In the days that followed after the death of Balthrorth, the conquerors of Mt-Sorg took up the steeds of Millarth and triumphed through Estria. Much of which had been decimated with the situation in Falsveal still mostly unresolved, they likely would have met with naught but death there, so malicious was Wigstan. However, the group of them moved further south following the wishes of Gwilherm who longed for Réalwaldr and knew that there the memory of Eadwin had not been forgotten.
It was still there that he arrived upon his dark war-horse, whilst the white one of Eahlstan had been given away to Roparzh who rode resplendently upon it, with the smitten Mildburg held in his arms before him. Hardly making it to his chin, she had taken to the valiant half-Neustrian, with an enthusiasm that had bemused the rest of those who rode with them. Carrying Elena in his own arms, Gwilherm was no less overjoyed at the good fortune, at her survival and good-health, with Remus barking and whistling through his nostrils, as he trotted alongside his horse, tail wagging as always in the air. Some distance behind them, rode Eahlstan who was utterly depressed at the loss now of his staff, upon which he depended for his beloved magic and Vladin. Some measure of dragon-greed the magical and horrible curse that always pervaded the hoard of an evil drake, the Dwarf along with Ethel. Ethel left for Falsveal without any escort, carrying with her the strange tale of Balthrorth’s death. ?lffl?d, the sun-kissed daughter of Egnor had sought to lay claim to the hoard as wergild. However this was thwarted by Eahlstan, who had forcibly dragged her from the cavern, and down the mountain. She and her daughter Bada had reluctantly agreed to accompany him, on Millarth’s horse to Réalwaldr. Vladin accompanied them only on condition that he be recompensed, with a portion of the hoard, which he hoped to put towards funding the construction of a keep somewhere.
Quite how he intended to carry away the treasure was a mystery to the rest of them then, though it was to become less of a mystery as he turned his pony suddenly away from them one night. Abandoning them, even ?lffl?d despite his great love for her and Bada, he departed for the land of Gewisse, during his watch, on the fifth day after their astounding victory. Confused by this abandonment on his part, they found but a single mark in the dirt for they were out in the open fields just west of the Régval-woods.
“He has left us,” Eahlstan guessed with a long sigh, the misery in his voice hardly registering with them, as they stared down upon the small mark in the sand.
“But why?” ?lffl?d queried, only to ask slightly irritably, “To lay claim to the dragon-hoard?”
“Nay,” Elena said at once, a jealous note in her voice, one that hinted that she had not escaped the magic of the hoard cleanly.
“He has likely gone, to where he could secure aid in laying claim to it, though I know not where that might be.” Eahlstan said with a shrug of his shoulders, indifferent and melancholic though he was, he still harboured greater wisdom than the rest of them.
Thus it was that they without Vladin or Ethel entered into the remains of Réalwaldr. This town they found in terrible condition, with the walls hardly sanding, having fallen in some places and the stone-keep which had originally been built on a high-cliff facing the sea as Falsveal had been, still stood itself. If slightly less grandly, as it was currently twelve meters high with three high-towers, all of whom had fallen into the sea, and the multitude of homes and huts that had decorated the exterior of the walls and the area just past them lay forgotten with the vast majority of them being gone. As to the great temple of Brigantia, the one that Gwilherm and his sister Elena had played in, during their infancy and gone to pray and were both bathed in holy waters in, as part of the ceremony of ‘Acceptance’. Wherein the newly converted and children were bathed in water blessed by a druid, before they were presented to the statue of the goddess Brigantia. This great wooden temple that had stood since the founding of Réalwaldr, and that had pierced the heavens also from a slightly lower more westerly position behind the high-walls, was gone. Ten meters high, the temple was no longer there save for in the memories of Gwilherm, who wept to see it vanish.
Full of sorrow for the lost temple of his name-sake brother Gwilherm, who was as a brother to his father and an uncle to him and his siblings, he encouraged his war-horse thither. Trotting along on the broken road of the Romalians, for Réalwaldr had been built where a mighty Romalian garrison had once stood near to half a millennia before the age of ?thelwulf, past the once-mighty gates to the amazement of all who gathered.
