Chapter 26

I'm awakened hours later by someone clearing their throat. My eyes snap open to find Morgan peering inside of my tent, his eyepatch missing. It's a strategy of his in battle hoping that the shock of seeing eyes mangled eye socket will stun his opponent long enough for him to strike first. Apparently it has worked. Behind him I can make out the pale light of the sky as the sun begins to rise. "Apologizes Tom, but it's time to blow the horns."

Claire stirs next to me still asleep in the crook of my shoulder before slowly blinking her eyes as well. Looking back to Morgan I give a nod and he leaves to go wake the men.

"Good morning," I greet in a voice thick with sleep. I slip my arm out from under her head and sit up rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The hearth from last night is still lit providing light.

"Morning," Claire says in an off tone. I turn to her to find her staring at me. Words are not needed to express how she is feeling.

Leaning forward, I place a quick peck on her cheek and flip the covers over. Standing up I stretch and walk over to my chest of clothes to begin dressing. We stay silent as I wash my face and slip on a padded shirt before walking over to my armor. In the distance Morgan sounds the horn to wake the men, it bellows out deeply and already I feel adrenaline slowly seep into my veins.

Letting out a slow exhale, I start with the long sleeved chain mail shirt that falls to my upper thighs before moving onto my graves and cuisses. I then begin working on my vambraces intricately made of both leather and steel, my fingers move automatically as I tighten the cords. As I reach for my breastplate, Claire speaks up. "Would you like help?"

In truth, I've put my armor on more times than I can count and no longer struggle with the hard to each straps. But Claire has offered for a reason--perhaps one more reason to be close to me before I leave--and I hate to turn her down. "Sure, I always struggle with this part," I lie, wanting to make her feel needed. She smiles and quickly pads over to me and I turn around away from her. Breastplate in had, I slip my arms through and hold it to my chest up as Claire begins fiddling with the buckles behind me. It takes her longer than it would have me but I don't mind. "Is that good enough?" she asks me

I tug on the opening around my neck feeling for movement. "Aye. Snug as a bug," I reply. "Thank you."

She gives me a nod. "Anything else I can help you with? Your cloak"

At this I let out a chuckle and grab my sword, fastening it's sheath to my waist. "No, no cloak. A few years back a man grabbed Rory's and pulled him backwards while he was fighting another. He fell down and almost didn't have enough time to roll out of the way of the man's blade. Ever since, we've made sure to avoid such hazards."

Claire's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Well that wasn't very noble of him."

I nod my head agreeing and then reach for my two daggers, slipping one in my boot and the second in my waist. "We fight to win, not for nobility," I reply. "As ugly as it is to say it. A man's morals dissipate when fighting for all that he's love." They can turn into animals, I've seen it with my own eyes how they tear each other limb from limb all in the name of glory for their kingdom.

"And what is it that you love?" she asks, gazing up at me.

"You," I want to tell her, but is it only because in a few hours it's possible that I will be nothing but a corpse on a field? Or is it because that is how I truly feel? Not wanting to give an answer just yet, I lick my lips and lean forward and steal a kiss. "The way your lips taste on mine," I whisper as I pull back.

Her cheeks flush and she looks down in an attempt to conceal her smile. "How long until you all leave?" she asks me.

"I'd say we'll move out in an hour or two. It takes a while to ready the men and make the slow walk to the field." I answer, my mind automatically thinking of all the things I need to get started on.

"So is this it, then? The part where we say goodbye?" she asks softly looking back up at me with those blue eyes. I give a nod. She frowns and steps closer, wrapping her arms around my waist. "I wish I would have a token for you. If I thought of it earlier I would have weaved something out of grass at the very least." In the past I never quite understood the significance of why men would sometimes take a token with them to battle--perhaps a necklace or a lock of hair--but now that Claire offers the idea of one it would have been welcomed.

