach, the very paragons of law and order. It was also widely known that the right price could buy any Tilton judges favor Tilton’s standard reflected their status, showing a chained man holding the scales of judgment, set over a vertically striped field of black and white.

Only slightly under Tilton and Jeren came the delegates from the oldest of the Amran Noble Houses, House Metzger. Metzger was often cited as the proudest house in Amra, almost literally beating the other houses about the head with their thousand year history. The voice of slick-haired, soft-faced Daniel Metzger, House Metzger’s senior delegate and heir to the Metzger line, had been the loudest in opposition to James’ joining of the council. James was almost certain that this was because of James’ role in uncovering a plot which resulted in Daniel’s younger brother being banished from Amra, but it might have just been because House Metzger was full of inbred jackasses. The standard of House Metzger showed a rearing chimera, all three heads roaring and surrounded with a fiery halo.

The delegates from House Stein came next. House Stern had been blessed with lands full of rolling hills and rich soil. Wine was one of the most important commodities in Amra, and the vast fields of vineyards and wineries made the Sterns the wealthiest of Amra’s nobles. Even though most of their lands were devoted to their vineyards, House Stern set aside enough land to maintain the largest and most breathtaking flower gardens in Amra. The standard of House Stern showed a thick bunch of grapes, wreathed in roses, over a crossed field of scarlet and champagne.

House Mathias’s delegates and standard were next. The simple image of the sleeping dragon over a field of green on House Mathias’ standard belied the fact that House Mathias held the largest standing force in all of Amra. Mathias’ main armies were comprised of more members than the armies of the three smallest houses combined, and Mathias held at least twice that number in reserve. House Mathias maintained their numbers in accordance with their role as peacekeepers within Amra, and it meant that any major offensive would have to heavily engage House Mathias. This was a bargaining chip that Cauldell Mathias, Mathias’ lead delegate, often used to bully the other delegates around the strategy table.

Sitting down from Mathias and opposite each other came the delegates from the twin houses, House Delgado and House DeVries. Both of the houses were relatively young when compared to some of the older ones, like House Metzger. The noble families had been created almost two hundred years previous by Amra’s territorial expansion to the western shore of the Sea of Sheboam. House Delgado and House DeVries primary responsibilities were to respectively oversee shipping and trade from Sheboam’s north and south coasts. The standard of House Delgado displayed a seahorse with an eagle’s head over a light blue background, while the standard of House DeVries displayed a more extravagant trading ship emblazoned with a charging ram figurehead.

Last, situated at the opposite end of the strategy table from the High General, sat James, the sole delegate from House Alexander. Alexander was the youngest and smallest of the nine noble houses. It had been created only two generations before when James’ grandfather, a peasant spearman named Oric, had saved the King’s life during an assassination attempt. The King had been so grateful that he had granted House Alexander a small portion of unclaimed land and a nobleman’s title. House Alexander’s land was rocky and hardly able to support any farming endeavors, so Oric had turned to horses as the primary means of supporting the fledgling House. James loved his departed grandfather dearly, but had to question his judgment when he looked back at his standard, proudly displaying a horse wielding a long spear over a slate grey background.

It’s no wonder the other nobles don’t take us seriously, James thought looking at Oric’s Stallion.

The sound of shattering glass from the strategy table drew James from his reverie.

[Revenant]

Kal’Necroth, the most recent in a long line of sorcerers who had summoned and bound Belesavius, had come into possession of one of the fabled Lost Tomes of Amra. Amra, in a time forgotten by all but the most studied historical scholars, been a nation of powerful sorcerers. The tome that Kal’Necroth had found had been a treatise on magical theory and practice from the rulers of ancient Amra and had allowed the already powerful sorcerer to catapult his arcane might forward. No stranger to the benefits of binding creatures of essence for utility purposes, Kal’Necroth had used the theories of the Amran Tome to alter the binding ritual in a way which would produce a longer lasting product. Belesavius was the product of that research.

The ancient texts revealed to Kal’Necroth that creatures of demonic essence were not the only essence creatures in existence. During his studies, one creature in particular, a creature imbued with the raw essence of life, caught the sorcerer’s attention and allowed his plans to progress. Life essence was far rarer than demonic, but patience and repeated attempts allowed Kal’Necroth to summon and catch the creature. With the creature of life and Belesavius at his disposal, Kal’Necroth began the process of attuning the spirits together in a single, unified binding ritual.

Multiple hosts had died at Kal’Necroth’s hands, their charred remains a silent testament to the futility of the infernal sorcerer’s failed experiments. Working with the perseverance and determination of obsession, Kal’Necroth had refined and manipulated the process for the binding until, at last, the body of William Arcus accepted both essences and endured. Though the meat of the host body continually burned from within due to Belesavius’ presence, the essence of life bound to the man’s flesh rejuvenated and restored him, healing the damage that the demonic power inflicted. With this careful balance achieved, Kal’Necroth had forged William Arcus into a creature capable of housing demonic essence and power indefinitely.

Where previous bindings of demonic essence had been mere tools in Kal’Necroth’s rise to power, puppets to be thrown at an enemy until their usefulness was borne away as ash on the wind, this new creature was something far more. Existing as an entirely new creation, one existing as both a physical and spiritual creature that was both living and dead, Kal’Necroth had taken liberties and had dubbed the new creature as a ‘Revenant.’

Though Belesavius was elated to finally have a permanent physical form with which unlimited destruction could be exacted, an aspect of his existence as a revenant galled him. This aspect limited his ability to reach his full potential, and even, though he was loath to admit it, frightened him.

Being an infernal sorcerer, Kal’Necroth had been no stranger to creatures of the demonic persuasion. Upon completing the ritual to forge two creatures of opposing essence together inside a mortal host, Kal’Necroth had used his intimate knowledge of demonic binding to ward himself against treachery by drawing William’s soul from the flesh and into a specially prepared vessel.