And all those who lived near Réalwaldr did gather, for Elena swept along by excitement had taken hold of his war-horn and blown several mighty times into it, before he had taken it from her to do the same with a wide-grin. The two were as happy as they could have been, despite the shadow of the loss of Morcar, and the dragon-greed she sometimes felt tug at her soul. Gwilherm immune to the spell, due in no small part to the weariness in his soul, and the longing to see the home of his ancestors; the home he had not seen since his childhood save for in his dreams and memories.
Though he was happy to have Elena safe and in his arms, her beautiful eyes and smile fastened upon him and to show her the home of his childhood, a shadow hung over him. He had hoped to return to the keep of his brother Eadwin, in full glory, triumphing as she had had him do during her prior rescue and return to Falsveal, yet Réalwaldr was far more a shadow of what it once was, than its ancient rival to the north.
By now joy departed and anger swept in, a blacker curse of a sorts than any dragon-greed as he dismounted, trembling with a feverish fury that caused his face to turn black as ash. All of those whom had traveled with him, and come to know him better than any stared. Even Remus, who was always cheery and ever near at hand to comfort him, sensed his mood, and tail between his legs whined anxiously.
The plebs froze where they stood, the few merchants herewith whispered nervously amongst themselves, as the steward ?lred descended from the gates of Réalwaldr to greet him. In a foul mood himself, the plump steward never a terribly bright man, complained loudly as his guards accompanied him, and his thin as a rail wife, Godgifu. A brown haired woman she had eyes the same colour and a weak chin, upturned nose as a pig might have and dressed extravagantly in a rich dark dress of Lyonessian silk and with pearls upon her wrists, large emerald earrings and with a necklace with cerulean gems encrusted into it. Her husband, who was blond-moustached and had thinning blond-grey hair, was dressed no less finely than she in red-silk with a large cloak of the same colour with wolf fur-trimmings and a green hose made of the finest silk also. His hands like hers bore the weight of ruby, emerald and cerulean encrusted gold and silver rings; he wore an armband of purest gold on his left-arm, and had three strings of gold about his thickset near-non neck.
In all they presented the very image of wealth, and appeared so decadent that they confirmed without a word all the worst murmurings about them, in the capital city of Brittia. Seeing this, it was all that Elena could do to whisper to her beloved hero to still his wroth, to calm his rage and to remember the importance of reason over hate.
“Though they be hardly worthy of mercy, or pity you still must treat ?lred as ye might any of the King’s servants,” She reminded him anxiously, with Eahlstan murmuring his support and Remus whining nearby behind them.
“She is correct mon sieur,” Roparzh supported having been trotting some distance behind his own horse, as a subordinate might towards his superior. For the noble natured and highly rank-conscious knight had come to consider him his lord, and not Aymon or ?thelwulf. “The King will not take it well, if you slay the steward he appointed, over these lands.”
“He has left my lands, those of the Réalwaldr ancestors to rot!” Gwilherm yelled in a fit of rage, one that he had not felt in quite some time, as this was more than a simple insult to him. It was one to his beloved and revered father and brother, both of whom died for the good of all of Estria, and this was to be their reward? Their crypt was no longer standing; half of their lands were in disarray.
“Who are you, to come here blowing that horn, and behaving as though you were lord here?” ?lred demanded irritated by the entry and comportment of these youths who had dared to intrude, upon him just as he was in the midst of dozing off. A man, who fancied that he had a great mind, one that necessitated more rest these days, than those of his subjects, especially after he lent a visit to a particular peasant’s wife, one who was his mistress. Aye, to his mind he was all but King in these lands, not realising that there was only one King in Brittia.
“This is Gwilherm; lord of Réalwaldr and Falsveal, conqueror of Balthrorth, he of the broken sword made sharp again and master of Remus.” Introduced Roparzh in a loud if bemused voice.