"That's okay love," I say, planting another kiss on top of her strawberry blonde mane. We hold each other for a few minutes, neither wanting to be the first to let go. The sound of men in the distance is what causes me to pull back and I take her by the hand, holding both in one hand while placing the other on top. "You and the women will be alone here at camp. You're free to stay here in my quarters until we get back. If men come that none of you recognize..." I trail, not wanting to think of the rest. "Run. Take a horse if you can and leave. I'll make sure some are left behind for you. If you can manage, head North until you come across a town of Longwind, the people there are friendly enough. Wait a week. If I don't show, well..."

Her eyes glisten in the dim firelight of the hearth and she gives her head a shake, biting her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. "I'm scared, Thomas," she whispers.

Pursing my lips I give another slow nod before pulling her in one last time. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and inhale her scent. "I'll come back, I promise," I say, hoping that I will be able to fulfill the oath. Taking her face in my hands I kiss her deeply before turning on my heel and leaving her behind. As I walk through the camp I force all thoughts of her from my mind and focus on readying my men. Breakfast isn't being served this morning so many chew on strips of dried jerky as they suit themselves in their armor, lending those that need it a hand. Weapons are passed out, horses are saddled, and the captains gather their assigned men one final time to go over orders. The early morning shifts and the south's heat has already caused perspiration to form under my armor. Looking around it appears that all the men are ready and await further instructions. Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I give the order to Morgan that it's time to move out. He blows the horn once again, a long low bellow.

Shaking my head at how fast the preparations passed by, I place my foot in my horse's stirrup and hoist myself up. Rory finds me looking strapping in his matching armor. His hair is sleekly braided back along with his thick beard and I know that Beth Ann must have done it for him. "Don't you look pretty," I tease and I'm met with an eye roll.

We head to the gates to lead the army. As we do, I see Claire, Beth Ann, and the rest of the women stand huddled near the entrance. Darla's arm's are draped around them as both allow silent tears to slide down their cheeks. As I draw closer to Claire the urge to exchange a few more words grows, but what is left for me to say? She watches me with sad eyes and I click my teeth, genturing for my horse to walk over to her. Rory does the same. Beth Ann sprints towards him and he leans down from his saddle, kissing her one last time. "I love you! Don't go!" she pleads. Rory has to peel her hands off that cling to the back of his neck.

"I would if I could, lass," he says, sitting back up. "I love you too, but I have a duty to my country." She lets out an audible cry and Claire comes forward, taking her by the hand pulling her back.

She glances up at me and I force a smile. "I promise, love," I affirm before guiding my horse back to lead the caravan. We exit camp through the gates and I turn to Rory as we lead the thousands of men to the field. "I guess that's that," I say, referring to saying goodbye to the women. He clamps down on his bottom lip, giving me a nod.

"Aye. That's that," he agrees.

For the remaining time it takes for us to slowly lead the war part to the rendezvous point the men break out in traditional Paevian songs while the two of us remain silent. It's always strange leading up to the actual fighting. No one really knows how to act around one another. Do you reminisce on old memories? Tell each other how much you care for them? Wish them good luck? Make plans for the future knowing you aren't promised the evening's sunset? Ask a man to promise to take care of your family if you don't make it back home?

When the massive pasture comes into view, we are met with the Bulgins scattered about on the opposing side. When we are noticed they chant "ooruah ooruah" deeply and beat on their wooden shields to act as a scare tactic though it might as well fall on deaf ears. My men have been trained to pay no attention to such notions other than allow the noise to fuel their adrenalin. "They're more like toddlers beating on toy drums than men," I mutter to Rory, who nods in agreement.

As the men file in place, I trot back and forth on my horse and give my assistance when needed. Two rows of archers ready themselves flanking my frontline and begin lighting oil drums. Other than the archers, we are all calvary--no footmen. Eying the Bulgins, I note that about one third of their many thousand men are on horseback. Their soldiers form a sea of heads and bodies and I glance back at our numbers momentarily discouraged. I have to remind myself that we make up for our lack of numbers with outright skill. The only reason the Bulgins have so many is because they force many able bodied men to fight whereas ours solely on their own accord.

