‘’Raditsch? Master Einhard? I think I’ve found the flowers!’’
Marozia climbs the steep trail where last she saw her traveling companions, only to find it deserted.
‘’Hey, Raditsch, these look purple-ish enough. I hope these are the ones you meant.’’ Clutched in her hands is a sprout with a magenta-like bud, holding it forward. ‘’Where did everyone go?’’
Marozia looks around, before scaling towards the cliff where she last saw Einhard. After she looks down, Marozia drops the flowers in shock. “Oh no… Wha- what happened?!” Marozia blurts out to herself as panic begins to overtake her. She has spotted Einhard, down in the camp, far beyond reach and in the midst of soldiers carrying banners of the Lampertei Bear. She whimper; “No… I can’t be alone again...”

---

His mace was ripped off his waist as the Paladin was swarmed by hands, tugging at him and pushing his face to the ground.
After he was disarmed, subdued and bonded, Einhard was pushed and pulled by at least a dozen men towards a cage, jeering and laughing at him the entire way.

‘’Take this Chlotar pig to the enclosure! Be swift with it!’’

Voices of men all around Einhard are clamouring. ‘’We’ll present him to Dalgiserius later!’’
‘’No, he’ll be a good snack for the Jet Hound… Ghahaha!’’

With a creak, a metallic door was opened, and the helpless Paladin was hurled inside. Then with a clang, the door shuts as a solid chain sealed around it.
Einhard digs his fingernails into the dirty wooden floor, feeling the anger well up in him over the betrayal by Raditisch. Einhard looks towards the guards who threw him into the cage, and growls “I’ll see each one of you strung up dancing.” Einhard turns his head back towards the floor and begins to feverishly recite the Godas Warrior Prayer.

O Allfather ruling from Lighthome,
may my deeds spell your name,
give me the sight to lead my people,
and vanquish those who lead us astray.
Show me the passion and fury to undertake your will,
for my journey has merrily started,
when the days have gone down in Visandza,
behind the hills and into shadow.
Godas give me strength.

‘’Stop your prayer, you bumbling idiot. God will not hear you here.’’ A man in a lamellar cuirass, with a grim blond stached face and missing eyeball appears behind the bars of the cage. The man sneers cruelly at the captured Paladin.
‘’Face it; you have none to blame this fate for but your damned self. You were foolhardy enough to trust a Lampert! Hahaha!"

Einhard eyes drift up towards him and he mutters to himself, “Perhaps I will lay you out on your bloody altars like has been done to my brethren.” The Lampert leans in closer with a hand placed to his hear. ‘’I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself, Chlotar muppet?’’ Einhard looks at him deadpan, and begins to contort his body to sit facing away from the guards.

There, from the corner of his eyes he catches a familiar presence entering the camp. A man in rags wearing a straw hat. It is Raditschs.
Einhard is immediately repulsed by the mere sight, and closes his eyes, whispering to himself; ‘’I see now why you would be cursed; you are damnable. ...You damned fiend.’’

The cursed man walks further into the camp towards the men responsible for capturing the Paladin, with whom he was in cahoots the entire time. Meanwhile the one eyed man that had just addressed Einhard is standing much further back, and the Paladin can recognise his orotund voice.

‘’Mighty King, we have captured the Chlotar King’s interloper. By the armor, he seems to be of high standing.’’

‘’Is that so…’’ A heavier voice yet replies. And in that moment, Einhard is overcome by an intense sensation of foreboding, giving him an inkling to whom the voice belongs. Then Raditsch walks past the cage, his head turning away perhaps in shame, to avoid eye-contact with the man he has betrayed. He walks straight towards Dalgiserius, and kneels before him.

‘’My Cuninc… King…’’
Dalgiserius turns around, leering at the man groveling at his feet. Through the bars Einhard catches a glimpse of the King’s large and imposing frame, most notably his dark beard, and bearhide mantle.

‘’I return faithfully to your service… In homage to mine eternal Lampertei allegiance, I brought thee the man that, by Chlotar Cuninc was decreed to bring about your reign’s endingaz.’’
The cursed man’s head hangs low in submission. And all can sense how he shivers.

‘’You.’’ The king quivers red with contained, seething rage.
‘’I told you what would happen if ever you dared present your mangy skin to me again…’’

‘’My King, I bid thee only redemption. In all my years of exile I have never stopped serving You, o King, and Lampertei. I bid thee…. I beg thee…. I am your most faithful, loyal, steadfa-’’ Dalgiserius did not let him finish. A brutal and sickly crack was heard as the King’s scepter smashed into the cursed man’s head, and with such forcefulness that Raditschs was flung into the air, out of sight and ferried straight to the afterlife.
After so many years of restless wandering, the damned man has at last been lifted of the King’s curse, though not in the way he had hoped.

A red stain is visible on the Lampert King’s scepter. The whole of the camp falls deadly silent, motionless, and not even the one-eyed man twitches.

Than Dalgiserius turns his gaze towards the cage, and spots Einhard looking at him. The two make brief eye-contact before the Lampert king approaches him. The whole of the cage seems to rattle tremblingly at the King’s approaching footsteps.

‘’So you are the Chlotar Interloper which the Dead Traitor brought to my camp. I know what you are, Godboy. You were tasked with destroying Lampertei? Don’t make me laugh… You are alone, abandoned -- there is nothing threatening about you. You’re a sniveling little pup, much like your master.’’
Dalgiserius’ scowling icy blue eyes pierce into the captive Paladin.

Einhard stares coldly back at Dalgiserius refusing to break his gaze and curtly replies, “Not even a drink for your honored guest?”

Dalgiserius bares his grinding teeth, yellowed, brittle and broken, likewise not breaking eye-contact or even blinking.. ‘’I would throw you to the dogs. Break every bone in your body. But not kill you.. no… Soon, Godboy, I will wipe that smile off your face. The Farigai have their ways of… cowing you.’’

The King turns his head sideways, and calls out: ‘’Gastald Liutpertus.’’

‘’Yes, my King?’’ The same one-eyed man of before steps to the fore, whose name is apparently Liutpertus.

‘’Show this Chlotar runt a taste of the Lampert hospitality he requested.’’
The gastald motions to two other Lamperts to help him remove the chain off the door to take hold of the Paladin. The King, meanwhile, turns away.
‘’Now, with this ‘’Chlotar threat’’ neutralized, I will be returning to my Hold…
Get me my horse, you hayborn mongrels.’’ Having uttered those words, Dalgiserius leaves the scene.

Einhard braces himself for the coming Lampert brutality and thinks of Marozia wandering the mountain passes all alone, “May Godas be with you young one” he whispers to himself.