Whilst the first three titles made Gwilherm stand tall, the latter two, the ones regarding the sword and the dog Remus made the noble grumble, beneath his breath. Whilst Elena fingered the goblet-satchel on her belt, distracted by the greed that still ran thickly in her blood, the baron of Réalwaldr wondered if he mayhap should have gone with a different herald.
“B-but I answer to the King,” the steward stuttered brokenly, as he sweated hard what seemed to all of them to be the fattest rivulets of water.
“And milord is the true inherited lord of Réalwaldr by law, and appointed by his highness the King.” Mildburg snapped, as she glowered back at him, with all the imperiousness of an empress, standing in for her cousin. Being the only one of the women alongside Bada, who had been completely unaffected by the dragon-greed, the young lady was able to call upon all her wits and made a quick signal to Eahlstan with a single finger. One that was hidden behind her back, and that darted a little, it was her right-hand’s finger with the enchanter having lost his staff only able to wield a few magicks. And those were hardly of a lasting or noteworthy sort, not that she was asking him to conjure hither a large image of a flying dragon but one of a simple note. With a sigh he waved his hands as best he could, as his robes swept along his form unseen by the steward and his bride, where many peasants saw him move and were confused. Once she was assured that the bit of clothe she held out in her left hand had been suitably ‘transformed’ for all unaware eyes, Mildburg waved it under the nose of ?lred. “You see this? This letter and seal?”
“Aye! Aye! ‘Tis the wolf-wyvern of the King!” the steward cried out, not noticing the slight glow and dazzle and the leaking crimson ink of the seal in his shock.
Gwilherm who noticed all these details as Mildburg stood to his left, with the letter having been slipped past him so that she could wave it under the nose, of the gluttonous steward.
A moment later the strength of the elder gave way, wherefore he fell away from his feet, onto his rump utterly spent just as Mildburg whipped away the ‘letter’ into the folds of her sleeve. Whereby she rid herself of it without anyone noticing it, with ?lred stunned gazing from her, to the rightful heir of the castle.
“I am loath to leave here, and derelict my duty,” He said pompously, just as his wife protested.
“A letter is hardly proof enough, without opening it to have the chaplain read it to us, and the ink of the seal appeared to be running.” The lady-steward complained to her incompetent husband, visibly annoyed by his inability to notice such details.
Neither of the couple was terribly intelligent by nature, with ?lred hardly having noticed the details involving the letter, due to his nervousness about the warriors who stood before him having defeated Balthrorth. That said, she was less nervous about this latter detail and cared more for the former, so that she was equally as wrong as he.
This combination of intimidation and bluffing, served Gwilherm well as neither of the couple who stood before him, remained all that eager to continue to push the matter. ?lred attempted one last time to push the issue, “I was nonetheless appointed by his highness.”
“Then consult with him,” Was the counter-argument posed by the lord who maintained his indifferent poise.
Discouraged and defeated, the couple soon left not long after, with the huscarls of Réalwaldr under the command of the head of ?lred’s captain of the guards, Heard. A tough man, one who was far taller than Gwilherm and even Roparzh, and was even more muscular with a long crimson beard and hair, tied up in thick braids, and an armband of silver on his left arm, and who was apparently perpetually dressed in armour. Or so it appeared to the new arrivals, about forty-eight years old, or so he later admitted the bluff old warrior, had apparently served under Eadwin and his father, and therefore held his loyalties to be more to the Réalwaldrs than to the steward of the King.
His conversion back to his former loyalties took all, even Gwilherm by surprise with the green-eyed man laughing at them, as he shrugged and signalled his liege inside. “The keep has fallen into difficult times, what with the expenses of maintaining the lavish life of ?lred and his wife, and of paying Balthrorth his dues, milord.”
Accompanied by the three sons of Heard, the heroes were soon made comfortable in the rat-infested feast-hall of the ancestors of Gwilherm. The castle was originally a five-storey building but had lost the two top floors, and with the roof having fallen into the sea, this had left the third floor something of a disaster-area. Embarrassed by this, Gwilherm was informed though that the second storey was still intact and that there was a room prepared there for him, along with some for his companions. What was more was that the old tapestries and banners of the Réalwaldrs, had been all eaten up by moths or tossed out into a large fire near twenty years prior. Instead, ?lred had loved to hang everywhere where people could see it, the wolf-wyvern of the royal clan. A symbol that reminded all of whom he derived authority from.
