LXXXIV
Demanding shouts oppressed the fearful cries of commoners as soldiers tore men from their beds and away from their wives and children.
Sons, husbands, fathers; they broke into each house and took anyone fit enough to fight, abusing the objectors into submission by any means necessary; violence, threats, and insistence of their citizen duty.
A woman grabbed at James' cloak, her face blotched red as she sobbed. "Please, he's my only son! Please don't take him away!"
She was quickly pulled away from him.
Swords and spears were thrust into these men's hands as they were rounded up, their bewildered eyes fearful as they were forced on and away from their villages.
Although they'd always known their king could summon them to war, in an era of deceptive peace, the possibility had never crossed their minds.
With no knowledge of where they were going nor who they were fighting, they marched on with the rest of them, going on from village to village, their numbers steadily increasing over a single day.
Catching sight of a troubled Alex, James had approached him to say: "Ignore them. A war is a battle of two, not a thousand."
Alex hadn't ever replied.
James watched from the safety on top of his horse. Eventually, the tremors of news spread like fire. The villages started expecting them and, shocking still, that wasn't all they'd heard.
"Is it really him? Oh the Gods, it's true..."
The news of Prince Julian's return had finally descended on Khearia.
"Your Majesty, the deserters are becoming harder to manage," Duke Chamberlain informed the king, pulling his horse beside him. "Many are taking advantage of the chaos to steal our supplies."
"We expected this when we'd planned it," King William replied. "Don't waste too much of your time. Our rear is too slow."
"I'm on it."
The disorganisation had only gotten worse the more people they'd forced with them. This wasn't an army of comrades strengthened by their unity and sense of justice, this was a collection of commoners suffering the worst day of their lives for an unknown cause.
For James, he only felt the tug of inevitability— the acceptance that this had always been destined to happen, even if he hadn't always known it. As his mentor had always warned: one couldn't run forever.
"We'll be heading to Arkingham now, boy," King William said, donning his extravagant silver helmet, the plump blue galea stretching high like a crown. "We will be the ones to lead this pack."
James didn't need to look behind him. The tired dragging of heavy feet, the shouts and the commotion all reminded James exactly what they were leading. He would pull this army from the front.
"I'm ready," James stated. And it was the truth.
It struck James painfully— the thoughts of his father, that he would have done exactly this many times before his death. King Leonardo had led many armies into the deserts of Ashad and must have done so confidently, sword in hand.
James hadn't been the only one to think of it.
"You look like your dad," King William quietly remarked.
James wished he could have seen it, his father's broad stature roaring victorious. If he was watching over them now, James would give him something glorious to see. James would look like that too.
For glory and for honour, despite his mentor, James had finally re-earned the right to his pride, that rogue's advice be damned.
Ashadi desert dust had swept up in the atmosphere, a filthy red murkying the sky like heavy fog, dimming the day.
It spied as they'd crossed the border into Ankaid territory, their gathered army stabilising with distance.
It was the people's duty to die for the crown and they'd quickly remembered that, falling in line.
Their path opened out into fields of maize, men, women and slaves tending the crops alike. The workers backed away at the sight of their blue army, worried and confused.
They were now, after all, in his brother's territory. James' felt numb in his stirrups.
"Have you been in Ankaid territory since?" Harrison asked, perspective as ever.
James wasn't sure why Harrison was here; advisors didn't join the front line with a full suit of armour.
Obviously James had visited red areas in his time, they were scattered across the kingdom. The question didn't deserve an answer. Except... this particular county he hadn't. He'd never stepped foot in his home.
The urban area quickly built up as they progressed, the sparse wary looks rushing into denser alarm and panic.
People retreated into their houses, structures made of stone— a very particular kind of stone.
What James saw was a greyer imitation of the patchy sand-coloured limestone that would lightly sear and tan with age.
It was everywhere. And James' confidence waned.
They were on the edges of Arkingham, his dear and beautiful home.
The Ankaid Palace's spire stretched higher than any other building, its piercing point smeared and blunted by the faint red dust. As James' horse crept down that city street, his stomach slowly sank as he remembered rashly weaving in and out of people's legs as a boy, chased by Mari and chasing after Fabian.
Their ghostly laughter stung, his chest aching.
There were no children on this street now, not as their army crammed into it, overflowing.