The flesh and soul of a mortal were bound together by a bond that could not be severed. Normal demonic bindings channeled the essence creature directly into the flesh in a manner that destroyed the mortal’s soul, leaving the flesh a mere automaton animated by demonic power. With no soul to destroy, Belesavius had entered and saturated William’s flesh, but could not break the bond that still existed between the flesh and the removed soul. By possessing and manipulating William’s soul, Kal’Necroth could exert complete control over the revenant. This alone would have been a bitter pill for Belesavius to swallow, for it irked him terribly to be forced to serve a mortal, but another aspect of the soul removal horrified him.

If the vessel housing William’s soul were to be broken, the bond between the soul and the body would reunite the two. A soul returning to its body after a demonic binding would leave the soul unharmed, though in a normal binding the damage done to the host by the demon’s power would result in the host’s immediate death. With the living essence restoring William’s body continually, the host body would not die and the two entities would be forced together, merged into one inseparable being that was neither wholly William nor wholly Belesavius.

Belesavius, an eternal being who had existed since the moment of creation, would become mortal, and the thought was more terrifying than the non-existence of death.

[Lionheart]

“You’ve gone too far this time Daniel.” Heller Tilton, the senior delegate from House Tilton and one of the High General’s force commanders, had thrown his wine glass onto the strategy table in anger. Heller was a large man, equally both muscular and fat. His short tawny haircut shivered under the anger that possessed him. The spreading red blot of wine flowed quietly over written troop formations like a silent foreshadowing of doom, but James was the only council member who watched. The rest were fixated on whatever drama was occurring between Daniel Metzger and Heller Tilton.

“Your accusations of House Tilton’s combat ineffectiveness to be placed as front guard are blatant insults to the honor of House Tilton and therefore tantamount to treason against the crown’s appointed justices!” Heller’s accusation left his face red and quivering.

Perhaps the High General’s purpose would have been better served with less alcohol? James thought as he swirled the remaining contents of his cup, finally turning his attention to the exchange out of boredom.

“The noble representatives of House Metzger have supported the crown since before your family’s standard hung in the halls of the Imperial Palace. You are crass and drunk and have taken it upon yourself to find insult where simple tactical knowledge was given.” Daniel’s defense was mounted by his main supporter at court, Michela Pendis.

The Pendis’ were a small offshoot family from Metzger’s main-line. Hundreds of years back, one of the later sons of the Metzger heir had taken the name and forsworn claim to the family throne in order to obtain vassal protection from the great House. Michela was a minor son of the Pendis lord. Of average height, with light brown hair, sharp features, and a light goatee, Michela was never seen far from Daniel Metzger’s side. The two of them were the closest thing a Metzger could get to a friend, and if rumors were true, the two were lovers.

Daniel Metzger, meanwhile, merely sat and watched impassively as Heller Tilton and Michela Pendis verbally sparred over who insulted who and which insult was more damning. Composing himself like the consummate politician that he was, Daniel’s only indication of acknowledgment to Heller’s anger was a slight upturn of his nose and a brush of his white-gloved hand through slick black hair.

“Insolent Metzger dog …” Heller began, but was cut off by a sharp gesture from the High General.

“Enough!” cried Maximilian Fermat, High General of Amra, emphasizing his frustration at the matter by hurling his own wine glass onto the shattered wreckage of Heller’s glass. James winced at the High General’s gesture, not out of any fright or respect for the man, but because the glass had been carved from solid crystal and set with gold filigree.

Yet more wasteful excess, observed James.

“This pettiness bodes ill for the noble and holy Amra and I will have no more of it,” the High General continued. “We have now spent hours arguing back and forth about who has the stronger strategic claim and have come up with nothing.” The various nobles, Daniel Metzger included, dutifully turned their eyes down in solemn shame. James wasn’t fooled by the sudden display.

The High General’s speech would have made more of an impact if he hadn’t spent the last several hours bickering like the rest of them, James thought, watching the false guilt that ringed the table. Still, perhaps things will get moving now.

With a sideways gesture, the High General summoned several servants, who quickly scurried to clean the mess of broken glass from the strategy table and sop up the excess wine. Once the table was cleaned, a new tactical map was brought up and rolled out. New wine glasses were brought to Heller and the High General. James was somewhat pleased to see that the High General’s glass was not quite as fancy as his last one.

“Gentlemen,” the High General began again after enough time had passed as was appropriate. “It seems to me that our tactical planning is at an impasse. I have no illusions that the superior forces of Amra will defeat these barbarian invaders out of hand and as such, I have decided on a course of action.”

The High General took several markers from a storage depression at the edge of the table, each marker being matched to a designated army unit. As the assembled council watched, the High General proceeded to place the units into a strategic formation on the front line. Gentle murmurs stirred from the council, but were swiftly silenced by a stern look from the High General.

“This is the strategy that I have devised to provide a defensive bastion against the invading hordes,” the High General proclaimed proudly when he was finished.

James thought the matter at an end with the High General’s decision, but the next words chilled him.

“Captain Alexander, the council invited you in but has yet to hear your thoughts. Reports from your commanders call you something of a tactical genius. I would appreciate an honest assessment from you.”

All eyes at the table turned to James.

Shit! was James’ only thought.

[Revenant]

“It’s just not fair.”

The high pitched whining of Aaron Metzger brought Belesavius out of his meditation on the new nature of his existence. Snorting with disgust that the revelry in front of him was allowed to continue without bloodshed, Belesavius turned his head to regard Aaron. His host body was magically bound to follow Kal’Necroth’s commands, he was sorely tempted to risk destruction to disobey the command to follow Aaron Metzger.

Aaron was a former noble from Amra’s House Metzger who had been exiled by direct imperial order. His exile had come after the young noble had been exposed as the culprit behind the murder of the King’s second-nephew in a failed attempt to discredit his rival at Accolade, another young noble from House Alexander. The bitterness of being forced from the security and comfort of his noble House even as his rival completed Accolade, was promoted to knighthood, and given command of his own military unit burned Aaron like fierce acid. Cast out in chains and scorned by those he had called family, Aaron had departed his ancestral home expecting to never return.