This also served as a grim reminder of just whom Gwilherm had snubbed, for h knew that ?lred would inform the King of what he had done if in a skewed manner. The interior of the hall was a decrepit place, dirty and with but one long-table, with the armoury and kitchens both on the first floor, one to the left and the latter to the right of the principal hall, whilst the stairs near the entrance of the building leading up to the second floor. The second floor was where five chambers could be found, with the chapel having originally been on the third floor only for it to be abandoned, with neither ?lred nor his wife being all that religious; at least not since her third miscarriage. Not having any pity for the couple, who had squandered his inheritance, Gwilherm ordered that his guests be given the chambers notably the lord’s room would go to the lady Elena as heiress of Falsveal. A chamber she was to share with Mildburg, whilst another slightly less grand chamber that of the steward’s wife, was to be given over to ?lffl?d and Bada. Another room was given over to Eahlstan, and the latter two were given over to Heard himself and Roparzh both of whom attempted to demure.
However Gwilherm was determined to be seen as a different kind of lord, from the steward ?lred and refused to have his own chambers, claiming he preferred to sleep in the principal hall alongside his servants and guards. At least until his guests had departed or he was married with none doubting who he intended to marry. Even if the maid in question began to grow more and more distracted, quite by what confused and annoyed many of those living in the Réalwaldr lands. As none had seen Elena before then, and saw that she was grown quite cold to the outside world, and simply assumed that she was the enemy as all Falsveal people were.
Yet none of the people liked to grumble too loudly about it to their lord, so hopeful were they for a change, after years of mismanagement by ?lred.
*****
Now the tale must move away from Réalwaldr, and both further north and south-west. To the north Falsveal now under the unhappy command of Wigstan who had no immediate rivals, to challenge his claim, had striven once again to penetrate the interior of the temple of Orcus for the rest of Morcar’s daughters. Two of whom remained still there, namely the immediate younger sister of Elena, fourteen year old Leoffl?d and ?lffl?d the Younger, who was ten years her junior. The two having hidden in a cupboard when Millarth broke into the temple to seize the rest of the womenfolk, with Leoffl?d determined now to hold her ground against her cousin who began a siege of the temple. The monks, angered by the previous break-in on the part of the local deacon, held fast and had written to the distant Sorgallian temple of Ziu to the west, along the Aven-River for aid. This temple which housed many a fine warrior-monks, and had access to a great many swords, axes and spears at the invite of the abbot of the temple near Falsveal poured out through the gates. Angered by the presumptions and arrogance of Wigstan, and jealous of the rights of the Temple, with a keenly felt loyalty to the Archdruid in exile from Estria, the prior of the temple ordered all the weapons assembled. Carried out they formed a forest of arms, with it moving from vale to vale, from field to field, with all who observed their passage alert with awe and wonder at the passage of these red-robed, cuirass-dressed servants of Ziu.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Accompanied by a contingent of the ‘Sisters of Ziu’ the warrior-nuns from a nearby convent, who were trained in the usage of spears and bows, these mighty women though less in numbers and strength than their brothers, daunted all who looked upon them. No less resolved and jealous of the Temple’s sacred rights, these great ladies of war galloped on horse-back traversing Estria as a crimson-robed and armoured storm-cloud the likes of which had not been seen in many a years. They forded the Aven-River, forded the fields of green with spears bristling and faces black with rage, and piety in their hearts and the great war-song of Ziu upon their full-lips. The hymn of the war-god far more pleasant, far more full when it fell and arose to the heavens from their mouths than when it did from those of their brothers. It was a song sung originally by non-monks, only to over the centuries, have become well-beloved by those of the Temple also.
“Lo! Ere long we gallop to glory!
Lo! Death to he who says tarry!
