Sniff nodded with a teary smile, wiping up some snot from the underside of his nose. He truly did trust what she said, it seemed.
“Now, go home and wait there until I return, you hear me? Lock your doors and windows, and don’t let anyone else in.”
In an instant, Sniff was off, fleeing from the alley and back into the streets.
“Kat, what is it?” Finn asked suspiciously, realising his sister’s sudden shift in demeanour.
Katryna shook her head and smacked her forehead with her open palm in frustration. “We need to get back to Castle Bower, this instant.”
Chapter 35 - Armistice
King Emery Blacktree triple-checked that his crown was sitting both firmly and level atop his head before he gave the gesture to Ser Yelin Mortimer that he was ready to proceed.
“Forward march!” Ser Yelin ordered, thrusting his arm up in the air. The plump guard, atop his horse, was fitted in shining plate armour with chainmail underneath.
To Emery’s rear was the force he had assembled, consisting of around eighteen-hundred men-at-arms and infantry from the reserves in Dawnhill and Veridia, organised into square units of one hundred men.
The show of force would help to intimidate King Tobius Seynard, or so Emery was hoping.
Emery, atop his black and grey warhorse named Midnight, was clad in a chainmail coat with a leather vest on top, thick gloves, black trousers and boots, and his golden crown atop his head. At his side, digging rather uncomfortably into his hip was his sheathed sword; again, just there for show.
Emery had no intention of using force at this meeting with the Caldaeans.
“Let’s end this,” Emery muttered to himself, eager to get his daughter back and achieve some sort of justice for his son.
Midnight was taller than any man and gave Emery a good view of the force he had assembled which he proudly looked over once more before continuing on their final leg into town. Midnight whinnied as Emery reined the horse forwards.
To Emery’s flank was his son Petir on his own horse, a brown steed named Fury. The palanquin, with his wife Sirillia resting comfortably inside, hung around the back of the force, surrounded by guards. The most protected place for her to be.
“Make sure my wife is properly seen to while we are meeting with Tobius,” Emery said to his royal guard.
Ser Yelin nodded. “Of course, my king. She will be in good hands, I assure you.”
“Very good.”
The red star shone bright as always since its first appearance months earlier. Emery had noticed it was growing larger by the day; what had initially been a crimson dot visible only in the darkest of nights had become one of the larger spectacles in the sky.
The infantry shouted in unison as they marched to a continuous beat hammered by drummers. Banners atop high poles proudly displayed the black and silver shield sigil of House Blacktree.
Emery Blacktree’s forces continued to march towards the agreed upon meeting place- the farming town of Tellersted. The charming Caldaean town sat near the border to Ashen in the middle of a flat floodplain, surrounded by an endless sea of fields, farms and grasslands.
Only several years earlier, the town had been a part of Ashen. But with the border war came many such villages and towns being swallowed up by Caldaea, their lords and barons either being imprisoned, expelled, or some cases executed, and replaced.
A lone structure rose from the town’s centre above the tiled roofs of the surrounding buildings- the square-shaped castle, home to Baron Bennet Decaster, named the Citadel.
The Ashen forces marched down the wide dirt road, through large swaths of farmland, orchards, and fields dotted with peasant cottages under the midday sun. Emery’s army was only a few miles out from the town when the Old Bear, Baron Artima Lowe, arrived on horseback from the east with a force of cavalry at his back, heavily armed and armoured with lances, poles, shields, and plate.
“My king,” Artima said, slowing his gargantuan mount upon reaching Emery.
“You certainly don’t disappoint,” Emery replied with a raised eyebrow, admiring the added reinforcements with eager eyes.
To the baron’s side was his son, Simen Lowe, a boy of just fifteen years. He barely fit into his plate and mail armour and was sweating profusely with rosy cheeks.
“My king,” Simen bowed from horseback with a hand over his chest, humbly greeting the king like the well-trained pup he was. “We are at your service.”
“Good to see you again, lad,” Emery said, only half meaning it.
Petir was pleased to see such a capable force, judging by the smug look that had stretched over his face. He found it tricky to ride with just one arm but was insistent on coming to the armistice by his father’s side as a show of strength and resilience to the Seynards.
“I was able to rally together two-hundred cavalry. My men are at your disposal.” The Old Bear still had not shaved, yet the unkempt beard atop his square jaw gave him a stern, rugged look that would sure to be motivating in the upcoming meeting.
“Good work, Artima, but worry not- I have no intention of ‘disposing’ of them. However, such a sight will certainly be a thorn in Tobius’s wrinkled arse.”
“I couldn’t ask for anything more,” Artima said, grinning. “Actually, I do have one request of you, if you would do my family the honour.”
“Ask away.”
The baron gestured towards his son, uncomfortably slouched atop his horse. “I would ask that you take my son as your squire during these affairs with the Caldaeans. The boy needs some experience with political situations such as these, and who better a teacher than the king himself?”
Humble, as always, whenever he wants something.
“What better time than now? Of course, he may squire for