But the fickleness of fortune worked both ways.

Having been raised as a noble, skilled in swordplay, and with an education from schooling provided by the finest tutors, Aaron had quickly found employment as an officer in the growing ranks of the mercenary army being put together by the sorcerer Kal’Necroth to invade Amra. Aaron was unsure why Kal’Necroth wanted to invade his former homeland, but found that his loyalty and patriotism had been burned out by his bitterness and resentment.

Unfortunately for Aaron, his exile had done nothing to diminish his arrogance or pride and he both viewed and treated everyone around him with contempt. This had irked Kal’Necroth’s senior military commanders and instead of being assigned to command of a military unit, Aaron had been a supply command charged with providing lumber for the army.

It was a post designed to keep Aaron as far from the glory of the front lines as possible, but fortune again worked its fickle magic for Aaron Metzger.

Aaron’s forces overran a small lumber town, killing most of the residents and using the rest as labor to produce the supplies needed by Kal’Necroth’s army. During the initial takeover, Aaron’s men killed the wife of a local woodsman, William Arcus. After a month of cat-and-mouse games with the woodsman, Aaron’s men captured William and prepared him as a specimen according to Kal’Necroth’s orders. Aaron presented the prisoner to Kal’Necroth and in return was made captain of a small military unit assigned to assess the revenant’s performance on the battlefield.

Not grasping a full understanding of the ritual that turned William into a revenant, Aaron had pissed and whined almost constantly since the event. He railed against the decision to give almost unlimited power and life to a mere peasant instead of giving the gift to a noble like himself. Belesavius wished that Kal’Necroth had performed the ritual upon the egotistical youth, knowing that Aaron didn’t possess the strength of will to survive the process.

The thought of burning the meat of Aaron’s body into fine grey ash was a fantasy that Belesavius often played out in his mind. But until Kal’Necroth rescinded the order for Belesavius to follow Aaron’s orders he was stuck in the unenviable position of serving the man..

And right now, the man was very, very drunk.

[Lionheart]

James felt a mix of emotions flow from the assembled council members and wash over him as the High General called him to analyze the battle strategy. Some of them seemed intrigued by the High General’s choice. Others seemed generally interested in what the young Captain had to say. Still others, mostly those from House Metzger, oozed a desire to see James brought low.

Mostly though, James felt the council’s disdain.

It was the general, unspoken consensus that House Alexander, being only two generations old, were better seen and not heard. Several of the older Houses didn’t even give them that much leeway. Most of all, Alexander’s were supposed to remain quiet and observe the true noble’s politics so that when they were ready to be accepted, if ever, that they would have the political acumen to stay alive as a minnow in a lake full of sharks.

I guess it’s time to see if I can live up to the reputation, James bolstered his courage by draining the last of his wine before getting to his feet and approaching the High General’s strategic layout.

“Thank you, High General, for the honor you give to myself and House Alexander,” James cautiously began. The game of politics was not unknown to the young knight, every noble had to learn it to some degree, but it was certainly not his field of expertise. “It is my sincerest wish that I will one day be able to live up to your expectations, lord High General.”

“Oh come now, no need to be so modest, Captain,” Daniel Metzger responded in the practiced sarcasm of a master of political maneuvering. “The stories of your tactical genius are well known throughout all of Amra. It is said that in you, House Alexander has produced one of the most innovative military minds in the last half a century. Surely you will have no difficulty living up to your reputation.”

James found a snarky reply on the tip of his tounge but reigned himself in.

Ignore him and stick to the basics, James mentally chided himself, no need to stick your neck out. After all, it’s not really my fault that his immature brother got exiled for trying to frame me at Accolade. All I did was expose his treachery like any Knight of Amra would have done.

James turned his reply into a short cough and forced a grateful smile onto his face. Though Daniel was far too good a statesman to show any sign of emotion on his face, James thought he saw the briefest flash of annoyance in the man’s eyes at his reply.

Cutting off the premature verbal argument with the Metzger delegation, James turned his attention to the troop markers on the board. His first target of interest were the known troop formations and strengths of Kal’Necroth’s mercenary invasion force. As he scanned the enemy troop markers, James instantly got he feeling that they were wrong.

“Do you find something wrong with my strategy Captain?” the High General asked and James realized that he had unconsciously lost his emotionless mask and had been frowning at the tactical arraignment.

“Honestly, lord High General,” James replied, “I was only looking at Kal’Necroth’s troop markers.”

“Ah, I understand,” the High General nodded sagely, “your sour expression is merely one of general distaste for our mutual foe.”

Looking at the High General’s body language, James became instantly aware that he was in a trap and was standing on a far more precarious edge that he initially thought. It was obvious that the High General had merely expected James to give the strategic plan a once-over and approve as any politically astute junior officer would in an attempt to garner favor with a higher authority. In his mind, James could play out the results of the upcoming battle. If the High General’s plan was successful, praise an glory would be heaped upon Maximilian Fermat and his House for coming up with a successful defense. If, Leon forbid, the plan failed, then the brunt of that failure would fall upon James’ shoulders as the “tactical genius” who had given his approval.

James’ quick glance over the enemy’s troop markers had shown him that the High General’s plan was based on a false premise and was, more likely than not, doomed to failure. It was expected of him merely to nod and accept the High General’s strategy, but he could not, in good conscience, do so. He would challenge the High General, and in doing so put himself in a dangerous position.

“Not exactly, High General,” James replied at last. The High General maintained his composure at the unexpected reply, but his face indicated annoyance.

“What then, exactly, do you mean Captain?”

“I mean that I believe the premise upon which your strategy is based is false and therefore your strategy will fail.”