Behold Ziu Sun-Sword rides thither,
Ere sword-fall we shall tell high tales to her,
Our Turan Moon-Bright who shall spin all we hath told,
Lo! Our steel shines bright as those of olde!”
They were led by the blonde-nun Wassa of Avennor, the principal sea-side city of the county of Avennor. She was as a war-goddess, said to have in her youth won the great favour of Ziu, become his lover and borne him a mighty son before her god departed once again for the heavens. Left behind, she still sought his favour and swore herself to his service, picking up as she did the halberd and demonstrated greater talent than any woman on the Lordly-Isle ever had, before her. None who crossed her did not fear her, notably since she had picked up the red-cloth that was the emblem of servitude to the war-god and shaved a good measure of her lustrous blonde-locks so that but a single line of it in the center of her head remained.
By her side, was her cousin, the mighty war-monk the greatest archer of his generation Prior Gilbert, who was grey-haired (what little formed a straight line in the center of his head also), bearded with a dark-grey beard, muscled and had similarly blue thunderous eyes to her own. Not kings, not gods and certainly not pitiful little barons or dragons could keep him from the fulfillment of his duties. Thus it was that all who saw this ‘war-god’ traverse the whole of Estria took both heart and lost it, at the sight of the black-wroth that decorated his long-face. All whispered and murmured that he who had awoken the ‘War-god of Aven’ as he was surnamed, already faced his doom, though the war-god had yet to arrive.
For years these two formidable warriors had been made to tend their flock, and not to intervene where they might otherwise have liked to do, during Balthrorth’s terrible reign over Estria. Now relieved of his tyranny, they ventured thither from their gates as surely as it was Ethel who had delivered the news of Balthrorth’s fall to Falsveal.
Upon her arrival and the rapid descent into dragon induced madness, her father the noble wine-merchant and friend of Morcar had attempted to hide her and to reason with her. At last he had in the days that followed realised his inability to help her, and heeded the wise counsel of his beloved wife, thereby he had her sent to the abbot of the local temple of Orcus. A holy man, once he had heard of her condition agreed to have her slipped into the temple whilst the mad Wigstan besieged his temple, in the dead of night. Whereby his holy touch she was cured of her dragon-greed and wept bitter tears, at all that she had uttered and the harsh, terrible abuse she had heaped upon her beloved father for failing to attempt to claim the treasure of the dragon. For he was a humble man, who feared the madness that gold oft drove men to, more than desired it himself. The wine-merchant was well-content with his lot in life, so long as his wife and only daughter still lived, with Ethel returned to his side the following night, after she had informed the abbot of all that had transpired.
Pleased by this news, the clever abbot had had a monk slip out with her, one who knew horses best out of all the monks of the monastery, and who could thus traverse Estria the most speedily. “Go to my brother and sister o’er by the Aven, to fetch them and bring them back in full-wrath, for what is needed here is not peaceful touches, but a war-god’s hammer, to restore to the lady Elena her rightful dues, against the contrarian cousin who seeks to usurp what is not his by right.”
By this time many of the guards who had followed Wigstan against the abbot and Beorhtsige (who still remained in the temple, to lead them in this troubling time, as he would not abandon his lord’s daughters), were about as sick of their newfound lord as the monks were.
*****
At about this time Vladin had arrived in Lundrun then in Auldchester, to gather as many a builders, masons and other artisans. Telling great tales of the gold and wealth that was to be theirs were they only to follow him, he somehow enticed almost two thousand men and women of all peoples, from wolf-men Wolframs, to cat-men and women of the Tigrun-people to Ursidon bear-folk, Ratvian rat-people and Dwarves of course. And many humans also, so that a great many peasants made the pilgrimage into Estria, crossing through the Ashen-lands shortly after the great force of three hundred of Wassa and Gilbert had crossed through them and into the forest of Mt-Sorg. It was they who laid first claim to the great hoard of Balthrorth the Vile, they who first cut wood to build themselves a great wall about the mountain, and who prepared watches to keep an eye upon all those who dared to venture near the Mount to steal what they claimed to be theirs.