Triscus stood there, his eyes wide and hand shaking as he took in the sight before him. An armoured soldier, weaponless, was lying in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by Amalian soldiers trying to save him. Sticking out of his neck was the haft of a pilum. HIS pilum. Triscus couldn’t stop the sight replaying over and over again in his head, the weight of the spear leaving his hand and landing dead on its mark. The jubilation he’d felt, and then the sickening realisation he hadn’t killed a Tautan warrior, but a Chlotar messenger moments after. “Is he dead..?” he asked the soldier closest to him, who looked back, nodding his head before speaking “Fucking hell… Good throw but… I’d wager yer in the shit now lad. We need to report this in, he’s got a message for the Legate.” As he said it, another soldier got up from the body, a bloodied note with hastily scrawled markings in his hand as he took off down the street. Triscus paled as he sank to the side of the street, narrowly avoiding a stream of sewage that ran parallel to the street, his eyes locked on the Chlotar body across from him. “Shit.”

The sound and screams of wounded men filled the harbour, drowning out even the birds as they flocked to any unattended dead bodies, Quintus walked through the rows of soldiers surrounding him gritting his teeth as he did his best to drown the cries out. He pulled himself onto a wooden parapet lining the edges of the harbour, standing upright before he looked down upon the rows of gathered men. To his front, the First Cohort stood, bloodied and battered, battle tested once more. Some sported bloodied weapons, dented shields, others stared forwards, the shock of battle still played in their eyes. They had taken casualties, the bodies of their comrades lay to their rear, an Amalian Priest was attending the bodies, whereas nearby, the squirming and writhing bodies of those unfortunate enough to not be killed outright were being tended to by Chirurgeons. Quintus had deliberately left them at the rear near the lapping waters of the harbour itself, out of sight, but with their cries piercing his ears, hardly out of mind.

“Sir, the reports in.” The voice forced Quintus to snap his gaze up from the exhausted, bloodied soldiers in front of him to the junior Officer who had pulled himself onto the Parapet beside him, behind him, hundreds of Amalian soldiers were making their way into the wide open harbour central, joining the First Cohort. Not as experienced as the First, Quintus knew they wouldn’t hold up as well in a fight, but with a wince he knew he wouldn’t have much choice but to use them. The Officer coughed, and Quintus nodded “Let’s hear it.”
“Fourth Cohort, Sixth and the Seventh are nearly gone. They joined the Tautom militia when the fighting began. Second, Third, Fifth and Sixth onwards are in good condition. We pulled the soldiers that didn’t betray us from those Cohorts into the Second. It is standing at about… Seven hundred strong.”
“Any deserters?” The Officer bit his tongue and nodded. “All Cohorts are reporting a lot of deserters sir… We haven’t done a full count yet, but…” the Officer trailed off. Quintus simply nodded. He’d lost three full Cohorts. He was standing at about three thousand men, the thought that men had abandoned their posts to flee an enemy inside a city angered him, but he didn’t show it, he simply grunted
“And Arminius?”
“He’s at the Harbour gate, with two engineers and … Something. They look like, giant fucking bellows sir.”
“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”
“There was one more thing sir.”
“Yes?”
“A runner appeared, asking for you sir… But. Well. Someone thought he was a Tautom runner. They… They killed him Sir.”
Quintus stiffened and turned completely to face the young man, his face knitting into a frown. It was unseemly to kill a messenger, even an enemy.
“Was it a Tautan runner? Did they at least get what he wanted?”
“No sir. It was a Chlotar. Vetericus is summoning you.”
“... Would he have me barking like a dog as well?” Quintus swore under his breath and looked down at the tired First Cohort, then up at the fresh faced soldiers behind them, Officers ran back and forth to organise the movements of such a large force. He spat on the wooden planks beneath his feet and growled “Put the man who killed that Chlotar in chains. I’ll deal with him later. We’re moving into the commons to link up with the Chlotar’s. Leave the First Cohort here to rest, I’ll summon them when we need them. Until then, they’re our rearguard.”
“Yes sir.” The Officer saluted, before turning to jump off the parapet, jogging off towards a nearby group of Officer’s awaiting orders. Quintus hopped down himself, walking towards his horse. He finally had the Celesean fire, he thought to himself as he saddled his white steed, the tool that was famed for bringing down kingdoms. And that was exactly what he had planned for it.

The Prince descended deeper into the earth. It was too dark to see, but the hare’s steps could be heard in front of him, leading him on. He knew he was not alone, and with this knowledge he continued on.
But the further he went and the deeper he walked into the earth, the more he was subsumed with the darkness about him. His surroundings merged into black. Alric stopped to listen. A distant and smothered breeze was all he could make out. He tried to listen out for the hare’s steps but the gentle patter had disappeared. The white hare was gone and Alric was alone.

A sliver of doubt. Had he just made a terrible mistake? Was the hare leading him astray?

He groped his hands about like a blind leper, trying to make out where the walls were. A wet smack was heard as his hand touched a cold, hard and moist rocky foundation.
Alric resolved to continue following the pathway down below. He felt as though something was calling on him, beckoning him from deep. And so, using the wall as a guide, he descended onward.

In what felt as surely hours, Alric could tell at last a point in the tunnel was reached where the ground ceased to slope down. He trod onto flat surface in a great chamber-like cave, though he could not see much in the darkness there; he could make out his surroundings with senses other than his eyes. The air there was moist, as was the floor he stood on, and the Prince heard in the space ahead the soft howl of wind, indicating an opening towards the surface somewhere far away.. And if he listened hard, he could hear droplets of water dripping down from an unseen roof.

The silhouette of a rock is at the centre of the cave. Coming closer, he hears a strange throbbing, a faint breathing coming from the rock. Then as his eyes attuned more to the dark, it dawns on the Eodaen Prince; he recognises it as a living being, as something like a sitting man hibernating like a cave animal, slumped over and shrouded in a cloak, its head covered by a large hat to which attached a veil, hiding its face.

“Who goes there?” Alric hesitantly spoke.

The faint throbbing stops. Though the man does not turn around or visibly reacts, clearly it seems to have heard him, Alric is sure of that. And so the Prince speaks again, repeating himself this time louder.

“I said who goes there? I was led here with purpose and I demand answers!” he called out to the figure.

Nothing, and demanding answers, Alric walks up to him, and places a hand on the man’s shoulder as to shake him awake.

...He shouldn’t have done that. Immediately the sitting man flings itself up, cloak fluttering as it lunges at the Prince, a sharp appendage outstretched, taking aim at him as if a lance.
Alric ducks just before the man strikes him, and he flies overhead almost striking the wall. A tremendous leap! After landing it immediately turns about with eerie silence, predatorily determined for another go. Alric takes stance, ready to jump out of the way if it attacks again.