James swore that he could feel the air rushing at the collective intake of breath from the council. He dare not look around for fear of the look of pleasure that must be on Daniel Metzger’s face at his temerity in questioning a superior officer. His brazen challenge could be taken as an insult to the High General’s honor, an act which could lead to James’ exile or execution. Still, James’ first and foremost loyalty lay to the crown and the best interests of Amra.

“You believe …,” Maximilian Fermat’s words were carefully measured not to betray his anger, but the reddened anger which crept up the High General’s neck was enough of a sign.

“Correct, High General,” James began to explain the General’s error. “Take this formation, for instance.”

James indicated a marker that denoted one of Kal’Necroth’s ‘Burning Legions.’

“We are all aware of the forbidden sorceries that Kal’Necroth uses to create his burning madmen. The demonic essence bound to them consumes their flesh quickly, but until it does so, they are extremely dangerous.

“Your strategy accounts for them to be deployed at the fore of the assault in a position directly against our main line,” James tapped the marker in its current location, “But our best intelligence and previous encounters have shown that the mercenaries are familiar with standard Amran military doctrine. It would be far smarted for them to use their elite units in a position to counter the frontline-heavy defense that your strategy uses.”

James stopped tapping the marker and slid it into a flanking position against, fitting enough, the marker that indicated Maximilian’s placement of James’ own unit.

The High General’s anger actually seemed to flow away at James’ indication and he actually smirked.

“I believe I understand Captain.” The High General picked up the piece that James had moved and rolled it between his thick, sausage-like fingers before putting it back into its starting position.

“You wish to see your own unit take a more prestigious place in the upcoming combat. It is a noble goal to seek extra glory for your own House, certainly, but there is a time and a place for personal grandstanding, Captain, and this is not it.”

It took a moment for James to realize that the High General appeared to see James’ questioning of his strategy as a clumsy attempt at political maneuvering by a junior politician. Seemingly amused by the whole matter, Maximilian had absolved him of the consequences for defying a senior and had taken him out of harm’s way. None could now use the incident to trash House Alexander.

James had accidentally stumbled off of the political chopping block.

[Revenant]

Belesavius eyed the three empty glasses of fine-grain alcohol Aaron had topped down over the last hour-and-a-half and the fourth one that he was well on his way to working through. Aaron believed that he was above the common man and refused to drink anything except the finest liquor in the establishment. But once he started drinking it quickly became apparent that the potent alcohol swiftly affected the young man.

Which was unfortunate, because when Aaron was drunk, there was nothing he liked to do more than bemoan his misfortunes.

“I tell you, it’s just not fair,” Aaron’s words were more slurred than straight, but were easily distinguishable to the two henchmen who were “blessed” enough to spend time with him.

Belesavius watched as the two henchmen, Berger Halder and Kurt Delem, rolled their eyes. Neither Berger nor Kurt were exceptionally driven individuals, having been quite content to join Kal’Necroth’s army and accept a meager post as sentries watching over entries into the army’s main camp. The pay was meager, but Berger and Kurt’s philosophy was that the better pay for front line work was only good if you came back to spend it.

Though Berger and Kurt weren’t driven, they weren’t slackers, which would come back to bite them in the ass. Two weeks ago, Berger and Kurt had pulled sentry duty and had been on watch when an unscheduled and unheralded wagon rolled into view on the outskirts of camp. Aware of the possibility of Amran infiltrators, all sentries were trained to treat any unscheduled arrivals as hostile encounters, and upon spotting the unscheduled wagon, Berger and Kurt followed standard procedure, stopping the wagon for inventory check and had asking identifying questions to the wagon’s crew.

Unfortunately, this particular unscheduled wagon had been the transport for the most annoying, self-centered, and petty man the two sentries had ever met, Aaron Metzger.
Berger and Kurt had unsurprisingly taken an immediate dislike to the Captain’s inflated ego and treated Aaron with the same respect that he gave to them, which is to say, none. Unpleasantly asserting their authority as camp sentries, Berger and Kurt took as long as they could searching through the wagon to annoy Aaron. Once finished they waving him on. figuring that once the brat was about his business, the incident would be forgotten and life would go on.

Berger and Kurt were both surprised to find a courier waiting for them the next morning with transfer orders to a fighting unit. Though they had easily enough put their brief encounter with Aaron out of mind, Aaron had apparently not done the same. Berger and Kurt had been specifically requested by Aaron for assignment to the new command that Kal’Necroth had given him. Berger and Kurt quickly learned that Aaron Metzger was a man who held a deeply entrenched personal grudge against even the smallest slight.

Belesavius sneered as he regarded the henchmen. They thought their lives had become a living hell, but if given even a moment’s chance, Belesavius would show them what true hell was.

[Lionheart]

Having decided upon a course of action for the upcoming battle, Maximilian quickly finished up the remainder of council business, tasking his scribes with drawing up the formal battle orders. No further mention of James’ questioning were made, much to the annoyance of Daniel and his retinue. More than once during the remaining council, James had caught Michela’s sharp gaze upon him, but she shrugged it off as non-warranted hostility.

As soon as the council was dismissed, James rose and left the High General’s tent. The rest of the delegates remained, passing the rest of the evening with easy conversation and waiting for the sumptuous banquet that the High General surely had lined up. It was something of a tradition among the nobles to gorge themselves following a council meeting and James’ early departure was something of a faux-pas, though given the earlier embarrassment that he had encountered, none of them would fault him for leaving.

Except for Michela Pendis.

The young vassal of House Metzger excused himself and followed quickly after James, catching him just outside of the tent.

“Tucking your tail and running scared are you?” Michela called to James in a mocking tone. “Or do you just prefer to dine with your peasant relations than with real nobility?”

James pulled up short and grimaced, wishing that he could just brush off the insult and return to camp, but the rules of noble society demanded he return insult for insult to avenge his house’s honor.

“It’s not like a mere vassal lapdog would be able to tell me anything about real nobility,” James shot back. He adopted a tone of casual indifference, couching his venom in plain tones.

