of his generals shouted. Jarel looked
in the direction of the men, and
noticed that they came to a halt at
what would be considered the mid-
point. Donning his helmet, Jarel
addressed his general before moving
his horse to the sidelines to better lead
it toward centerfield. He did not need
to look back to know that two of his
generals followed after him. They
reined in their horses before the
helmed and armored soldiers. The red
of the Morden soldiers’ capes flew
with the wind.
“King Vulcan of Morden seeks
passage to retrieve Queen Jaisyn of
Morden, his wife. Will you stand in
his way?” a Morden solider asked
calmly.
Eyes narrowing beneath the helmet,
Jarel replied, “Vulcan of Morden has
no true wife residing in Sulan.”
“Is that so, soldier?” the man asked
in a low, almost bored tone. “Vulcan
of Morden is prepared to show
leniency to a kingdom unblemished,
until now, in his mind’s eye, if his
wife is safely returned.” The man held
up a gloved hand when Jarel would
have spoken. “If you stand between
the king and his queen, he vows to
massacre your men, annihilate your
royal family, and take your kingdom
under his rule.”
Jarel almost cursed at the calm way
in which the soldier related that
information. Almost cursed the name
of Vulcan of Morden. And then, he
almost laughed. Was Vulcan of
Morden stupid? More than likely, his
men would be massacred today. With
the paltry numbers he’d brought, he
would be lucky to return to Morden in
one piece.
“The Sulanese will not allow Vulcan
of Morden passage. He has no true
wife residing therein. It would be best
for the Wolf to take his armies back
the way he came, to where he
belongs.”
“Lytheria?”
“Lytheria does not belong to Vulcan
of Morden,” Jarel replied easily,
trying to keep his voice calm, as the
soldier was doing but finding it hard to
do so.
The soldier said nothing for many
moments. “May the Gods have mercy
on you and yours.”
“And on you,” Jarel threw back at
him.
They both tugged on their horses’
reins so that the horses moved back,
before turning and riding in opposite
directions.
***
It was easy. Far too easy. The
Morden soldiers had sounded the
retreat, and the Sulanese were
following after them with cries of
victory. After barely an hour of
intense fighting, renowned warriors
were retreating? Jarel pulled his horse
away from the men, and reined him
beside a mountainous area that
allowed for a clear view of the thickly
forested foliage below. His generals
swarmed him, protecting their lord.
“It is too easy,” he told the one
closest to him, only to receive a terse,
“Aye, lord” from the man. He
watched as the men charged through
the foliage until they were no longer in
sight before deciding to give chase. He
was about to tell his generals of his
decision when he noticed that his
warriors and soldiers were now
running in the opposite direction.
They were frenzied, heading directly
toward him.
“’Tis a trap! TRAP! ARCHERS!”
were the screams heard from below.
It was then, in that moment, that Jarel
understood. He watched as his men
fell to the ground as arrows found
their marks in their flesh. Of course it
was a trap. The Northern Wolf had to
have more men. He was the High
King of the North, with multiple
kingdoms, multiple armies, at his
disposal. He would not come for his
queen with a measly forty thousand
men!
“My liege, we must ride, lest we be
trampled,” one of his generals said
urgently and Jarel kicked his stallion
into motion.
“Ride ahead, generals! Tell the men
to hold position at the border. We will
drive them back once more!”
***
There was chaos, utter chaos, as the
men faced off against the Morden
soldiers a second time. Someone kept
sounding the horn for retreat, although
Jarel had given orders that they were
to stay and fight. So, some soldiers
would retreat while others fought,
proving a useful advantage for the
Morden warriors, who now fell upon
them like a wave of death. Jarel was
in the midst of it all, facing a warrior
who was similarly armed as he: on
horseback and with sword. They
dueled for minutes before Jarel saw
an opening and took it. His blade
pierced the soldier’s neck, and he fell
from his horse. Another soldier was
quickly upon him and he had no time
to recover. He hacked at the new
opponent, this time piercing him
through his side.
The horn sounded again. Jarel
blinked rapidly, angrily, and looked
for the source.
“HOLD!” he screamed at the top of
his lungs. Calls of ‘hold’ went up
among the men for what must have
been the fourth time since the real
fighting had begun. Jarel felt someone
come up to him and spun to confront
the person, bloody sword pointing in
his that direction. The armor and
shield alerted him that it was friend,
not foe.
“How fare thee, brother?”
Dax
.
Jarel stood down.
“Who keeps sounding the retreat?”
he demanded, quickly wondering why
he had even done so. Dax would not
know. True to form, his brother did
not know.
Jarel spun his horse once more and
looked around. What he saw made his
teeth clench in fury. They would have
to retreat this day, and bring forward
new troops on the morrow. Dark grey
armors and red capes seemed to be on
almost every footsoldier around them.