“By God, what are you?” he yelled.

‘’Princeling of the Western Land.’’
The creature speaks with throaty and nasal rattles, affirming beyond a doubt that what the Prince is dealing with is no man. Having made a far leap as it just did, it couldn’t be a man.

Alric can make out mandibles beneath the veil as it talks.

‘’My master is upset.
You upset my master…
You, and all your nations.’’

“I don’t understand… I don’t know you, I don’t know your master, I just want answers.”
‘’Agreed; you don’t know my master. Your tribe has forgotten my master.’’
Though speaking with indignity, it lowers his talon-like appendage and seems willing to fight not with lance, but now with words.

Alric had been educated on legends about strange creatures of old but he only ever knew them to be that of myth. Since his escape from Halbuhr Castle reality seemed to make less and less sense for Alric. And now, after surviving fearful odds he was faced with something beyond his comprehension. He had only one path and that was to find answers.

‘’The only answer you will from me receive, is the answer of a beast. The road your races have taken, is one to downfall.’’

“Please, give me some kind of explanation. What are you and where am I? I’m so lost.”
Alric surrendered himself to the creature, he knew his options were to either turn back or place his full trust in the thing. And so the creature extended its arm and motioned to the pool of water sat at the end of the cave. Light emanated from the water which glistened. The Prince then looked to the being for assurance but it only stood, arm still pointed to the pool.

‘’I slumber, I ward the pond against you. Yet you are different from they, because I can sense his mastery within you.’’ Having said that, an intense vibrating sound came from the creature, amplified by the echoes reverberating from the cave walls, when a series of large insectoid wings sprung from the beasts’ back which the cloak had previously concealed. He flies to the pond, beckoning Alric to follow.
‘’Hither here.’’

Alric said nothing. He slowly stepped forwards toward the water. With his heart he trusted the creature as he had trusted the hare. The Prince’s life was no longer in his hands and he gladly gave it away. Falling to his knees, Alric stared into the blue water before suddenly the creature took him by the shoulders and dunked his body into the pond. Alric began to yell, his voice muffled by the submersion. He struggled until his saw a great light below. A calming light that beckoned to him and in that moment Alric became still. There, Alric experienced something greater. Light of all colours came from the depths of the pond and wrapped around his body like tendrils. They cradled him and suddenly the creature let go and his body slipped away, slowly being pulled deeper. In those seconds of submersion Alric saw his father Aethelbehrt, his ancestors. Alric saw everything and more. The tendrils began to let go and Alric surfaced. The creature pulled him from the water and the Prince fell back onto the ground, soaked with heavy breath.

“I… I don’t know what to say. That was…” Alric panted, he was lost for words.
“A Locust… I understand now, you’re a Divine Locust. That water, it revealed so much to me. I know what I must do, it’s clear.” He looked to the Locust.
“Your master, I felt him. But he isn’t just your master he’s master of all and we’ve… God, what have we become?”
In that moment of realisation Alric understood the great crime his people had committed. And the greatest criminal of them all was sitting on the throne: Badastan… His uncle had led Alric’s people astray.
And all that Alric had done over the past month was running, running from his duty as a Prince, running from responsibility. It didn’t sink in until now how complicit he is in their errors. No one but he can set right the mistakes of his father... the sins of his nefarious uncle. It is Alric’s duty to rescue the Eodaens for humanity’s second chance.

“Leave.” spoke the Locust. “If you wish the fate you’ve witnessed be averted, you must redeem your ancestors, the sins of your kin.”
“Thank you… for helping me see his light.” With that Alric and the creature exchanged a nod of farewell, and Alric made his way towards the tunnel through which he had come. As Alric opted to return to the surface, the Locust called out to him one last time:
‘’Take heed, for if we do meet again -- if you fail, we will meet as foes. Therefore make haste, make haste, across the icy waste.’’

Alric emerged from the cave and into light, and it seemed like years had passed on the surface in his absence. He saw the world with different eyes. Perhaps literally, because as he looked about him he saw an unfathomable sight:
the entire ocean had frozen over… The waves have crystalised to solid form, and the sea resemble glistering valleys and fields of blue -- the Icy Waste. Submersion in the pond had revealed much to Alric, and the Prince knew this to be an act of God. All the Prince had to do now was follow his instincts and cross the icy sea to save his people. And in extension, perhaps all the nations of Visandza. Despite his hunger and thirst, his tattered clothes and bare feet, Alric began his journey. His trust in God now unshakeable.

‘’Do you have business with the King?’’
Gateguard Pelos looks inquisitive at the lamellar sporting barbarian as he approached. The man was clearly a foreigner, and for a moment Pelos wondered if he was a Chlotar, but that couldn’t be. The city is about to fall, what is such a man doing here now at the very worst of times?
‘’State your business now; his majesty is quite busy at the moment.’’

The barbarian gives a sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to say. After half a second he finds himself again and states, “I am here to speak with your king, as a representative of the mighty kingdom of the Lamperts.”

‘’Lampert? A diplomat? You?’’ Pelos inspects the Gastald inquisitively.
‘’Are you the Lampert reinforcements of Lulupus? How generous of the Mighty Lamperts to send us one man.’’ The sentry grumbles sarcastically.
‘’And let me guess, that lamellar you wear is pillaged off the Amalians, right?’’ The sentry looks at Ardoiwn with an almost condescending frown.
The Lampert stares at Pelos with fire in his eyes at the blatant insult, but keeps silent on the matter, he was here as a representative of his king, and too many of his friends died to put him here.
Getting no response from the stoic visitor, the sentry shrugs, scratching his bulging neck muscle.
‘’Well. I’ll grant you passage. Not like it matters at this point.’’

The great door opens, and a large elaborate, gaudy throne room appears. On the back of the hall is the vacant throne, elevated high on top pyramid-like stairs.
It appears a banquet had taken place recently, with there being bits of confetti scattered over the floor, and tables of empty plates with bits of bone and crumbs. Also, the air is moist and steamy. A... banquet-sauna?

Ardoiwn hastefully moved across the room, he did not find any amount of relief in the wet air. As his boots crushed stray bits of paper he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of king this Orso was.
“Certainly not the same kind as King Dalgiserius.” He found himself saying aloud to himself. Perhaps, perhaps this man would be closer to what Ardoiwn believed a king should be…

‘’Hrm? Who let this funny looking man in?’’ One voice says.
‘’Ah, it’s the leader of that Mercenary Company from the Nova Street. I see you have recovered.’’ Another replies. Two men appear from an opening to an adjacent room, concealed behind the hall’s large white columns. One long haired, handsome and athletically built in an ornate plate muscle cuirass. The man behind him thin, almost sickly so, wearing only a towel and covered in a long cloak. At first Ardoiwn mistook the former man as King Orso, until he noticed that it is the gaunt man that has a regal diadem covering his forehead.
‘’I am Abadactus Rogan, Marshall of the Sacred Band. We meet again.’’
Abadactus then takes a step backwards to let Orso walk forwards. ‘’The King.’’
The gaunt man speaks; ‘’Yes Abacus, you don’t have to talk on my behalf now.’’ The pitiful King rubs the sweat off his forehead -- seemingly they came back from an intense meeting, or a sauna -- and looks upon Ardoiwn. ‘’So. You are a Mercenary leader?”