“More than base nobility runs through these veins,” Michela sneered in reply, “though I wouldn’t expect a peasant born cur like you to truly understand. It’s no wonder why master Daniel thinks you lower than dirt.”

“Your Master only thinks that of me because he can’t see that his family is comprised of traitorous slime who treat everyone around them as tools to be used up and thrown away when they have nothing more to give,” James smiled a cruel smile, “even their young lovers.”

James had read the files on Michela and listened to the gossip about the young knight. Michela was even younger than he, only having finished his Accolade a month previous. Word had spread that the young knight was prone to outbursts of anger and would lose control at the slightest provocation, and this proved to be true. Michela’s face darkened with rage and he stepped forward to strike at James in blind anger.

Prepared for the strike, James easily put himself inside Michela’s swing and grabbed the younger knight’s outstretched arm. With an easy pivot, James pulled on Michela’s over-extended arm and tossed the man to the trampled grass.

“Struck a nerve there, did I?” It was James’ turn to speak in a mocking tone. “You mean to tell me that you know that Daniel doesn’t car about you and will just throw you aside when a better model comes along?”

Michela merely snarled in reply and pushed himself to his feet, ready to lash out at James in a more controlled fashion. James braced himself for the impending fight.

“What in the name of your god is going on here?” A familiar voice roared. Michela instantly stopped James smiled sheepishly as a bulging sack of muscles and scar tissue interposed himself between the young knights.

Conall was the Sergeant of the Alexandran First and James’ second in command. He had been a mercenary commander in a former life before James’ father had convinced him to join House Alexander as the master-in-arms. Conall had raised James, taught him everything he knew, and then joined his service when James earned his knighthood. The old mercenary was James’ best friend and mentor, and right now he looked at James as if he had caught the knight stealing from the cookie jar.

“This ends now, one way or another” Conall said sternly, flexing in a non-subtle indication that he could easily crush either of the men, “your choice.”

Michela regarded the hardened ex-mercenary with disgust but finally pulled himself up.

“This isn’t over Alexander. My master will hear of your insult to Metzger’s loyalty and then you’ll be sorry.” Michela walked well around Conall and re-entered the High General’s command tent.

“See that he does, lapdog,” James gave one last parting shot.

Conall’s thick eyebrows lowered in warning.

“I know, I know,” James put his hands up defensively. “I should have just let it go, but you know how these things go.”

Conall grunted once before his features broke into a smile.

“You definitely have my flair for politics,” Conall laughed and then whistled. Two horses came to the edge of the pavilion clearing with a slow gait.

“Lucky for you I just happened to be lounging around with the girls here, waiting for your sorry ass to finish with your meeting or you might have gotten yourself into some trouble there.” Conall led them towards their waiting mounts.

“Bah,” James waved it off, “the day that I get into trouble in a fistfight with a Pendis is the day I retire my knighthood.”

“Stupid boy,” Conall replied, “of course you would have knocked him senseless. But think of what the damned Metzger’s would do with the fallout of that. Use your head next time.”

“Yes sir, Sergeant Conall, sir,” James mock saluted as he mounted his horse.

“Damned right,” Conall grinned, and then, “so what’s the word, oh Captain, my captain?”

James thought of the High General’s plan and what he feared would be the result and his mirth dried up.

“The word is ‘bad.’ Sergeant,” James was solemn, “we’ve got out work cut out for us..”

[Revenant]

“Not, or course, that I expect lowborn like you to understand such a thing,” Aaron’s slurry speech continued. “I mean, what do ants really understand about gods?”

“Yessir, m’lord,” Berger, the smarter-mouthed of the henchmen, sarcastically responded, “wish with all my heart that we ants could see just what makes you gods so great.”

In order to satisfy Aaron’s massive ego, Berger and Kurt had been ordered to always refer to Aaron as “m’lord.” Aaron thought it was a fitting tribute to the higher social status that Aaron perceived himself to be in, but Berger and Kurt just took it as a sign of insecurity. Neither man really seemed bothered by it.

“Yes, yes, of course you do,” Aaron enthusiastically seized upon Berger’s words, completely missing the subtle undertone of disdain in them. “Not that you would have the proper appreciation for what you were seeing. But at least it would give you perspective.”

Aaron filled his mouth with liquor and swallowed noisily.

“Perspective means point-of-view,” he sagely nodded at Berger and Kurt, as if imparting great wisdom upon them.

Kurt hid the scowl on his face by pretending to scratch his nose and, seeing the wicked gleam in Berger’s eye, gestured for his companion to let the matter drop. But Berger had never been one to let an opportunity to mock Aaron pass him by.

“Does it really, m’lord,” Berger asked in mock astonishment. “I always feel so much smarter after you talk to us.”

“And well you should Berger,” Aaron ran his hand through his hair in self-satisfaction before finishing his drink and signaling for another.

Aaron was utterly narcissistic and spent a ridiculous amount of time on maintaining the silly short-length haircut that had been popular in Amran court at the time of his exile. No one had told him yet that it made him look utterly ridiculous. Of course, the fact that he had a tendency to tug on his sleeves and constantly preen his clothing just made it seem that much worse. Aaron’s preening became much more pronounced when he saw the serving girl approaching.

By the time the serving girl arrived to deliver Aaron’s drink, she was literally quivering in fear. The source of her fright was apparent, and Belesavius’ charred lips broke into a wide, shark-tooth grin as she kept making short glances in his direction. The revenant noted that the young girl moved with practiced grace, despite her obvious fear, and Belesavius found himself desperately wanting to pull her joints apart to see how well they fit together.

“He-here you go, C-Captain,” the woman sputtered, almost spilling the drink into Aarons’ lap as she set it in front of him.

In his current state, the fact that the serving girl was nearly dumping his drink in his lap didn’t annoy Aaron as much as the fact that her attention was obviously on Belesavius and not him. Aaron’s face was a mask of self-conscious annoyance as the serving girl finished her delivery and bolted from the table.