A half hour goes as the men get in position. Warren calls for my attention a few yards away and I glance at him, watching him motion behind me with his head. Turning around in my saddle I can make out three figures on horseback headed our way from the other side. "I guess Lugos wishes to have a final word," Morgan says to my right. Grunting, I shout for Rory and he comes trotting over from the right flank. I then request that he, Morgan, and Warren come with me to greet them in the field. We ride in a straight line and as we near Lugos I see that one of the figures is Samantha. She's draped in a fine silver dress, her dull blonde hair twisted up into a strange updo. Lugos sports a fine set of ebony armor that looks expensive and I can't help but wonder if he had it crafted especially for this. On his other side is a man I do not recognize. He appears to be in his late sixties and has brown hair that is graying. Perhaps he is Lugos's advisor or an old war chieftain? He holds a flag that flaps in the sky with the Bulgin's house sigil.

When we are about twenty feet apart I pull back on my reins and we come to a halt. I refuse to be the first to speak. As I wait, I look behind him and examine his strange tools of war up closer. Months back we only got a glimpse at his metal tubes on wheels, the end each having a hole at the bottom. They look heavy and I can't imagine that they are practical. Still, he went through the trouble of dragging all this way so they must be deadly.

"It's not too late to forfeit, Thomas," Lugos tells me in an authoritative tone. "Your men can keep their lives if you bend the knee to me here and now."

Rory immediately spits in response and it lands a few feet away from Lugo's horses hooves. Morgan lets out a sound similar to a growl. I give my head a curt shake.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I think we both know the odds of which of us will be winning this war," I state. "I'd extend to you the same offer but because you declared war against Paevia, I wasn't able to be with my father as he passed. That I cannot forgive.

Samantha lets out a snort. "Let's not forget that this all started with you when you-" she begins, but Lugos cuts her off with a raised hand.

"Enough Samantha. You are only here as an audience, nothing more," he says before turning his dark gaze back to me. "You know what, you Carlyle boy's should be glad your father won't have to grieve your imminent deaths. How tragic would it be for him to know that the only heir he'll have left will be your irresponsible, ignorant brother Crispin." The older man next to him gives a smirk. Lugos continues. "I think the first thing I'm going to do when I am both king of Bulga and Paevia is order the deaths of Crispin and that barbarian Rorik leader Santiago and bed both your sister and your brother's wife--perhaps even take them as my wives. Raise their children as my own. You needn't worry though, I'll teach them all about their uncles–the noises they made in death and how they shirt their trousers."

Anger fills me as he brings my family into this. "You're shitty insults are low-hanging fruit. I didn't meet you on this field to hear your squawking and your threats are as useless as tits on a hog. We're done here, and mark my words: I will seek you out on this field, and I will revel as I watch you take your final breaths. If there's anything left of your body it will be displayed for all to see. And you," I say, turning my attention to Samantha. "We do not discriminate, so if you are on this field you will be butchered just the same so I suggest you return home to your wrinkled white-haired lord and birth your child. If Paevia claims victory, let this be the end of it. If you ignore my generosity you and everything you have known will be decimated."

Her hand immediately goes to her swollen belly, her eye's widening as she questions my promise. Lugos's eyes tighten. Not wanting to stick around to hear whatever response they might conjure, I click my teeth and I turn around on my horse, galloping back to our men.

"That was some speech!" Rory yells over the wind, a grin on his face. "If I come across that sack of steaming shit before you I can't promise that I won't kill him!"

"Or me!" Warren chimes in.

Once we reach our men I see no point in prolonging things any further. Taking a deep breath, I ride up and down the frontline and shout, "Today will be the day that marks our victory against Bulga! When people hear the name of their country, their first thoughts will be of the horror their men endured on this field! They will remember how they were butchered like animals, how our blades thirsted for their blood and were quenched ten times fold! I am not blind, it is obvious that they outnumber us, but that is only because their king forced their men to fight for him, all in the name of revenge no less. All because some homely lass was embarrassed, no less! If you seen her you'd run away too!" This earns a round of booming laughter that fills the air and those that are not in earshot are soon being retold my word. I wipe a bead of sweat away with the back of my hand and continue riding down the lines.