This… was not what Ardoiwn was expecting. Of course, he knew not what he expected of the king of such a place, but whatever it was it certainly wasn’t this. Ardoiwn simply stares for a moment too long before remembering his mission, his sacrifice, and most importantly, his king.
Falling down to a knee Ardoiwn states, “I am Gastald Ardoiwn, servant of the King Dalgiserius, master of all Lamperts. I am to offer to you my aid in these trying times. I was to offer my warband, but they fell to the enemy in your city.”
Ardoiwn stares at the stone floor. It feels as if a weight is slowly passing off him, perhaps it was the air, or the rest he got since the battle. “As per the orders and wishes of the King of all Lampertei I offer to you my blade until we are free of this threat, as well as the blades of any of my comrades who still yet live.”

Orso claps his hands in delight. ‘’That’s fantastic Ardon! You can begin right away! You’re a Castellan, you say? With you on our side, in addition to the exuberant support of the King of Lampertei, I am confident everything will be alright.’’ The King speaks with a laugh, and by the bliss on his face he seems to be whole-heartedly serious about his words. Then he proceeds to tap Ardoiwn’s shoulder with his scepter. ‘’Come come, stand up now, friend. You’re embarrassing me!’’

Ardoiwn stood, uncertain how to think of this jovial and seemingly foolish king. Ardoiwn’s mind felt hazy, soft.

The face of the Marshall, however, could be described as much more dire. He slowly speaks up with a brooding tone.
‘’Am I to assume your coming to Tautom... insinuates Baltia has achieved alliance with Lampertei? Did King Dalgiserius actually say such?’’

Ardoiwn’s thoughts returning to his king cleared his mind for the moment. Blinking once he took a deep breath. “No. My lord Dalgiserius has decided, in his wisdom, that the lands of his subjects need protection first and foremost. He allowed me and my- and the band of warriors he allows me to command to offer our aid only because we are not needed elsewhere.”

“See, Abacus?” King Orso snickers and smiles reassuringly.
“Why must you doubt such noble intentions and wisdom?”
He turns to the Gastald. “Ardon, your gesture will not soon be forgotten. In this dark hour we needed heroes, and here you are!
I thereby anoint you the… Grand Domesticus of the Royal… -” Orso begins to mutter inwardly in contemplation. [i]“-wardrobe is taken, as is stool, as is blade, as is horse… Ah-” He looks back at Ardoiwn. “Ardon. You are Grand Domesticus of the Royal Rampart. Baltia’s last line of defense! We are short on commanders, and I wholeheartedly accept you and your fellows into our ranks.’’
Ardoiwn looked for signs of jest in the absurd king’s eyes. Some joke being played on him. When he found none he bowed his head and raised his hand to his chest, “Very well. I’ll serve how I can.”
Orso smiles and continues. ‘’Ardon, if it does not daunt you, will you take command of the Royal cohort on the left wall? They comprise mostly of evacuated militia and survivors of yesterday's fighting. You might yet make good use of them.”
With a nod Ardoiwn accepted his duties. “We will hold the line till the end, for the sake of those who did the same.” Ardoiwn then turn and left.

As soon as he was gone from the room Ardoiwn sighed a breath of relief. The weight of his loss returned to his shoulders again and he was comforted to once more feel the regret and pain. “Somehow, this is worse than the fear.” He muttered to himself as he wiped moisture from his face with his sleeve. He needed to collect his armor, make sure his spear was ready for combat. He needed to find his men, and then he needed to find the new men under his command. Then… Ardoiwn was thankful for the rest his near death gave him, for he realized that he would have need of it.

The oceans have turned to vast, open fields of glistering ice, the waves crystalized into solid form. This would otherwise be a pretty magnificent and enjoyable view, but unfortunately both fleets are stuck in the ice, that of the Eodaen Royalists and Leofric’s rogue fleet both. Just as they were about to face off in a great naval battle.

"By the might of Xeaxaenot!" Thane Aelfgar called out from ontop the Herald of the Golden Acorn, his fleet’s flagship. [/i]"Our ship’s only stuck in the ice because some of you fools have not sacrificed enough acorns!"[i]

"Is there anything other than acorns that squirrels eat? i’ve not actually delved into squirrel diet, to be honest."

The swords of Badastan find themselves in a mighty inconvenience, for they were just about to engage the pirates. He takes in a whiff of the cold salty sea air, and seeing no sign of the ships being thawed out any time soon, the Thane opts for resolute and desperate decision making. He points his seax dagger at the opposite fleet: ‘’Get off the ships you fools, we’ll just have to walk over to them, and take them on the ole’ fashioned! way!’’

“By the grace of God!” Earl Leofric shouted from atop the Storm’s Herald, his personal ship. “Our ships must be stuck in the ice because a few of you lot haven’t mutilated enough squirrel priests!”

“I’m sure that’s the reason, my lord…” Aella muttered beside him, and they both shared a smirk.

“By God, are they… climbing off the ships?” Leofric asked in bewilderment.

“They are indeed,” Aella confirmed. “You want to head down to meet them?”

“We could do that,” Leofric acknowledged. “And we’d make fools of ourselves, slipping and sliding about, before ultimately coming to a bloody and unnecessary clash in the middle....” he shrugged. “Or, we could amuse ourselves by watching them make fools of themselves, while we wait here and stab them as they climb up.” He made a downward stabbing motion with his hand.

Aella nodded. “Crew, grab weapons and prepare to be boarded!”

Meanwhile, Leofric stepped down from the quarterdeck and walked up to the prow of his ship, stepping past Peric who hefted a boarding axe, as oarsmen abandoned oars for spears and swords. “Is that… is that who I think it is?” He cupped both hands to his mouth and leaned over the railing.

“AELFGAR! HOW’S THE WIFE!?”

The charging Thane at the fore of his warband pauses when he recognises the familiar voice.
"Whats that? That you, Leofric? I should have known you were behind the pirate attacks. Damn bastard, you haven't changed at all.
Childhood friend or no, you will be brought to justice for your crimes, you nutter.

Don't make me come up there and manhandle you back to Eodaland!"