“I am far more interesting than that thing,” Aaron spat at Berger and Kurt as he grabbed the new drink, “why does she pay more attention to it than to me?”

“Don’t pay her any mind, m’lord,” Kurt offered, though his support was more to head off the looming tantrum than to give true condolences, “she’s just a peasant like us. I’ll bet she doesn’t even know what she’s missing.”

“But it’s not fair,” Aaron pitifully whimpered.

[Lionheart]

Evening settled while James and Conall rode back to the Alexandran First camp. James relished the cool evening air and the slight breeze that blew by, carrying the last of the day’s warmth with it. He longed to return to the pastures that House Alexander called home, but his duty as a knight came first.

As the two of them rode, James recounted the meeting, the High General’s strategy, and his incident. Conall silently took in the information, nodding every once and a while in response.

“Sounds like you got damned lucky, Captain,” Conall assessed when James finished.

“Indeed,” James acknowledged, “but I feel like I should have pressed the matter further.”

“No sense in throwing yourself on your sword for someone who won’t listen. Besides, perhaps the High General’s strategy will work out alright.”

James looked at Conall with an eyebrow cocked questioningly.

“Yeah,” Conall shrugged, “I don’t believe it either.”

The two of them fell silent as they continued their ride back to the Alexandran First’s camp. James looked around at the crowds of men who he passed, each from different Houses and military commands.

How many of these men will die? James questioned.

It was an inescapable fact that war always brought casualties. No matter how overwhelmingly victorious the winning side was, there would always be casualties. As a trained soldier and tactician, James understood and accepted this aspect of warfare, but the spectre of it shadowed him nonetheless, haunting him with the knowledge that he might have been able to save some of these lives by sacrificing his own at the council meeting.

James scanned the groups of soldiers that he passed. Here, a gruff looking veteran whittled a hunk of spare wood with his combat knife. There, a group of young men, barely out of their childhood laughed and taunted one another, keeping the darkness at bay through camaraderie. Apart from them, another man toyed with a feminine handkerchief, likely a gift from a distant love, it was simple yet obviously treasured.

Will he ever see her again? James wondered.

“People will die and we can’t control that,” Conall finally spoke, as if reading the black thoughts filling James’ mind. “What we can control is how many of those deaths are on our hands.”

It was a mantra that Conall had drilled into James throughout his training to be a military commander. James nodded in response, scattering some of his dark thoughts.

“You’re right, of course,” James said, “but if I’m correct, the brunt of these lives will rest in our hands.”

“Yeah?” Conall inquired.

“Yeah. Kal’Necroth’s commanders aren’t stupid. I’m certain that they have been gathering intelligence just like we have. They’ll have a good knowledge of our capabilities and the High General’s command style.”

“Wall up the front line and then hammer down on the flank when Maximilian moves forward to meet them?” Conall prompted. He had trained James and knew the way the young knight thought.

“Right. Stop up the heavy cavalry in the center with a spear wall and send their heavies against the weakest side.”

“Which is just where the Alexandran First will be.”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds about right,” Conall agreed. “So what do you intend to do about it?”

For the first time during their ride, a grin split James’ face.

“I intend to hold the line.”

[Revenant]

The moon hung high in the night when Aaron, supported by Berger and Kurt, staggered out of the drinking tent. His drinking had only sped up as the night marched on, and he was definitely showing the effects. Aaron was a sad drunk, and his forlorn ramblings about life’s unfairness devolved further into whining and moaning as his intoxication increased. Aaron had been stubborn about returning to his command tent and it had taken considerable effort from Berger and Kurt to get the drunken Captain in motion, but despite that, Berger and Kurt knew that Aaron was almost inhuman in his recovery from drunken binging and would only suffer slightly the next morning. It was, quite possibly, the one thing they envied about the man.

The night sky was cloudless, allowing the full brunt of the bloated moon’s pale light to illuminate the dirt roads of the army’s tent city. Berger and Kurt were grateful for this since, Aaron being too drunk to notice much of anything, the job of keeping watch on the shadows fell on their shoulders.

Even though everyone in the camp was a member of Kal’Necroth’s army, they all remained mercenaries at their core. Despite the moon’s almost full illumination, it seemed like thieves and cutthroats lurked around every corner, looking to make a few easy coins. But even the drunken Captain’s fine clothes and bulging money pouch couldn’t draw even the most foolhardy thug thanks to, the soft jingle of chains that trailed behind him.

Pity, thought Belesavius, maintaining a respectful distance behind the stumbling trio, I would welcome a mugging attempt.

Inside the hood, hidden away by deep shadows, Belesavius snickered.

Though it should be me who takes the simpering prat’s life, I would settle for letting a common thug have the honor of spilling his blood. Belesavius’ claws twitched almost uncontrollably at the excitement the thought brought up.

Especially since it would loose me from my binding order.

But as pleasant as it would have been for the revenant, no one stepped out of the shadows to challenge the drunken Captain. Instead, the trip maintained their uneven stagger, drawing them all down row after row of mercenary tents. Disappointed that no fantasy would be fulfilled tonight, Belesavius turned his attention to his surroundings.

Gah, Belesavius’ thoughts raged, these mortals are pathetic. Give me blood and fire and I will unmake the world.

Reaching Aaron’s command tent on the outskirts of the main camp, Belesavius looked across the established ‘no man’s land’ between their own camp and the Amran army deployed opposite their own. He was gratified to see that, though the lights from the distant fires were barely visible, but they were there.

Soon enough, Belesavius thought, turning his attention back towards the men putting Aaron to bed.

Soon enough.

[Lionheart]

A single crow circled lazily down from the sky before settling upon the flagstaff of James’ simple field tent. Fat and content, the crow had spent most of the morning glutting itself on the remains of the scouts and early skirmishers. Kal’Necroth’s invasion had been a horrible thing for Amra, but it had been good for the crows.

Movement at the entrance flap of the tent sent the fat crow back into the smoky air, cawing out in indignation. James and Conall paid the scavenger no mind as they emerged.