Around the corner, a man dressed in white armour charged directly towards them.
"Guard the king!" Duke Chamberlain ordered.
Guards wrangled their horses in front in a row and lowered their spears and shields, creating a deadly barrier.
"Halt!" one called.
"You must halt!" the man retorted, pulling his reins to a stop. "I have a message from His Majesty, King Fabian— you must stop now and turn back or the Ankaid army will retaliate!"
"We are here under the mandate of the Senate," Duke Chamberlain insisted. "If you and your men surrender, we will leave you unharmed. Any soldiers to challenge us will meet their ends at the hands of King William and Prince Julian!"
"You lie!" the messenger cried. "We will not surrender and we will not believe your cruel lies!"
James stared at the messenger's wild, pained, eyes from a short distance. It glared at him, disgusted, loyal to his brother's plight. A soldier this faithful, ignorant and lacking in self-preservation would be one of the first to die.
King Fabian was luckier than he knew to have such a devoted and loving army. For them to behave in this way, he must've been a great ruler to them.
"Bow," James requested, holding a hand out. Someone quickly handed him one and he stretched back the string, staring down the tip of his arrow to the messenger's head. Lips parting in terror, his target was momentarily frozen.
An innocent man maybe but, unfortunately for him, there were only two people in a war and he was not one of them.
The bowstring whistled and snapped, air fethering James' arm. It struck, perfectly.
"That was a messenger!" Duke Chamberlain scolded, outraged.
The first sacrifice of the war slid from his horse's saddle and thudded to the ground, lying dead, killed in taboo. The scene played out unfeeling before James' eyes.
"It had nothing important to say," he justified, returning the bow. "No loyalty goes unpunished."
Venom dripped from the duke's tongue. "You're disgraceful."
The accusation meant nothing to James. He'd been groomed for this, his father's precious wisdom living on inside him. No one had been greater. Thighs cramping on a saddle, his body bruised by heavy armour, about to face an army of hundreds, James had never felt more comfortable.
Not even the injury of nostalgia could dampen the endowment of his inheritance.
"We will proceed!" King William yelled, not passing judgement.
Under beaten hooves, the messenger's body was crushed and minced, hundreds of feet passing over it.
As their troops turned the corner, the road widened, tall stone terraces guiding them like valleys.
At the end, the palace glared from afar, bodying the horizon stubbornly.
And, before it: a red army, blocking their path.
Rows of shields and spears pointed their way, warding them off, the disciplined structure firm in its obstruction. It threatened to do severe damage to their infantry. It wasn't safe to face head-on.
King William held up his hand. "Archers!"
A slight wooden groaning noise was chorused behind them, dozens of archers pulling back on their bows in ready.
"Men of Ankaid, you have ten seconds to cross over in surrender!"
It was a kindness James wasn't sure he, himself, would've granted.
King William waited, watching, the quiet deafening. In James' ears, his pulse throbbed, the tense moment frozen in time. A gentle flutter of breeze passed and the sharp edges of the army on the other side were unmoving.
James had been right. None would surrender.
Eventually, King William sighed, disappointed. The wind had stopped.
He promptly swiped down his fist. "Now!"
The collective spring of released bows was a piercing explosion against the silence, violence bursting from the calm. The whistle of arrows soared overhead, black against the sky like a flock of birds and, then, they dived.
Cried of pain and death rumbled in the distance, their structure wavering. King William called: "Again!"
Death rained down on the army that blocked their way, scattering their formation and disorganising their command, killing them from behind.
James held up his shield, their retaliation pinging the steel as King William gave the final blessing:
"Infranty and calvary! Attack!"
Their army roared at the top of their lungs, pushed forward by those around them, pouring down the streets and directly towards their enemy. James readied to join them before Harrison reached over and grabbed his reins.
"Your life is required, Prince Julian. Don't be reckless."
"What kind of Prince does nothing?" James spat.
"You." Harrison wouldn't relent on the issue.
James searched for Alex's head amongst the clashing crowd but couldn't. Nor Thomas. There were too many people and some had already fallen. Despite the disruption they'd inflicted to their barrier, some of the men had been impaled by the Ankaid army's spears.
"Archers switch!" King William called and the archers dropped their bows and took up their swords, adding a final push to their forces.