“Manhandle me? It’d be a long walk, across all this ice!” Leofric called back, and despite both the danger and insanity of the situation, some of his crew laughed. “You’ll starve before then. You’ll have to eat your precious squirrels to survive! But yes, I might come down. How does single combat sound!?”

Moving nearer, Aelfgar eyes his former friend with a dismissive glare.
"It's not the old days anymore, friend. Now I stand before you as thane of the King, and therefore am in no position for thine wordcraft haggling."

He raises his Seax and shield as a man prepared to let metal sing his final words. "You and your misfit ilk have felled defenseless Demon-Squirrel Priests, Leofric. You will be made to answer for this sacrilege here and now!"

As he speaks, Leofric observes Aelfgar's band of warriors preparing to encircle the Storm’s Herald. Some of the frozen waves have left an upwards slope, which they have recognised as the perfect (if predictable) vantage point to board it from. Warbands from the royal fleet are all the while creeping towards the other ships in Leofric’s fleet, carrying with them harpoons and javelins.

Aelfgar continued over the ice until halting directly before the bow of Leofric’s ship, now looking him in the eye through his Sutton Hoo helmet. "In spirit of our Eodaen kinship, I shall show lenience: lay down your arms now and come along peacefully to answer for your crimes. I swear you; Badastan is a man of mercy... I will put in a good word for your sake to receive but light punishment.’’

While Aelfgar’s men advanced, Leofric’s own crew had not been idle. Perhaps twenty or so archers and crossbowmen came to stand by him. Aella and Peric had identified the potential vantage points, and were sending warriors to form lines facing those directions. The Captains of Leofric’s fleet were all of a similar mind, waiting upon some sort of signal from Leofric’s ship to act.

The self-proclaimed Lord-Captain smiled. “That’s a generous offer. But I have to say, Aelfgar, I don’t quite understand this talk of friendship.” He stroked his chin. “I might be misremembering, but I seem to recall being friendlier with your wife…” he shrugged. Perhaps it was a bluff, perhaps it was not.

What came next, however, almost certainly was not.

“LOOSE!”

Nearly two dozen arrows and bolts flew from the Storm’s Herald, peppering Aelfgar’s men. The other captains of the fleet took this as a call to action, and began to unleash barrages of their own. As for Leofric, his smile vanished and he retreated back to safety, drawing his sword as he waited for the enemy to board.

The Eodaen royalists, flabbergasted, could only just seek cover behind their shields. Some of them wailed and howled in pain as arrows struck true, and yet others were felled, the ice beneath them turning red. Aelfgar depended on his men’s superior numbers to overpower the rogues and could afford the losses.

After the pirates had drawn first blood, the royal Thane spoke no further, and signals the attack. "Smoke them out."

Squadrons of men, shields raised against arrow fire, trot towards the first row of frozen ships in the pirate fleet while archers of their own loose volleys of suppressing fire.

The Thane calls for his own battalion of battle hardened housecarls to seize the Storm's Herald, by climbing the frozen wave sloping directly against it when it was rocking the ship. It is the perfect vantage point - - too perfect, the obvious direction of attack. Accordingly, Leofric wisely positioned his men to take stance to hold off the attackers with a wall of spears. As forces collide, their spears jab against the housecarl shields in vain, causing others among the pirates to opt aiming for their uncovered legs. Noble blood drips on the ice, but Badastan's elite close in determined, their minds addled and drugged by mushrooms. And using their superior weight, heavy mail and shields they bash into the smaller cohort of spears. When hand to hand combat commences they jab their Seaxes at the spearmen. Sparks fly as metal meets. Blood stains the ice where the children of God and Squirrel-demon do battle.

The other ships were similarly assailed by warbands. Slowly moving, under constant fire and amid their little castles of shields on the treacherous slippery ice.

When reaching enemy hulls, they flung up harpoons in attempts to board the ships from different angles, though this had little effect, serving as little more than a diversion. For Leofric’s crew simply hacked away at them with axes and swords until they broke or were dislodged, causing the men climbing the ropes to fall back to the ice.

Some even used their longaxes to beat holes in the hulls under cover of shields in attempts to make the ships unseaworthy by the time the fleet thaws out. Or at least, that is what they'd hoped. Others were observed smearing the hull with a greasy substance. The squirrel-worshippers were trying out all sorts of devious schemes, it would seem.

This battle was to be a prolonged and slow bloody grind, but Aelfgar wouldn't have it. He was blessed by the King, for Squirrels Sake! And so the thane appeared amid the housecarls boarding the Storm’s Herald as they carved their way through the spearmen. Kill Leofric, the head of the snake, and the battle will be determined swiftly.

"Craven Leofric! Come forth and save your puny men, heretical worm!" He yelled from the group of men locked in battle.

“I’m right here, you fool!” Leofric shouted, wrenching his blade free some a man who stood between him and Aelfgar. With Peric and Aella guarding his flanks from any who would intervene, Leofric strode forward to meet the rival captain in single combat.

Spotting Leofric, the Thane’s eyes lighted up and he sprung forth... as men on both sides quickly parted to make way, for they could tell their commanders were about to meet. Holding a great round shield in one hand, and a brandishing Seax sword in the other, Aelfgar made a deft swipe for Leofric’s throat.

Leofric swatted the weapon aside with a contemptuous parry, before responding with an attack of his own...

For the next ten minutes, the Royal Thane and the Rogue Earl did battle in name and sight of their respective deities, and the onlooking men, some of whom paused fighting to watch, cheer and revel.

All the while bloody struggles took place on and nigh the other ships. When the men on the Storm’s Herald smelled and observed smoke, one of the Squirrel-worshipper’s machinations had been revealed. Some of them managed to ignite the hulls of some two or three of Leofric’s longboats by smearing them with pigfat they had carried along! Men on the flagship were bewildered by this turn of event, even among the Royalist crew.

Aelfgar smirks, still panting from the exhaustive hand-to-hand combat with the more than capable Leofric. ‘’The day is ours, traitor. Surrender now, and I might still stroke over mine golden heart and show mercy…!’’

Elsewhere, the crew on the burning longships did not stand idly by while their ships caught fire. They instead brought out heavy barrels of water, rum, tar, or provisions, and rolled them down the slopes of the frozen waves that touched their ship, clearing the slopes of attackers as most were inevitably knocked down and sent sprawling across the ice.

With weapons in hand, the defenders did not hesitate to seize the advantage: they slid down the slope after them, stabbing and slashing them before they could get back up. But landing on the ice, many of the selfsame attackers slipped and fell down themselves. A clumsy death-and-life grapple followed as both enemies tried to get up.