“I already have the men deploying to the High General’s station,” Conall noted, looking over the sea of bodies that stretched in a line as far as he could see. On the other side of the plain Kal’Necroth’s mercenaries had formed a similar line, one that was thicker and more filled out.

“Damned,” James cursed under his breath as he pulled the leather strap on the shoulder guard of his field plate to tighten it. The armor that James wore this morning was quite a contrast to the soft military uniform that he had work to the council meeting the day before.

Another point of contention between James and the more traditional members of the nobility, James chose to wear field plate instead of the standard full plate of a Knight of Amra. The field plate consisted of boiled leather and chainmail armor covered with a breastplate, arm and leg guards, shoulder pads and a helmet. It was less protective that the fully enclosed steel of a full plate suit, but James found that, as a foot soldier, the extra maneuverability that field plate offered was more practical.

“It seems that the High General’s intelligence estimate were off slightly,” James noted, looking over at the sea of bodies arrayed against them. “I’d say that we are outnumbered at least three-to-one.”

“Where do you think the bastards managed to scrounge up that many bodies? I don’t think the sorcerer has enough money to pay for that many warm souls.” Conall scratched a thick scar that ran the length of his chin.

“Still making me do all the thinking, eh Conall,” James soberly grinned.

“You know I’m just a poor, dumb, has-been mercenary, Captain,” Conall laughed back. Even as a mercenary, Conall had been possessed of a bit of tactical genius. He obviously knew the answer, but his constant questioning forced James to think and grow as a tactical genius of his own.

“My guess is that they drummed up ‘volunteers’ from the villages they passed. That would mean that most of them are untrained peasants with nothing but a flimsy shield and shoddy sword to their name.” James had obviously returned to the problem of Kal’Necroth’s forces. “Only a handful are hardened veterans like you. Those are the ones we need to worry about.”

“Bah,” Conall spat a wad of phlegm onto the hard-packed earth. “Not a one of them is anything like me. I may have been a mercenary, but I always knew which side was the right one. No amount of coin can wash away innocent blood or save a man’s soul from committed blasphemies.”

“Waxing religious now? Regardless of your views on their occupational morality, they’re damned good soldiers. We’ve fought them before and know what they bring to the table.”

“Those are the ones that you think they’ll be sending our way then?” Conall asked.

“I don’t doubt it. Of course they’ll keep a hardened core to absorb the cavalry charge at the center line, but the real threat will be those ones.” James pointed at the men lined up opposite them.

“This,” James continued, “is the first full scale battle that we’ve had. The High General is throwing almost everything into this and if they break through there won’t be any concerted force between them and Illium.”

James shuddered a little at the thought of mercenary hordes laying siege to Illium, the Amra’s religious epicenter..

“Well then we’ll just have to make sure we break them here, won’t we?” Conall put an easing hand on James’ shoulder. “You’ve got a solid plan and every man out there is in top shape. Don’t second guess yourself.”

Chuckling in agreement, James and Conall made their way to the front line.

[Revenant]

It was past breakfast by the time Aaron came to and emerged from his tent. Berger, an early riser, stood patiently outside the tent, awkwardly glancing at Belesavius, who stood well away from him, from time to time. It was Berger’s job before the battle to assist Aaron with his morning preparations while Kurt attended Aaron’s place at the final council with Kal’Necroth’s lead commander.

Berger gave Aaron a visual inspection and saw, to his frustration, that he and Kurt had been correct in their assumption of Aaron’s alcohol recovery abilities. Only a slight tinge of red in Aaron’s eyes and a wince at the morning light betrayed that the Captain had been falling down drunk only a handful hours before.

“Lucky bastard,” Berger muttered.

Aaron paused long enough to take a long draw from the water jug Berger offered and gave his hair one final pat-down before beginning.

“I trust that all of my standing orders have been carried out, Berger?” Aaron was quite the ‘hands on’ person when it came to management of his unit, much to the annoyance of his Sergeants. Aaron could speak volumes about historical battles and the tactics of great leaders past, but he lacked a fundamental grasp of the true intricacies of life on the field. He was easy enough to sway though, assuming someone could make him think that a particular course of action had been his idea from the start.

“Yessir, m’lord,” Berger answered, falling in line to the right and two steps behind Aaron, “the men are ready to take the field at your order.”

“And what of word has come from the General’s council?”

“Um, well,” Berger stammered, “Kurt hasn’t returned yet, m’lord.”

Aaron’s features scrunched up in annoyance.

“What the hell is taking so long?” Aaron spat and then took another draw from his water jug.

“I dunno, m’lord. But I do know that the General’s messenger wasn’t pleased that Kurt was attending the council in your place.”

“Well the General’s messenger can sit on it for all I care,” Aaron waved his hand dismissively. “Didn’t you tell him that I was busy managing the final preparations for the battle?”

“Perhaps your puppets would have done a better job convincing him if you hadn’t been snoring quite so loudly, Metzger,” Belesavius’ voice rumbled like scraping charcoal. Aaron whirled his head and shot the revenant a venomous look.

“You would do well to remember that you are nothing but a puppet as well, creature.”

Rough, mocking laughter clawed its way out from under Belesavius’ hood.

“And you would do well to remember this body is only a puppet that dances for you at Kal’Necroth’s whim.” Belesavius knew that Aaron’s lack of true control over him angered the Captain more than anything else about him. Though he rarely spoke, he always relished the opportunity to get a rise out of Aaron.

The look on Aaron’s face shifted from annoyance to pure hatred. Before he could snap a retort however, Kurt, with infinitely bad timing, reappeared. Aaron’s hostility immediately switched to his lackey.
“It’s about time you got back,” Aaron barked. “We’re on a bit of a schedule here Delem, in case you’d forgotten. This is the last time I sent a peasant to conduct important business.”

Kurt took the verbal assault in stride, though he longed to point out that no one at the council meeting had been noble-born.