"It's no secret why you all are here, and I want to thank you personally for fighting by my side today, this will not be forgotten by my family! Unlike them, you are here to fight for not only your king, but your family, your country! The sooner we defeat these backwater bastards the sooner you all can go home and make love to your wives!" Everyone gives a loud and powerful cheer. Unsheathing my sword, I raise it high in the air for all to see. "Archers!" I shout, then give the nod to Durza, the captain over the archers. He instructs them to dip the tips of their already piled arrows into the flaming barrels. From across the field I hear a sound of thunder and look to see that Lugos has already ordered his men to charge. Sharing one final glance with my brother I wave my sword forward and together we gallop full speed ahead, creating an unrelenting wall. All noise is drowned out as we near--the horses hooves, the shouts, even the murder of crows that fly overhead curious as to what is happening below. The only thing my ears register is the sound of my pulse as it courses through my veins. In the distance men ignite as our arrows hit their targets. Suddenly there are numerous loud booms coming from Lugo's contraptions and smoke fills the area around them. Objects fly at us at incredible speed and from the corner of my eye I see one of my men be obliterated as one hits him in the chest. There is a moment of impact as our forces collide and a crescendo of guttural screams replaces the smoke in the air. Blades cut into flesh, bodies are trampled by horses, wind is knocked out of lungs.

My body automatically goes through the motions of cutting down surrounding enemies and it's not until my sixth kill that I'm brought back to reality. Still charging through the swarm of Bulgins, I grip the hilt of my sword and decapitate a slender man probably in his late teens, his eyes widen in shock as he watches his own murder. I tell myself not to think of his family back home. I cut down another four men when a large brute drives his spear deep into my horse's chest puncturing first her lungs then her heart. Shet lets out a whine and crashes into the earth throwing me forward. My face connects with a body still warm on the ground, his lifeless eyes looking up at the afternoon sky. Jerking my head in the direction of where my sword landed I snatch it up and twist around automatically. It blocks the brutes blow by mere inches. I kick him as hard as I can in his knee and it bows backwards. He hardly has time to cry out in pain before my blade finds its home in his stomach. In one swift motion my blade disembowels him causing his intestines to make a squelch as the land on the earth.

Not sticking around to watch him die, I turn and allow my sword to become an extension of my arm. It takes the life of another five men and soon my hand is slick with blood. Quickly I wipe my hand off on my trousers but this short pause has allotted someone enough time to shoot an arrow which sinks deep into the crook of my shoulder.

"Agh!" I cry out, looking down where the tip has managed to find one of the few weakspots in my armor. Gripping the wooden shaft I yank the arrow out and search for my aggressor. Nose still bulbous and belly still bloated, the heavyset Bulgin Henri that not-so-kindly transported Channing, Markus, and gives me a shiteating grin as he loads another arrow. Gripping the hilt of my blade I tense my muscles to doge to my left but one of his own men accidentally runs him down on horseback. I watch as its hooves make contact with his sternum, then his temple. The pressure causes his eyeball to pop from its socket. I have to admit it's one of the most pathetic deaths I've ever witnessed, and very deserving.

I then lend aid to one of my men who is struggling to fend off two Bulgins. A quick swipe at the crook of the knee sends one man stumbling. My comrade takes advantage of this and drives his sword down hacking at the man's back. As he does this I parry a few blows from the other Bulgin until I see an opening, piercing his heart. My soldier gives me a nod of thanks and runs off to continue the fight. This goes on for ages it feels like: taking a life, helping one of my men out of a tight spot, trying to ignore the wails of the dying. It isn't until I catch sight of Warren struggling with a behemoth twice his size that I feel a sudden change in the air. "This face has meaning," I register.

Lurching forward I sprint towards Warren. I watch has the bald brute sends three strikes his way and Warren stumbles back, hardly able to block him. As a fourth swing is about to come his way Warren trips and falls backwards on a body. I know I'm not close enough to parry the blow so without thinking I snatch one of my daggers out of my belt and throw it at the brute, willing it to find its target. It sails through the air just as the man is about to deliver the deathly blow before sinking into his skull. The man stumbles forward still conscious for a brief moment before falling on top of Warren.