The chaos raged quickly and aggressively, like a short bloodied burst as the sky fell and darkened with the oncoming night. Metal on metal, the sharp blades blunted one another and screeched in abrasion as the sharp edges slipped. Horses cried, as did the men, killing each other.
"Push through!" the king demanded of them. "Push!"
Their army screamed with exertion, squeezing out their energy and their numbers quickly overwhelmed the enemy, horses trampling on the bodies of friend and foe alike.
It seemed Fabian had little time to prepare because they'd reached the palace gates quickly, the Drykas men flooding in and attacking any red soldier on sight, the skirmishes spreading out and becoming more shallow.
Unlike the tight straight line of the street, the palace courtyard gave them greater space.
King William and James' positions became more accessible, also.
Above him, the palace reached tall, the bell tower clanging in alarm.
He and Fabian had gotten in trouble for ringing that bell once.
It had caused quite a stir. His chest heaved, heart twisting, as he marvelled at it— this place that somehow seemed bigger than he remembered.
After fifteen long years, he'd ended up here once again; the place where everything began.
Eris in hand, James pressed a kiss to her grip. He would need her help, this time more than any.
Her response scorched hot.
"Find King Fabian!" King William bellowed. "Find him and restrain him!"
James once again looked for Alex, skimming the blur of silver and blue helmets. He couldn't see him. It was impossible. Anxiety pricked under his skin. He took a calming breath.
Alex wouldn't dare die now, not after their promise.
"Medic!" one of their infantry cried, hobbling with blood painting one side of his face, his head without protection.
He carried his friend, desperately dragging him to safety.
With their lack of armour, they were probably commoners, neighbours from the same village.
An Ankaid knight was suddenly behind them.
James didn't think. He kicked his horse forward, shoving himself in between. The other man's beast hesitated, whinnying, suddenly up against an obstacle and James sliced the creature's shoulder, Eris' blade eating away.
"Shit!" the soldier cursed, unable to regain control. Terror glassed his dark wide eyes through the gap in his helmet, dread sinking in. James readied Eris moments before the man was bucked to the ground, crying out on the floor in pain, still looking up.
A wet crunch put an end to the soldier's life, James' horse stomping into his face and through his skull. The animal didn't like what it had done, quickly removing its bloodied foot. James didn't have time to soothe it. Another knight came after him.
"You bastard!"
James gritted his teeth. The impact of the soldier's heavy battleaxe lodging into his shield vibrated up his arm. James thrust his aching limb forward, catching the other off balance. Without a glimpse into this man's humanity, James cut his throat and the man fell, dead.
James persevered. Even though he needed to conserve his energy, his mind turned away from what he was doing, sitting comfortably in his head as his body tore itself up to disable others.
He hadn't been knocked out of his daze until the gut-floating sensation of falling alarmed him and suddenly he was on the ground, bruised.
Shit.
Someone came at him, roaring, and James twisted away, the man's sword catching the skin of his arm.
James ignored the pain, sliding to his feet and blocking the second attack with his shield.
It was the last blow his defence could take, the steel pierced and the wood splintering and falling apart.
James' heart pattered. One more hit and he would lose his arm.
But, much time had passed, and the sky had grown dark. Slowly, James was becoming blind, dark murky shapes blending into one another. He almost didn't parry the man's next attack, his arm at an awkward angle as the blade scraped against Eris.
He growled in frustration, kicking the soldier's legs out from underneath him. James did not come this far just to be ended by a faceless nobody.
"Wait-wait-wa—" The solider's pleas were cut off as James gored Eris into the man's heart, lodging it firmly between the solid rasp of his ribs with more aggression than it demanded. She charred the flesh, devouring without mercy.
Cunt.
Cheers suddenly erupted, trembling through the ground and rattling in James' ear.
"Stop mucking around!" Duke Chamberlain snapped, shoving him from behind. "Go inside!"
James stumbled, his head whipping up to see what was happening. Across the courtyard, at the main entrance, their troops were swarming through en mass. The doors were open. They had successfully broken through.
James watched for a moment, unmoving, lungs heaving. Blood splattered across the walls and ground, soldiers crushing the red guards trying to defend their palace, leaving a trail of death behind them. His home.
Like the others, James joined the rest. Inside he went.