A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 20: A Plot to Strike

[Forien's Point of View...]

It was the next morning and we all gathered once more to plan the next move. The tent of Lord Loreys was quite large, with it being quite dim as it was subtly lit by the lanterns inside. A table was placed inside the keep, around the same length and width of the table at The Spire, where I had my first council meeting with my father, Lord Folius, the Abberan brothers, Ser Magrae, Ser Mareste, Ser Maserr, Ser Madester, and Ser Maerys, who were all Elite Bannermen in my father's army.

There he was, also, at the same place as he was during my first council... Lord Loreys of Tiberrun, an old man with a scar on one of his eyes, and both of his eyes glowed red if you looked close enough. I hated seeing him again, but what was there to do about it in the first place?

The tension was the only thing that made a difference. I want to leave already, I thought to myself, here and now. I sat next to Ser Magrae, who was now my personal bodyguard as ordered by my father. His golden mask hid his face, but only one of his eyes was needed to bring fear to anyone that looked at them. The meeting soon began.

"We travel to Ale Hall soon..." Lord Loreys began, resting his finger on the map where the castle was marked. "Part of the army will stay here on Northrest and defend the keep." he explained, looking at Ser Maerys. "You will protect this castle from anyone that tries to bring it down." he said sternly, pointing at him with a finger that was only skins and bones- he was old.

"My lord..." Ser Maerys began, his face as serious as Lord Loreys, "...how many men do you leave to my command?" he asked, his hands intertwined and his elbows resting on the table.

"I will entrust you with ten thousand men..." he replied, a soft smile on his face. "I trust that you're good for something other than killing the innocents and invading cities..." he began, laying his back on his chair, "...make sure you're men aren't as stupid as those blue soldiers. Make one mistake and even the strongest of castles will fall." he finished, his smile gone and his piercing gaze returning- it was all too familiar.

"As you say, my lord." Ser Maerys replied.

A pause in the atmosphere arrived, as if it were the peace before the storm. The brothers simply looked at one another, not knowing what to say. My father sat on his chair with his crown still on his head, forged by the blacksmiths among the soldiers, gold and decorated with rubies. Ever since he wore that crown he refused to take it off. Lord Loreys, on the hand, simply gazed at my father, his eyes glowing red subtly. Not a good sign, I thought to myself.

"The Ale Hall is larger than Northrest Keep..." Ser Madester began, leaning forward until his breastplate touched the table. "If we are to take the fort, ladders and towers will not work." he remarked as he looked towards Ser Maserr for a solution.

Ser Maserr cleared his throat. "The castle in itself is large and heavily fortified by high walls- higher than that of Northrest Keep itself..." he remarked, his hands gesturing about. "If we are to take the castle we ought to use more artillery..." he began, "...but only some of our trebuchets are operable, and most of our battering rams have already been burned or destroyed during the siege." he finished, his face having that of a concerned look.

"How much gold do we have left?" Lord Loreys asked, his gaze now focused on Ser Maserr.

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"Around a hundred thousand golden heads remain in the budget of the armies." Ser Maserr replied. "If we are to spend around ten thousand we would only have a mere twelve trebuchets to hold, that is if the seven trebuchets that are left are well maintained, my lord." he explained, shuffling two golden coins in his right hand.

"Have the men build it, then..." my father remarked, his voice proud. "If they desire to eat, let them earn their bread." he stated, his smile was more proud than before. I could tell Lord Loreys hated that. He hates prideful men, I thought, remember what he did to Ser Mareste I said to myself in my head.

"That's a good idea, my lord." Ser Madester replied. "The men might be better off building what we need than... whatever they're doing-"

"Sleeping with whores!" Ser Magrae exclaimed, looking at the table, then, to Ser Madester. "They sleep with whores and eat food and drink wine, brother..." he began, letting out a soft chuckle. "Don't overestimate them, though. These cunts are only good for killing men and riding horses and whatever bitch they find out there." he finished, pointing outside the tent to the soldiers that chatted amongst themselves.

"They're not builders, my lord- is what my brother meant to say..." Ser Maserr said as an apology for Ser Magrae's foul language. It's never appropriate to say such things, I thought to myself, especially when you talk in front of the king.

"Then, take the builders from the city..." Lord Loreys commanded sternly. "Surely, with all the food they need they ought to work for some golden heads to buy bread." he remarked, a merciless look on his face. "Pay them fifty silver coins for a single trebuchet. Hire two thousand builders and have a thousand gather all they need- wood, stone, iron or whatever else is needed. We will be left with..." he stopped, looking at Ser Maserr. "You're the wise one, figure it out." he ordered.

"Of course, my lord." he replied, adding the numbers in his head. "A hundred and fifty thousand silver heads, my lord..." he answered, "...three thousand gold heads without the cost of resources-"

"Take down the forests, mine the stones at the Nortenhein or even take down the rubble of the houses for stone..." Lord Loreys began, his hand now resting on the table as he leaned on one elbow, "...I don't care- as long as you get things done." he finished, a stern gaze at Ser Maserr.