Reaching the two, I drop my blade and with all my strength roll the man off of him. Warren's blue eyes are wide, his face covered in the gore of others. He lets out a quick laugh and shakes his head in shock. Standing up, I hold out my hand and he takes it, allowing me to help him to his feet. "I thought that I was about to give up the ghost," he says, grinning.

I return it and bend down, quickly picking up my sword. "Another day, perhaps," I say, clapping him on the back. "Come on," I say with authority. Warren squats down retrieving his sword as well and as I turn I see a red headed Bulgin heave a spear towards us. "Duck!" I yell, flattening so quick my chin connects with the ground and sends a jolt throughout my skull. Immediately I look back to see Warren stumbling back once again, this time with a spear piercing him through his stomach. Eyes widening I turn to his murder grinning proudly. I charge him letting out a grief stricken scream and watch his face shift to horror. As he fumbles with unsheathing his sword I swing down at him hard, my blade splitting his face in half. I have to place my boot on his thighs to free my weapon before I dash back to Warren.

Blood pours from the corners of his mouth and he struggles to breath. Looking down I see iron tinted foam bubble around the shaft of the spear signaling a lung has been punctured, sealing his fate. My eyes begin to sting as I take my friends head in one arm, cradling him. "Do you want me to pull it out calmly?" I ask. He gives a weak nod. My fingers encircle the wood and I remove the spear as painlessly as I can though he still gives a gasp. Automatically my hand covers the round wound in his chest--partially because staunching the blood loss will give us more time and partially because i cannot stand to look at it. His blood covers my fingers followed by more red-tinted foam. The fighting around me is not important in these final moments I have with him and thankfully everyone is too busy to pay us any attention.

"Warren..." I say, shaking my head and holding back tears. "I'm so thankful for all of our years of friendship. You've always been a brother to me, always been my voice of reason," I say. He covers my hand with one of his, giving it a light squeeze. "I've always envied how sure you were in life...sought you when I needed advice," I choke out. "How am I supposed to live each day without you by my side, Warren?" A tear falls down my cheek and lands on his chest, mixing in with the bubbles that have now become more shallow.

His own eyes water and he gives his head a shake. Parting his lips he struggles to speak. "You j-just do, T-Tommy. Put a nice st-statue of me out in the garden, mm-make sure I look good," he says, allowing a ghost of a smile form on his face. I can't help but laugh softly at his attempt to make light of the situation. "It's been an hon-honor to be b-by your side all these years. You're my best fr-friend." At this I have to choke down a sob.

"And you're mine," I reply. He blinks a tear away and opens his mouth to say one final thing but his time is up and he doesn't get the chance. I feel his already weak grip on my hand release and I know he is gone. My chin quivers and I lean forward, resting my forehead on his. Images of us as boys flash through my mind running through the halls back at home, our bare feet slapping on the stone...shared knowing looks from across packed room......the sound of his laughter being exchanged over a cold mug of ale.I want to stay here and allow myself to grieve but I know that's impossible. Swallowing my emotions, I sit up, close Warren's eyes, grab my sword, and rejoin the fighting.

I recognize Channing a few yards away holding his own against three of Lugos's men. One notices me as I reach them and turns is focus on me, swinging his rapier wildly in a panic. He's around my age with brilliant blonde hair, his arms decorated with various healed burn scars. "Was he a baker back home? A blacksmith?" Dodging his attempt, I parry his next blow and we exchange a few stikes. By his lack of skill with a blade I can tell that he more than likely was solicited as a recruit and I almost feel bad as my sword slices open his juggler. As he paws at his neck I turn to see Channing finishing up the third man, having driven his shortsword through his heart. Channing tells me something with his hands and I only respond with a nod, unsure of what he attempted to say.