Meanwhile, as Leofric looked his foe in the eye, he decided he would not dignify Aelfgar’s demand with a response. He delivered a feint, making to thrust at Aelfgar’s leg, but then he suddenly gripped his weapon by the blade, hooked Aelfgar’s shield with the crossguard, pulled it down, and then jabbed the pommel up into Aelfgar’s throat.

Aelfgars reflexes were slowed from exhaustion, and as he tried to duck backwards was struck on his jaw. The blow was forceful enough that his Sutton Hoo helmet flew off, revealing Aelfgar’s lean face and red hair, as his ornamental helmet rolled away over the ship’s deck. The Thane was knocked to the ground, blood dripping from his chin as Leofric walked up, and pointed his blade at Aelfgar’s throat. “Yield!” he commanded.

Rubbing the blood and saliva off his face, Aelfgar slowly and hesitantly relinquished hold of his seax and shield, and raised his open hands with an affirmative grunt. The defeated Thane looks from the corner of his eyes to his men. The housecarls, though initially successful in beating off the spearmen and seizing much of the flagship’s deck, were losing ground as the first casualties had dropped, and dead from both sides lay prostrate and mutilated on board.

Most other royalist warbands had been repulsed, and in total, but two of Leofric’s longboats had been captured by the Royalists. Though Aelfgar had been bested, his warriors fought on… Until there rang a deep voice from afar:
‘’Stop!’’

“You can’t come in!” An Amalian sentryman shouted from the tower to which the harbour obstructing chain is attached. The fleet of Doux Theodonus had returned to Tautom, but had been sadly barred from portage by the men occupying the harbour, and their damnable chain.

“FOOL!” Answered the god-like form of a muscular Theodonus. “Know you not who you are dealing with?! I am Grand Domestics of the Royal Stool, DOUX THEODONUS. And you can’t come out of your post unless I allow it! Now, let it be known that I’ll sink my ships and block the harbor if I, Theodonus the Powerful, am not allowed entrance! For I must deliver the head of that snake Belisar to our king!”

For a moment the guard was perplexed at this outburst of a response, which was infamous and widely known to befit Theodonus’ ‘’eccentric’’ character. Finding the words, he slowly gave response. ‘’You make a convincing case. Hold on, Doux.’’

There was some shuffling on the walls as the guards murmured something to one another while casting glances into Theodonus’ direction, when finally their captain is brought forward to parley with the Doux. The captain leaned over the rampart, observing Theodonus’ intensely athletic frame.
‘’And you really are a Doux of Tautom, the son of Valaris?’’

“YES!” Theodonus briskely answered to the captain of the guard while burning with impatience.

Yet more murmuring is heard among the guards atop the wall. And some on the ship could swear to be able to make out a faint snickering. At last the captain appears again, and he raises his hand towards the opposite tower to which attached the chain, signalling to raise it.
‘’Come in.’’

And so the fleet of Theodonus the magnificent entered the harbour, for his rhetoric and arguments were flawless enough to win over the sentry.
All the while men from the sea walls could be seen following their movement. “Hey, Theo…” Prince Nonnonso says to Theodonus with a disconcerted brow. “Not now, my prodigee.” the Doux replied confidently as he held onto a rope hanging from the mast, and as theirs flagship hit the pier, he used the rope to sling himself onto the docks, disembarking in fashion.

The Doux would have been wise to listen to the princeling, however. Because as his sandalled feet graced dry ground, he saw too late how on edge the guards all were.
“Where are the Chlotars?”
He called towards an ensemble of Amalian soldiers that had gathered near him looking at him blankly.
All of a sudden, a seeming thousand of archers accompanied by Chlotaringen’s Lion heraldry popped up on the roofs around them, all of their arrowheads glinstering deathly in the light of a false sun!

A laugh was heard as the selfsame Amalian captain of before walked up to him, accompanied by an escort armed to the teeth..
“It is in your best interest to come with me, Doux. Lay down your arms.”
“What is the meaning of this travesty?” proclaims Theodonus in disbelief.
“Meaning? Why, you have been trapped, you foolish fool! How foolish. I knew all about your errand to Syrome, and you’ve returned in vain! The city belongs to us!
Now, you will give me the Prince you went to collect, Icaeas, heir to the King, and I will place you into my custody unmolested. Refuse, and die.”
Theodonus’ lips curved into a smile, not least because Icaeas was never even among them. As soon the quarrel with Belisar began and particularly after the news of the Chlotar attack had hit him, he forgot all about the Prince!

The Amalian man continued to laugh in triumph in celebration of his own cunning. He thought he was in control, but he had made a fatal mistake; that to gloat within arms length of Theodonus.

The sound of a snapping neck as Theodonus’ powerful hands clasped around his pitiful Amalian throat. In response to this the tense strings of a thousand bows were set to release, and a thousand arrows whizzed straight for Theodonus, blotting out the sun! Theodonus merely smiled, he is the image of confidence and male vitality, and he hid in the shade of his mighty bronze shield, narrowly avoiding a treacherous death.

‘’Men! To battle!’’ Theodonus cried out towards the ships behind him, the warriors of his gymnasium now following their commander’s example and flinging themselves onto the pier.

A voice was heard from the Chlotars on the roofs: ‘’Second volley! Aim true!’’
‘’Heavy infantry! Move in with the secret weapon!’’
As the first skirmishing and hand-to-hand combat commenced, men in Amalian armor carried in a large metal cylinder connected to a keg on wheels. It looked rather impractical, and none paid heed to it. The warriors of the gymnasium merely laughed while holding up their own shields to resist the Chlotar’s suppressing fire. This incapacitated them from engaging in combat. None of them paid attention to the silly looking metal cylinder, but perhaps they should have. For when its lid was lowered, forth it breathed an intense fire engulfing the men, and the flagship, in an inferno of flame.

The devastation was so sudden and immense that none could truly process the full impact of it. Theodonus looked up incredulously, surrounded by two dead Amalians and another dead Chlotar which he had felled, when the soldiers he engaged suddenly backed away fearfully, and taking in a whiff of air, he smelled burned flesh.
‘’Who’s roasting chicken?’’
Theodonus thought, before his thoughts were interrupted by a man’s sudden cry. ‘’Fire!’’
The Doux inclined his head to his direction, and understood the reason his opponents had disengaged from battle. For now the cylinder of death was pointed his direction, and he stood central before a gaping, burning hole.
When then the dragon breathed; the son of Valaris returned to dust.

‘’STOP!’’ Cried a voice deeper than the sea accompanied by a crackle of lightning. All on the icy crucible could hear it, from afar and from the sky, and the last embers of battles were abruptly put to halt as friend and foe looked up astonished from whence it came.

A barefoot young boy in tattered clothes walked past and through the ships of the frozen pirate fleet, holding aloft a shimmering sword.