“In all fairness, m’lord,” Berger started to intervene, but was cut short by a look from Kurt.

“It honestly would have been a complete waste of time for someone as important as you,” Kurt answered.

“Of course it would have been,” Aaron snapped, finally gesturing for Kurt to fall in line, “I wouldn’t have sent you otherwise. Still, I want a full brief on what was discussed.”

Belesavius walked behind the three men, only half listening to Kurt’s droning recount of the council meeting. The rest of the revenant’s attention eagerly fixed upon the thousands of armed troops marching to the front in tight formations.

[Lionheart]

James looked over the assembled spearmen and their backup ranged support with a critical eye. Like the rest of the Amran forces, the Alexandran First had received their marching orders late in the night, well after the High General’s feast had finished. James and Conall had still been up at that point, discussing battle tactics over a large scale battle map. In fact, Conall had had to threaten James with physical harm to get the young knight to catch any sleep at all.

But there was no denying that the late night planning session had been beneficial. The unit’s disciplined squad leaders had accepted their orders this morning with practiced ease and the Alexandran First had taken the field. Their setup was quick, efficient, and without hassle, unlike many of the other Amran units whose commanders had waited until the morning to plan the deployment.

James’ reverie was cut short by the arrival of a retinue of heavy cavalry bearing the personal heraldry of High General Fermat’s guard. With a step forward to greet the High General, James saluted, noticing that Daniel Metzger and Michela Pendis rode with the High General this morning.

The High General’s heavy frame was more evident than ever, crammed into the crimson and cream full plate that symbolized House Fermat’s nobility. Flushed cheeks and a sweaty brow told James that the High General was feeling the aftereffects of his late night feast. James made a mental congratulations to himself on his decision to depart early.

“Well met, Captain Alexander,” Fermat’s voice was strained but still strong, though the deep breaths he took as he spoke sounded more like panting gasps to James.

“And a warm greeting to you as well, High General. I’d say good morning, but,” James shrugged and tilted his head towards the mercenary army across the field, “I daresay that it won’t be good for too much longer.”

“Indeed Captain,” Fermat nodded and scanned the ranks of the Alexandran First’s defensive line. “That is the precise reason why I am here. My estimation of the enemy’s ranks seems to have been off, as you surmised at the council.”

James could barely keep control over the surprise that lit up his face. Daniel and Michela, for their part, glared at him from behind the High General with unbridled hatred.

“Merely a guess of my own, High General,” James’ tone was crisp, professional, and to the point.

“Yes, yes, quite enough Captain.” Maximilian held up his hand to stop James. “Given Kal’Necroth’s numbers, I have decided to tighten our defenses as advised.”

Looking at the smug looks Daniel and Michela were now giving him, James had no doubt who was taking credit for giving the High General this ‘advice.’

“From the look of your unit’s readiness, I can see that I was correct in placing you in guard of the flank.”

“Thank you, High General,” James replied, not wanting to point out that his unit was only on the flank because House Alexander would be furthest from the glory of the front line.

“Given the overwhelming odds that will be experienced at the front line, and seeing how disciplined your men are, it is the belief of my staff,” again James’ eyes flitted to House Metzger’s delegates, “that, as is, the Alexandran First’s strength will be wasted.”

James’ gaze returned to the High General.

He can’t possibly be thinking what I think he’s thinking.

“As such, Captain, I am ordering the Alexandran First to split. One half is to maintain position under your command to hold the flank. The other is to join the forces on the front line to bolster ranks there.”

Ice water dashed over James’ head, and only his rigid willpower allowed him to keep a neutral expression on his face. The growling intake of breath from behind him told him that Conall had not been able to do the same.

“With all respects, High General, the preparations that my men have made will be broken if the unit is split. Sending half the unit away won’t just reduce them to half strength, it will reduce them to a mere fraction of their effectiveness.”

“The High General gave you great honor in holding the flank, Alexander,” Michela chimed in, “surely your vaunted expertise can manage that even at half strength.”

“I see that you’re Metzger’s mouthpiece in more ways than one,” James nearly snarled at Michela.

“I’ll have your head, Alexander,” Daniel snarled back, bring his mount forward.

“Enough!” the High General roared.

“I have enough problems to worry about with them,” waving his hand to indicate the thick black line of Kal’Necroth’s invaders, “I have no time for infighting among my own ranks.”

Turning to Daniel, “Commander Metzger, you will have your due once this is over, but until then I expect you to act like a Knight of Amra.”

Back to James, “You’ve made me re-think the great honor I’ve given to you up to this point, Captain. Expect further action on this matter once we have routed the barbarians.”

“I apologize and ask forgivness, High General. I will, of course, accept the consequences of my words like a true knight. I was merely shaken by the fact that you want to split my men …”

“These are not your men, Captain, they are Amra’s men. I am the High General of Amra, and that makes them my men. And since they are my men, I am ordering half of them reassigned to support the front line.”

“I understand, High General.” James wanted to argue, to make the High General understand his point, but Conall had always taught him that part of being a good tactician was knowing which battles couldn’t be won. Besides, he was already in enough trouble over his insult to House Metzger. Though he didn’t like the High General’s orders, they would stand and he would follow them.

“Give the order, Captain. The battle won’t be long in coming and I want everything ready. You are dismissed.”

Maximilian returned to his retinue, Daniel and Michela glaring death at him the entire time. James watched them ride off in a daze until Conall’s gentle cough broke him from his trance.

“What the hell was that?” Conall scoffed disapprovingly. “Don’t I tell you that you need to keep your brain in front of your mouth.”

This time, James refused to back down.

“You know as well as I do that we’ve almost certainly been condemned to death. Don’t give me your patronizing bullshit this time!”

Instead of appearing taken aback by James’ words, Conall merely smiled.

“Well James, you’ve got your orders.” Conall rarely used James’ given name and the sound of it rang hollow in their ears. “At least we can fulfill them like true sons of Amra.”

“I know old man, but I don’t have to like it.”