As the fighting continues, I notice the mass of men has thinned out slightly. More and more familiar faces seem to have come into view, perhaps that meant we are winning? Or possibly, the Bulgins have slowly surrounded us? Whatever the case may be, I have to ignore Rory when I see him--yelling like a berserker and barreling through men as he butchers them. He gets a thrill in times like these...sees it as a game. Gale runs by looking spent, followed by Nik who has a nasty gash on his brow. Another fifteen minutes of carnage pass when I hear a voice all to well scream. Searching the mass of men I see Morgan cradling his face with a knife sticking out of his one good eye, his opponent clinging to life at his feet.

Cursing under my breath I run to Morgan and grimace when I reach him. Just as I do, someone tries to make a cheap shot and spear him from behind. I quickly shove Morgan out of the way, counter the attempt with the spear and cut into the man's gullet as if it were butter. Focusing back to Morgan I see he wildly slashes out with his blade still screaming. "It's me it's me!" I shout, dodging his crazed swings. When recognizing my voice he stops and reaches out for me. I hold out my forearm for him to hold on to which he grips tightly, afraid to let go.

"I can't see, Tommy!" he cries out, "It hurts, get it out!" Blood mixed with a milky substance oozes from his eye and I have to stifle a gag.

"I'm going to get you out of here, you fought well Morgan," I say soothingly. I search for a familiar face and spot Durza who is the captain of my archers. "Durza!" I shout at the top of my lungs. He finishes up with his opponent and looks for me before running over to us. He takes one look at Morgan and gives a nod, already knowing what I will ask. Holding out my arm, Durza removes Morgan's hand and places it on his bicep. Take him to Noah's tent and come back--I still need you." Without another word he leads Morgan to our medical tent and I decide to seek out Lugos. Perhaps if I can take him down the remaining men on both sides will be spared. "Unless you they see Lugo's as a martyr." Regardless, it's either that or see which side outlasts the other.

Taking a deep breath, I wipe away a mixture of sweat and gore from my face and do my best to ignore the sweltering heat. I begin to weave through the men, taking lives when needed and earning a few cuts and bruises along the way until finally I see him. Shadrach and the old man from earlier acts as a makeshift guard as Lugos sits mounted on horseback with a curved bow and empty quiver. "So what, is he just playing spectator?" They aren't far enough to leave him unprotected but are close enough to lend aid when needed. I'd rather not have to face Shadrach seeming as that I almost liked him but I cannot pick and choose my opponents in times of war. Giving a grunt, I quickly search for a spear and find one a few feet away jutting out of a horse. Swiftly retrieving it, I take aim at Shadrach just as the other so-called guard begins fending off an attack from one of my men, Bancole. While I internally debate if I should just take aim at Lugos, he notices me and looks towards Shadrach. As his lips part to warn him, I inhale sharply and hurl the spear forward and watch it fly through the air. Shadrach turns towards Lugos as his name is called before following his gaze towards my direction. Recognition flashes across his face just as my spear pierces him cleanly through his throat. I give my head a single disappointed shake and look to Lugos. It appears Bancole was defeated by the old man as another has taken his place.

Lugos's eyes widen with fury and he lets out a roar before charging at me full speed. Smirking, I grip my sword with both hands before running back at him. He looks taken aback by my actions, but as his thoughts catches up with mine its too late. Just as he is about to reach me I shift my course to the left and slide across the sleek grass, slicing through his horses front two legs. As it collapses Lugos flies into the air and crashes down a few yards away. As he does this I walk up to his horse before swiftly taking it out of her misery.

Snarling, Lugos fumbles with his spotless blade and gains his footing.

"Thought you might want to join in on the fight," I say coyly. "Were you really sitting up there the whole time?"

Lugos grimaces and readies himself. "Aye. I took great joy in picking off your men with my bow. Even the little one...Max, was it? He hardly lasted five minutes in the fighting," he says, feigning disappointment. "What a wasted future spent fighting for a lost cause."

My eyes tighten but I refuse to take the bait. Just as it was with Warren, I cannot allow myself to grieve any losses--not until it is finished. "Let's get this over with."