Morden warriors.
“Have the generals—” He saw the
glint of something nearing him and
instinctively moved slightly to his left.
Pain shot through his shoulder. Dear
Gods, what was that? He forced
himself to breathe through it and
turned to his brother. Dax wore a
large grin and from beneath his
helmet, his eyes gleamed dangerously.
“Do not worry, brother. ’Tis an
honor to fall in battle,” Dax was
saying as Jarel’s head swam and his
horse seemed unstable. “Father would
be proud.” He watched as Dax drew
his sword and knew his brother
intended to kill him. Clenching his legs
tightly together, his urged his steed
forward, taking him deeper into the
ranks of Morden soldiers. His body
swayed and pain jarred his body as he
hit the ground. Black winked in and
out, before finally, unable to do
anything else, he succumbed to it.
***
Dax watched his brother fall and
sheathed his sword. Beneath his fine
helmet, he wore a feline smile as he
rode off in the direction of his father’s
soldiers. Jarel would bleed out or be
killed by a Morden warrior. Either
way, his brother would die and there
would no longer be a direct heir to the
Sulanese throne. He would give
Azarius a few weeks to grieve before
he had a few of his father’s trusted
advisors make a proposal to the king.
Despite his illegitimacy, Dax would be
the only living son of the largest
kingdom in the South. There were
legitimate cousins who could make a
claim for the throne, but Dax doubted
they would. With Lytheria under
Kegan and lending support, they
would be afraid. Once a few powerful
nobles bribed with the thought of
further acquired wealth, added their
names to that support, Dax would be
named prince and heir to the throne of
Sulan.
So caught up was he in his thoughts
of becoming king, of the bastard
taking what was intended for the
legitimate heir, Dax did not notice the
soldier tracking him until the man rode
into his path. His stallion reared
slightly as the man’s bloody sword
lifted.
Dax drew his own sword and
prepared to fight. The fight did not last
long as Dax, after noticing the man
was deadly with the sword, slid from
his horse and sought to flee on foot.
***
The warrior was intent on his prey,
dismounting from his stallion and
charging through fighting soldiers after
him. He’d witnessed the betrayal, a
pathetic dagger in the back from one
of the soldier’s own men, and wanted
the man for himself.
The
cowardly
man
suddenly
stopped, looked about wildly, and as if
knowing that there was nowhere to
go, finally stood his ground. Steel rang
against steel before the coward was
on his back, his sword all but kicked
from his grasp.
The warrior had lifted his sword
above his head and was about to deal
out the killing blow when the man
suddenly pushed his helmet from his
head. Looking down into a beautiful
face—the face of an unearthly
beautiful woman with icy blue eyes—
the warrior halted.
***
Thinking to kill the warrior with the
hidden dagger at his waist while his
beauty enthralled the man, Dax began
to reach for it, slowly.
“A man as beautiful as any woman
with hair the color of a fiery tomb,”
the warrior suddenly spat. Dax knew
fear for the first time in his life. “This
is a gift from Isolde, Princess of
Lytheria. Her hair will grow back; the
scratches on her neck will fade, but
your life is forfeit.”
With that, the blade came down,
passing through the thin resistance of
pale skin and pinning the man to the
ground. A few gasps and gurgles later,
Dax’s lifeless eyes stared up at a
snarling Varian.
***
King Azarius stared out at the sea of
men who surrounded his castle.
Numerous banners with snarling
wolves flew rampant on the wind.
Their numbers were large, unlike
anything the aged king had faced
before. His generals had been too late
and their calls for retreat had gone
unheeded. The Sulanese had retreated
only after their leader had fallen—his
boy, his son, his heir—dead. His
generals had reported that the prince
had been stabbed, by one of their
own, though they knew not whom,
and had fallen in battle. He’d raged in
his study, wanting badly to tear
something apart, but then another
general had entered with news that
the Northern Wolf was approaching
the castle. Pulling himself together,
he’d taken to the battlements, where
his archers were already preparing
themselves.
He regretted listening to Kegan and
Dax, who’d brought them the closest
they’d ever been to ruin. He had
heard nothing of their return and was
coming to believe that they had
perished, along with his loyal son, on
the battlefield. For the first time in his
life, he felt frail, an old man playing at
young men’s games.
“What are your orders, liege?” one
of his generals asked.
Shaking his head and sighing,
Azarius replied tonelessly. “Hold that
castle at all costs until the Morden
king makes his demands known. We
shall go from there.”
***
Jaisyn walked around the solar,
wringing her hands and biting her lips.
When the Sulanese had returned after
retreat, Azarius had had her escorted
here and had told her to remain until it
was safe once more. The solar was
one of the safest places in the castle
because of the arrow-slit windows and
its distance from the ground floor. The
door was not locked, but a soldier was
stationed outside in case she needed