Ser Mareste added on to the tension. Here we go again, I thought to myself. He was always a prideful lot. "You don't think we need other men?" he asked, his prideful smile was second to that of my father. "You plan to send thirty-five thousand men into their doom by sending them to Ale Hall..." he remarked, looking at Lord Loreys as if challenging him. "That castle's double in terms of fortifications- even more. What's to say our artillery won't work? You dive into this with no clear plan-"

"You got a better one?" Lord Loreys asked aloud, looking at him with the same glowing red eyes. "Or do you perhaps speak with no good thing in that useless head of yours?" he asked, taunting him.

Ser Mareste did not break.

"We should go and do the same..." he began, "...and surround that castle and cut everything off. Better to kill them slowly and not let a single meddling soldier escape the gates of the high walls." he explained, his hands fidgeting on what I could see was a stone, and his elbow rested on the table. "Make their walls a cage and let those ravens trap themselves in their safe reality as we barge the gates-"

"What will you have my son do?" father asked, his eyes began to become just as piercing as Lord Loreys, but in a way that contrasted them both. "Do not tell me you ought to have him stay behind and do nothing whilst you wage your siege-"

"Then, perhaps, you should lead..." Lord Loreys interrupted, looking at my father. "Since, my lord, you know so well of these things..." he began, "...you should be the one to lead your heir and not stay behind at Northrest. After all, you are king-"

"And a king belongs on his throne!" my father exclaimed, turning his head quickly to face the old lord. Tension, I thought. What happens now?

"A king belongs to his men, my lord." Lord Loreys remarked, his piercing gaze was ever more intimidating than before. What has happened to these two? I asked myself. Since when were they so... tense? "Do not forget that, my lord." he remarked.

My father drew a heavy breath. "You dare to tell me what to do?" he asked. "You dare to challenge me!?" he asked, standing up and slamming his hands on the table, making the entire thing shake under the weight of his hands. "You speak too much but know too little-"

"You sit on thrones yet you leave your men behind!" Lord Loreys shouted, standing up quickly and facing my father. Even though he was old, he was as fierce as a hound. "You call yourself a king when you live the life The Mad King lived-"

"Do not compare me to that cunt of a king!" my father warned him, his head shaking and his body sweating more. His eyes began to twitch while Lord Loreys' began to glow more red. "You ill-made, prideful old man!" my father remarked. "Father should have had you dismissed decades ago-"

"You speak of your father?" Lord Loreys asked, ready with his daggers for words. "Your father hid under the safety of your Spire as I fought his wars! You give your father honor and praise when Lord Foros had shit for honor-"

"OUT!" my father yelled. "ALL OF YOU! OUT OF THIS TENT!" he shouted, discarding the map on the table and throwing it aside in outrage. Two full golden cups had fallen, one with an owl's head on its face, and the other having that of a sword. He was as red as can be, and his eyes had red veins wrapped around them as he tried to control his anger.

Everyone else stood up and left. Ser Magrae simply rushed me along, pushing me until we were out of the tent. Lord Loreys, on the other hand, stayed behind for a while, then left the tent with the same serious face and rode on his horse and went elsewhere. Ser Magrae looked to check if nobody else was around, his sword was inside his sheath, and his hand rested on its handle.

"First time I've seen them fight." he remarked, observing his surroundings, looking left and right as if afraid of my father's rage.

"First time I've seen him this mad..." I told him. "Father was always mad, but never like this." I said as I began to walk away from the cave. Get out of there, I thought to myself, before father calls you by name himself. Ser Magrae towed behind me, the sound of his feet trudging on mud was loud, as it had rained last night.

"Lord Folius..." he began, deep in thought as his golden mask glimmered in the sun, "...the lord's only been like this since-"

"Since he got that golden crown of his." I told him as we walked along the camp. "Give any man total power and a strong victory and you'll see him walking around with a prideful smirk." I remarked with disdain.

"You talk ill about your father, my lord?" he asked with a chuckle, genuinely curious. "No Strix man has done that in... ever!" he exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of his tent. "Now, if you excuse me, your bodyguard has some business to attend to-"

"Whores?" I asked, a gentle smile on my face.

"Try one when you're of age..." he told me, "...a lord at war needs all the help he needs. Men, iron, weapons, lords, wine, bread, and the finest of southern whores from the finest of brothels in the lands... whose tits are large and-"

"Enough, Ser Magrae!" I exclaimed with a light laugh. "Nobody wants to hear about your whores." I remarked, taking a peek inside the tent. Two whores, I thought to myself, it seems one is not enough to satisfy him. "You go enjoy your spoils and I'll enjoy my peace." I told him with a smile.

"Gladly." he replied happily like a child and went inside his tent. I could hear, even as I went on, the sounds of giggling women and their moans that followed. Disgusting, I thought to myself.

The king argues with his once trusted friend, I thought to myself, while my bodyguard beds whores from the south. What more can this new kingdom be but a broken piece of land ruled by a prideful lord with a weak son guarded by a lustful cunt? I asked myself. Then, it came to me. Perhaps Lord Loreys was right... I thought to myself. Perhaps my father was the mad king reborn.