This brings us to the last great respondent to the news of Balthrorth’s demise; ?thelwulf. The King heard what had taken place from the lips of ?lred, who enticed him to fury.
“How dare Gwilherm move against me?! I who demonstrated unending kindness to him? The treasure and his lands are mine, yet he comports himself as though it were his!” He thundered in his great hall when ?lred appeared before him, to blubber about how he had been threatened at sword-point by the heir of Réalwaldr. It was in this spirit of rage and hatred that the good-brother of the Slayer of Balthrorth called for the might of all of Gewisse and Morwyn.
Great was the might of the horde he called hither to him, as the gates of Auldchester opened before him. Where Wassa and Gilbert had a forest, he called to his side an ocean of banners, spears and men who joined him in droves as he crossed his realm. Accompanied by the great knights of Aymon and Léon, who shone in the suns-light as brightly as two suns in the finest armour Brittia had ever seen. Dressed in the cuirass of knights, one in black and the other in white, with their tabards and cloaks of pure gold as magnificent as those worn by Brigantia, Tempestas and Ziu in times of war, the brothers wore upon their armour, their tabards and cloaks, and all those of their thousand knights the great black-falcon of the great line of Aymon.
As they journeyed thousands of voices arose in wonder, in the towns, in the fields and even the woods as it was some time since ?thelwulf had taken on the raiment of the warrior. Still longer it was since his men had, and since the banners of the white-Ostriches, of the green-hawks, of the three blue feathers, of the twin-axes and hundreds of others were called hither to assemble with all their spears, axes and swords for war.
Greater was the wonder when the people saw the majestic and beauteous Queen, who rode at her husband’s side.
“Surely this is our Queen, and surely has there never lived a Queen as mighty and great as she! With such a lady, our King is surely King of all lands in the Lordly-Isle!” Cried the many throngs and peoples they saw on the route to the north-eastern lands of Estria.
This Queen who was more resplendent than that of the one who had wed éluan the Golden-King of Neustria, or that which Causantín II of Caledonia had wed and who now presided over his feasts in his grand gold-plate decorated green-halls in Sgaín was the pride of ?thelwulf. It was she who though her tears had been plentiful at the departure of her brother, who was his true sword with which he intended to cut down, the ‘treacherous’ Gwilherm with. Though not aware that neither sibling could ever harm one another.
Unknowing of his sister’s presence in the enemy army, Gwilherm was however swept up by concern for his people and lands, as well as the Elena currently at his side. For she as was the case with her stepmother had begun to become obsessed with the gold, jewels and silver that lay inside of Mt-Sorg. Pushing him daily to do as they wished, so that both women were transformed in many a ways from their previous sweetness and good-natured manners into the most vile sort of women which greatly consternated those who knew them.
“They be unbearable company, milord,” Complained Heard at the urging of his sons, none of whom much liked the two women, regardless of their great beauty. Only Mildburg had won their hearts, though she spent much of her time attempting to reason with the two ladies of Falsveal.
“This is but temporary, once Eahlstan determined a cure or the holy man from Suthwaldr arrives we shall cure them of their present madness,” Replied Gwilherm every time they came to complain, or any other people complained about them. He knew that the two had become gripped by madness. However it took him several days, for Eahlstan to identify the source, as being dragon-greed, this he did after days of Gwilherm demanding if he knew the source of the sudden change in the two ladies.
“It is evidently dragon-greed, a magical illness therefore I do wish you would stop pestering me about this matter,” Eahlstan snapped furiously, seated by himself away from the rest of the village on the cliff behind the keep, so as to gaze out wistfully at the sea.
Startled by the moroseness of his friend’s spirit, the noble attempted to reason with him, “Why do you snap so at me, when I all I have done is come to you as I always have, when we are all faced by sorrow or some unsolvable mystery. Therefore why the burst of temper?”