Prince Alric had seen the fighting on the ice and the ships ahead of him and knew them to be Eodaen. Having walked for so long with no food, water, nor shoes on his feet, the sight of his people filled him with joy and relief. But this was not the opportunity for rescue that the Prince had so greatly hoped for. The Banners were unmistakable. These were his Uncle’s vassals. What disheartened Alric so greatly was the realisation that all ships were of Eodan build. This was civil strife and it had to be stopped. If Alric was to save his people from destruction he first had to save them from each other. Thus the young Prince approached the battle confidently and raised his sword, and thus he yelled with fervour.
Seeing how their attention was grabbed, the sound of steel ceased and he found himself with a grand audience of his kinsmen.
“I beg you all, stop this violence!” his voice echoed through the frozen waves.
“Who are you? A sorcerer?’’ One of the men called back at the princely boy.
“I am your Prince.”

Alric was met with incredulous stares, though nevertheless perplexed.

“And I have been brought back by God himself to save you all. My name is Alric, son of Aethelberht. Blood of Horsa. Rightful King of Eodaland. Now I demand. Stop this violence.” Alric’s heart raced. Had he made a fool of himself? How could he hope to convince them? He continued to stand, sword raised, his eyes looking upon a sea of blank faces.

Back atop the Storm’s Herald, Aelfgar’s face goes pale as he heard the name of Alric drop.
‘’I know that voice… It can’t be…
Here? Now?’’
He looks nervously towards Leofric, and then to Leofric’s blade still held threateningly close to his face.
‘’Lemmy up for a bit… I’ve seen this Alric, I can identify if it’s him.’’

Leofric frowned at this development. Aelfgar’s surprise appeared to be genuine, but for all he knew this was some elaborate ploy. After all, why would the King of Eodaeland be out here? Where did he come from? Why did the ice freeze? There were so many questions. And what was that sword…

“Watch him, Peric,” Leofric ordered. Peric nodded, moving his axe to Aelfgar’s throat at the same time Leofric moved his own blade away. He eyed the boarders warily, and walked over to the railing to get a look at the Prince.

The Prince had been a boy when Leofric had last seen him, and at this distance all he could confirm was that he had the same hair colour. The odds that this boy actually was the Prince remained unlikely. But Leofric picked up a coil of rope, tied it tightly to the railing, and let it drop.

“If you are who you say you are, ‘my King’, then climb on up!”

Alric lowered his sword. He had certainly garnered the attention he required but perhaps more so from the sheer surprise his presence had caused. He dared not refuse this outstretched hand and began to walk towards Leofric’s ship, sheathing his sword.
He clinged to the rope and began to pull himself up until finally at the railing, slumping himself onto the deck. The Prince looked at the blank faces surrounding him until his gaze reached Aelfgar, the first familiar face he had looked upon for some time, though not a friendly one. Alric knew him to be one of his Uncle’s most trusted bootlicks and to see him in such a compromising position did give the Prince a guilty sense of relief. But this wasn’t the time to score a petty point against Badastan. Alric was no longer the boy he had been and his divine experience brought duty to the very front of his mind.

“It is true what I say, I am King by right. But right alone does not make a King. It is my mission to prove myself worthy of the people I will rule and that is what brings me here.” Alric spoke softly.
“I will prove to you who I am but you must first stop this fighting. Recall your men to their ships.”

Leofric glanced off into the distance. His men who abandoned their ships had successfully driven back their attackers. Even now, they were taking the barrels they had rolled down the slopes and were breaking them open, using their helmets as makeshift buckets to throw water onto the flames.

“Most of my men are already on their ships,” Leofric said, “and the ones that aren’t… I’m not about to order them to roast themselves.” He shrugged, then looked down at Aelfgar. “Are you going to call off your men, lapdog? If you don’t, Peric here will reward your bravery with a shave. But I warn you: he is somewhat clumsy.”

The captured thane bristles with indignity. ‘’Such hatred! And what for? What’s God ever done for you, huh? Nothing. You should’ve stuck true to the Squirrel Demon.
Why, ever since renouncing the False God me life's been nothing but laughter and sunflowers lemmy tell you! Just a basket of rainbows of joy me life’s been!’’
He looks to Alric and abruptly shifts to a grovelling tone. ‘’My good Prince, help one of your dear subjects out of the frying pan, will you?’’

“My Lord, it appears you’ve simply been bested. The power is out of my hands and in that of your… opponent’s.” Alric spoke before looking to Leofric inquisitively.
“I must apologise, I do not know your name or rank, though I must insist such formalities wait until we are sailing. My mission is urgent.” Alric turned back to Aelfgar.
“You must agree to some terms of surrender and while you are my cruel Uncle’s creature I will vouch for your life.” The Prince paused.
“Out of respect for your title.”

Aelfgar’s eyes light up. ‘’Oh thank you, Prince! You are most generous! Truly you are Aethelbehrt’s son!
Don’t do it for my sake, I have little children to feed, you see!’’

Aelfgar looks to one of the housecarls that had been nearly pushed off the flagship, had Alric not arrived timely to pause the fighting.
‘’Tell the men to withdraw to their ships.’’ He snarled to the housecarl, on which he leapt off the ship onto the slippery ice. An air of hesitation and further confusion manifested on the plains of ice, before slowly but surely, the Royalists began to withdraw from the ships, some of them dragging along their slain brothers for proper burials.

“I am Earl Leofric,” Leofric introduced himself. “I have taken to the sea to escape the usurper’s tyranny.” Then he turned to Aelfgar. “Pull him to his feet, and tie him to the mast.” As his men moved to carry out that order, Leofric addressed Aelfgar directly. “I will accept nothing short of unconditional surrender.”

Aelfgar stammers as he wiggles beneath the stiff robes, but the more he moves, the more the rope seems to cut into him.
‘’I already surrendered, but I’m just one man. I can’t give you the fleet, nor the men serving the fleet, since it doesn’t belong to me... It belongs to the Royal Family.’’

Alric piped up.
“It belongs to me.” Alric’s declaration created a moment of pause. All looked to him, some sniggering and shaking their heads. Alric then turned to Leofric.
“Earl, do as you will with Aelfgar but he is correct. His fleet belongs to the Royal Family and is, by right, mine to command. I may be young but I have the blood of my father, and God on my side.”

Leofric raises his nose with a stiff-necked upright posture, scoffing at the prince. ‘’God is on your side? How many men before you have claimed just the same?’’

