Clyden’s “fires from the sky” was a last-ditch effort to end the war with the vrollocs. At that time, King Danyais was not in the proper mindset to lead a war after receiving the news of his wife’s passing. What everyone did not know was that the victory over the dread horde was a pyrrhic victory for Clyden. The “fires from the sky” consumed and stressed Clyden’s magical essence, pushing him perilously close to the edge of mental collapse and death. Since then, Clyden’s magic was just a former reflection of what it used to be, and he would never gain his strength back magically. The penalty for using too much of his magic after abstaining from using it for over thirty years. Still, Clyden would not have changed his mind at the time if given the option to redo things.

  In his current condition, Clyden could only manage non-complex spells with the amount of essence he had left. He was fearful of using his magic for anything significant now without the aid of his glave, Witch Devil. No one knew this secret but him, and he would not even share it with Danyais, whom Clyden now considered a friend since their first meeting in his forest home almost three years ago.

  Clyden handed Witch Devil to the king. The spell he just cast would allow the war glaive to transmit Danyais’ voice or anyone talking near it through each banner in the army so long as a person was touching the glaive.

  “Is it ready?” King Danyais asked, taking Witch Devil in hand.

  “It is, King Danyais,” Clyden said. As if to confirm his answer, those near flags started gathering around standards. Others began to shush their fellow soldiers with fingers to lips. Danyais gave them a few minutes, and silence fell over the gathered army.

  “For four years, we have pushed and fought for today,” Danyais said, his voice passing through the stiffened banners affected by Clyden’s magic. “We have bled over our lands. It started in the south four years ago, beginning with the storm, countless dead and missing. Then the dread horde three years back where we bravely fought and drove the vrollocs back over the mountains. Then two years ago, Sukkan, who supposedly was our ally. Sukkan, who ignored our calls for aid when we held the dread horde in check. Sukkan, whose army invaded and took the south.” Angry murmurs and vows of revenge meander through the crowd. “Today! My Lords, my friends, and comrades, the south is ours again. The Sea Falcons have returned,” Danyais paused, looking at Lord Elton Cenarus; he raised his wicked double-bladed axe to the air, cheering.

  The blades of Cenarus’ axe were designed as sharpened metal wings of a falcon. The bladed wings attached to a falcon’s head with its beak pointing up, offering Cenarus another way to dispatch his enemies. Cheers roared forth from Cenarus’ men as they saw their Lord raising his axe into the air. Much of the southern region and port towns along the sea belonged to Lord Cenarus.

  Danyais raised his hand and waited for the cheers to subside.

  “My son will be three years soon. Three years and he has not known his mother, will never know his mother. I have not seen him but a few times during these turbulent years. I have not heard him laugh nor witnessed his first steps. I have seen him cry. My own son is fearful of me and does not know me, his father. I am but a stranger to him,” Danyais said, fighting the torrent of emotion in his heart and voice. His men saw the struggle in their king, they felt the regret in Danyais’ words, and it motivated them even more. “I am told he likes to chase chickens.”

  “He is just hungry, My King!” someone blurted out. Witch Devil caught the comment and carried it like lightning throughout the army’s banners, followed by thunderous raucous laughter rolling over the mass of gathered men. Danyais silently thanked the man who said the joke. It allowed him a moment to recompose himself.

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  “Even though it grieves me to my core on what he has not known, there is still something of far greater significance than the loss of his mother, my wife, and your Queen. Something far worse than the time taken from my children and me. My shame!” Danyais’ voice heated as he admitted his failure aloud for the first time to his army. “I regret that he has not seen Loudas at peace!” He observed his men’s heads shake in agreement with him. King Danyais saw the white knuckles of those closest to him grabbing their sword hilts, spears, or whatever weapon they had in hand. “I regret so much, but none more than the peace he has not seen, the peace we have not all seen. Three years ago, none knew we would be here standing in these fields on this beautiful day. None of us knew we would sit at our fires at night and think of friends, brothers, sisters, sons, husbands, or wives taken from us in bitter remembrance. Tomorrow when King Uthman’s army enters the Sea Plains. I ask, no ask, it is not strong enough. I command tomorrow shall be the last day we ask any of our countrymen to have to sit by fires in bitter remembrance. I command that you do not let me have to ask our sons or daughters to sit and share those bitter flames with us. I command no one shall die until they take at least five men with them, be it soldier, blacksmith, or cook. I command! I command we shall have peace!” The crowd exploded in a frenzy of cheers as Danyais lept down from the wagon, handing the glaive back to Clyden. With a nod at his Lord General, the king walked away, leaving the following matters to Clyden.

  “War Council to me!” Clyden boomed loudly, his voice carrying through the banners before the glow around Witch Devil faded, freeing the flags in the army to move naturally again. He held Witch Devil high in the air so people could find him easier in the throng of men gathered in front of the wagon Danyais had just delivered his speech. Clyden looked at the nobles surrounding him to make sure all the King’s war council was present. “Ready your men. Set the formations as ordered earlier. No mistakes! If we fail here, Sukkan will be at the gates of Dragon Crest in two weeks. We war for ‘peace’ tomorrow.”

  “For peace!” the nobles responded with heated passion around him, touching fists to hearts.

  Clyden started to walk away but turned around when he heard Lord Cenarus shout, “For Peace!” Moved by his King’s words earlier, Lord Elton Cenarus climbed into the back of a wagon. “For Peace! For Peace!” He repeated over and over, raising the winged double-bladed war axe into the air. Soon, the call was taken up by the men near him, rippling out through the rest of the army. The call for peace traveled throughout the Kimmer Sea Plains.

  Clyden smiled and walked over to his horse, placing his foot in the metal stirrup, flinging his leg over the horse, and settled in his saddle. Resting Witch Devil across his lap instead of securing the weapon in its harness. Clyden applied a gentle kick to the horse’s side, and it began to trot away from the army. Pulling up on the reins, Clyden brought his horse to a slow walk before letting the animal meander in the field, eating its fill of the wild grasses while he studded a hill in front of him.

  Out here in the flatlands of Kimmer, the hill seemed like a mountain. It had a long cliff face with rock stabbing into the ground. Clyden rode along the cliff wall’s face until he pulled the horse’s reins, bringing the animal to a stop. He dismounted and secured Witch Devil in its harness.

  “Go get you something to eat,” Clyden said, patting the horse’s rear. Neighing, the animal walked away lazily, searching for more grass to eat. Clyden walked to the stone of the cliff and touched it, turning around to judge the distance of the Loudas army from him. This will work. He curled his tongue in his mouth and parted his lips, whistling loudly. His horse looked up from the grass he was assaulting hungrily and trotted back to him. He patted the horse on the cheek. “What do you think? This will work, right?” he asked the animal, hoping the animal would agree with him. As if sensing Clyden’s uneasiness, the horse neighed and shook its head in affirmation. “Your right. It has to work no matter what,” unbuckling Witch Devil from its harness. “Help me out this one last time, old girl,” he spoke to his glaive, kissing it.

  ***