The anger of the lord of Réalwaldr did little to assuage that of the enchanter, who for his own part grumbled beneath his breath whereupon the lord of the castle attempted to wrest from him a cure for the curse, wherefore he was told. “I shan’t cure it; it is for them to overcome or succumb unless a holy man is sent for and hurries before they completely give way to it.”
On this counsel, Gwilherm had a messenger sent across the Waldr river to secure just such a holy-man, little knowing that the man was to arrive just behind the great army of the King. He did so in the early hours of the morn’ just as most of the castle slept, and might well have slipped in and slaughtered all who rested therein were it not for Bada. It was she who had gotten up from her mother’s chambers, with the hope of slipping out of those chambers over to one of the windows, to gaze out at the sea to the south. For she loved the cliffs and sea, the spray of the salt-water and the sound of them dashing upon the cliffs, for the sea and its great majesty was in her spirit even at so tender an age. So that many of that area had already caught her before the dawn, gazing to the south, and had taken to calling her ‘Cormac in a dress’, for the great mariner-hero who ventured north to fight the Dark Elves.
This was how she saw the great sea of torches that stretched out far to the south, heard the first war-songs of the thousands who had followed ?thelwulf. Though she did not know the nature of the army, or quite what their hopes were, nor did she recognise the banner as it was too dark to see the thousands herewith present. What she did realize at once, was that the castle was likely about to be attacked and that only she was awake.
It was in this spirit that she raced down the stairs, past three dozen sleeping bodies to just behind the long-table of the lord of Réalwaldr, to pull the war-horn from Gwilherm’s belt. One may not have believed it later however Bada was a lass who adored to swim, to race and to otherwise exert herself in the fields just outside her father’s castle-walls. Thus she had well-trained lungs, and was able to blow so greatly into the horn that the whole of the first floor of the castle heard her, and awoke at once.
Most knew instinctively that battle was about to be joined, however all were caught off by her excited and anxious words, “The castle is under attack! The castle is under attack from the south!”
Alarmed, none took her words lightly, with Heard the first upon his feet and outside to look to the south whereupon he saw the ocean of flames, the bright-mail that began to shine and gleam with a thousand torch-lights as if to defy all the souls therein. “Well-done lass,” and to his youngest son, a lad who had taken to playing with Bada as he was about her age, “Stithulf, observe the lady Bada, she has the warrior spirit, you could learn from her!”
This resulted in many plaintive remarks from the boy; about her being a girl not that this mattered to his feet that caused him to jump what seemed to be fifty-feet in the air as Remus let loose a great bark. Having only just awoken himself, and become aware of the approaching hostile army, the dog who had been curled up next to Gwilherm, had awoken when he stood up, though initially drowsy he proceeded to thence bark continuously despite the best efforts by everyone to shush him. This being before the lord took command of the situation, and ordered that all the men be awoken, all the ladies put to action aiding in screeching them awake, all children brought to the second floor of the keep.
“All men to arms! To arms! Lo! Danger has come hither to Réalwaldr! To arms!” Gwilherm shouted to all in sundry, gathering to himself a great many warriors who only now roused themselves, with Bada blowing into the war-horn before the eldest of Heard’s sons, Sigehelm took it up from her to blow into it himself with one great breath. So great was the noise, so thunderous was the sound that all in the fields, all in the keep, all beneath the sea heard this great noise and thought back to the Paladin Roland.
To a great many in the fields, it also appeared akin to the sound of thunder, as the dread that lay in the dark came upon them, the fear of a thousand men gathered together, tripled and burst forth. All who had dozed back a little to sleep were roused.
Much of the army by then was weary, for they had forded the Rhiaulwyd and fought in the battle of Castle Norwyd, where Wulfrun had been fleeced of her wealth, taken the keep, deposed the baron. Only to then be forced to continue the march north, to ford the Waldr and march some more, all to avenge some personal grudge that the King had against a man, he had sent to his death and who had done him a great favour. To many this battle was unjust, and where their lord had comported himself poorly at every turn, others such as Aymon burnt with desire to prove himself and to avenge the honour of his host.
Well there might have been a battle, were it not for the King utilising a cruel strategy; he advanced ahead of his army with but two people; his trusted knight prince Aymon and the Queen Elena. This he did under the banner of negotiations, yelling out over the wooden barricade that had been hastily constructed in the month that had passed between Gwilherm’s arrival there, and that of the monarch of Brittia.
“Gwilherm! Gwilherm, the traitor of Réalwaldr and all of Brittia, villain of villains come pay homage and kneel at the feet of thy King and fair-minded brother by law less you wish for all to see the profundity of your wicked ways!” If this bellowed cry seems at all unjust to you, it should be known that ?thelwulf as always considered himself, to be the wounded party in this matter. He had already forgotten how, it was his decision to have the warrior unwilling knighted and sent whither to Mt-Sorg to slay the dragon, with the full-knowledge the other man may perish. All this had been his genuine hope, yet when the man had not done so, and had even retaken his own birthright as ?thelwulf might have been keen to, he took umbrage. Such being the nature, of all true villains and hypocrites, he thus considered himself to be the real victim in all of this, in spite of being the guilty one.
“Why is the King here?” Elena of Falsveal demanded sleepily, in an unpleasant mood as she had been awoke from her slumber, namely a dream about the great treasure they had left in Mt-Sorg. Her mood was sour, and she did not take too well to the King’s presence, having descended down the stairs to join all those gathered in the courtyard, to look out upon the opposing army.
She stood to the left of Gwilherm, where Roparzh stood to his right and Mildburg to that man’s right, all of them gathered near the opening of the gate of the once-great walls of Réalwaldr. Answering her question without too much thought, her newest favourite friend and hero replied without thinking, “The King, my good-brother and the thief of my ancestors’ lands.”
“Why is here?” Mildburg asked nervously, of her cousin’s beloved.
“Here to steal my treasure, I imagine,” Elena lamented darkly, in a voice not entirely her own so black with rage and greed was it.
Shooting her a swift glare, Heard scolded her at once, from where he stood behind her cousin, “No filthy glutton, he is here to steal from our lord, not that I’d imagine any less from a daughter of Morcar the Traitor.”
“Repeat your insults of my father once more, knave!” Elena screeched rounding upon him, shaken out of her foul cursed-mood by his insults of her beloved sire.
“Enough the both of you!” Gwilherm snapped before either of them could say further cutting remarks.
“What should we do Gwilherm?” It was Mildburg again who asked, worriedly.
“We shan’t fight a siege here, not with the walls still hardly built and with those numbers facing us...” Roparzh warned with a worried flick of his eyes towards the half-built walls all about them.
Not having time to decide the matter, or at least think things through properly, Gwilherm who had one hand upon the stone-wall (or what remained of it), eyed up the thin palisade that he had had built up around the cliff upon which his castle rested, with a critical eye. The palisade was mayhap four meters high, and half as thick, with but a few dozen protectors hidden behind them. Half of which were children, or women, with the castle being in such disrepair that there was hardly anywhere to hide in it. Wherefore his gaze came to rest upon the many thousands of torches down in the valley, despair came to him then, such that the blackest of midnight skies could not compare. For those at least had stars to light them, and clouds to hide behind in some cases, where his mood hardly permitted any light, anything to hide behind. Not with so many souls and peoples depending upon him, as he gazed upon the almost hundred people gathered herewith sombre eyes.
This he did which drew many prompting remarks, notably from Elena, her stepmother, her cousin and sister, from Roparzh as well, along with all those assembled. Only Eahlstan who stood apart from them, near the entrance of the keep itself, with Remus sitting impatiently at his side, appeared entirely disinterested in the proceedings. His eyes upon the heavens, likely pondering the same great thing that had plagued his soul and heart for the weeks that had preceded this great and momentous moment.
Looking away from them, to across the field again, Gwilherm wished he had been able to better prepare for this day. However, he had neither the men nor the resources to do so, as he could no more separate Elena from her precious goblet so as to sell it than he could conjure up a finished palisade in no time.
“I must surrender,” He declared, to the utter shock of all about him.
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