‘’I will prove it to you.’’ Alric says, turning around to face the frozen ocean. He raises his sword skywards…
“Lord, as your humble servant I beseech you… release these oceans and free these good men’s ships from their icy grip!”
His voice would echo across the frozen sea and a moment of silence would captivate the sailors until suddenly several bolts of lightning crash from the heavens, decimating the ice, causing gargantuan cracks that begin to spread. These bolts are accompanied by a chorus of raging thunder that shook the skies and vibrated through the oak vessels. Leofric’s crew recoiled and took cover, with expressions of fear and bewilderment; Leofric himself flinched and shielded his eyes from the bright light. The splintered ice begins to drift apart, allowing the fleets to bob freely on the ocean’s surface.
Alric stood, his arm still raised in total awe. He had put his faith in His hands and proven that God was not quite so maimed.

The crew of the ship was equally awed, too stunned to move or speak. Leofric moved toward the railing of his ship and stared down, before looking at Alric, and then back at the sea. “By God…” he uttered.

Badastan’s men on the ice having also seen the powers at work, suddenly began running back over the ice towards their own ships lest they fall down the cracks. And, seeing this, the men of the pirate fleet began to cheer triumphantly. The battle was over, and Badastan’s army had been defeated! Victory!

Alric then turned to the crew and spoke softly.
“I did not ask for this. God spoke to me and I felt his embrace. If we do not all come together and accept Him our people will not survive what is to come. I am young and I am no King yet but with your support I can save us all. This I know as fact.”
The Prince turned to Leofric, sheathing his sword.
“For this task I need the Royal Fleet and I may well need you by my side. I know that once I am King and our people have been saved, Captain, you will be known as a hero and rewarded greatly, I swear it.”

Leofric looked toward the boy who claimed to be Prince, but then an alarmed expression crossed his face, and he glanced toward the rest of his fleet. Some of the ships had been rendered unseaworthy in the fighting, and were already slipping beneath the waves. Fortunately their crews had managed to climb onboard the other ships, but it was still a waste nonetheless.

The Captain clutched the railing in a white-knuckled grip, and he turned to face Alric, his face twisting into a bitter expression. “I’ll want those ships replaced, you know.” He said, looking the boy in the eye as he released his grip. There was a sudden tension in the air.

Then he drew his sword.

Leofric dropped to one knee, placing the tip of his sword on the deck. The tension faded, and he cast his eyes downward. “But aye, I’ll pledge my sword to you. Your Majesty.”

And with those words the crew of The Storm’s Herald followed his example. The Eodaens were the first to kneel, and they did so eagerly. Even King Badastan’s men that were present on the ship, lowered their weapons and knelt submissively to the Eodaen Prince. The non-Eodaens serving in Leofric’s crew were more reluctant; they had neither love nor loyalty to this strange boy, God’s favour or no, but they were loyal to Leofric and so they did as he did.

Alric nodded his head to Leofric.
“I will not take your pledge for granted, Captain. We shall sail for Radboudy where my sister is at court. She is married to King Poppo’s heir and I am certain they will give us refuge. There we can repair our ships and seek allies for what is to come.”
Leofric nods contented, revealing a smile. Then a brief silence permeated on the flagship, until a nervous laughter sounds from the back. ‘’I would kneel too, your grace, but I’m in a bit of a bind!’’ It came from Aelfgar, stammering with an awkward grin.

The young Prince then turned to his uncle’s captured Earl.
“You, my Lord, will accompany us and remain captive until the loyal and just vassals of my father’s realm are fit and able to judge you for your treachery of the Eodean people.
Now…’’
Alric raises a fist to the sky and speaks sonorously. ‘’Set sail!’’

As both Leofric and Aelfgar’s men returned to man their own ships, both fleets, now free afloat and thawed out, set off in the evening wind. They set sail back towards the great western continent of Visandza. It must have been the will of God... for somehow both fleets that were only previously locked in bitter conflict, have now pledged their allegiance to a common leader… None other than the one and true King of Eodaland.

The sun retreats behind the somber grey clouds at the end of another chilly day in the Visandzan mountains.
Four night Einhard had passed in captivity, and by the filth in his cage the Paladin’s sorry state is starting to show. Crusts of dried blood are on Einhard’s blue and inflamed face from the beating he received the evening before, and the cup of Einhard’s ear had been cut off by the Gastald Liutpertus when the Paladin refused to talk. Paired with the malnourishment from being critically underfed, slowly the Paladin feels hope receding, and death approaching.

‘’I’m not done with you, Chlotar swine… I WILL make you talk, one way or another.’’ Liutpertus hisses at him as he locked the cage and withdraws to the outposts’ interior.

For now the Lamperts have called it a day, and most of the outposts’ garrison retreated back to the central hearthfire, or their tents, with only a few sentries remaining to stand watch.

Silence fills the camp’s premises. Einhard hears only the throbbing pulse of his bleeding and mutilated ear, and a soft, distant howling wind soaring by the mountain tops.

For hours he sat there, the once proud and honourable Paladin, now cowed by the evils of his fellow men, surrendering to a miserable fate in the dead of night.
Most of the Lampert garrison is asleep, save for the night shift shuffling on and by the sentry towers.
Yet more hours pass, when finally Einhard can sense footsteps approaching his cage...
He does not bother to perk up.

‘’You sad man sitting in defeat. You are Paladin Einhard from the Chlotar Kingdom, is that correct?’’
The voice of a woman.
Einhard looks up at the approaching form, saying nothing in return.
‘’Have you succumbed, or do you yet have some spirit in you? Your people need your strength, Paladin.’’
Einhard responds, “Chlotar men don’t forget easily.” He pauses as he straightened himself. “I will do my duty as my fathers before me. Our vow to Godas has never been broken in my line.”

The woman nods.
‘’On the subject of fathers… I see that my own father’s men have not been kind to you. But I am not as them… so listen to me, and I will do my best to set you free.’’
As the woman spoke these words, Einhard takes notice of the embellished garments, furs and jewels adorning her. And it finally dawns on him: this woman is a Lampert royal!
‘’My name is Dalgiserata, namesake of my father Dalgiserius… I believe you’ve been acquainted with him, a little.’’
‘’What do you want?’’ Einhard snarls at her.
‘’Justice for both our Kingdoms. We are not your true enemy.’’
Einhard just looks at her incredulously as though she takes him for a fool.

‘’Let me have an audience with your King Cauroman. If it is at all possible to avoid war, we must do everything in our ability to make it so… Wouldn’t you agree?’’
Sighing, the Paladin leans up. Einhard has always been a reasonable judge of character, and has a nose for the smell of liars. Locking eye contact, he makes attempt to read her sincerity. …By the looks of it, she seems serious. Her face is beset with concern -- a quiet melancholy. Does she really care?

‘’All this death and turmoil will not be necessary, we will only wind up weakening one another.’’

Einhard takes a deep breath and gives reply; “Every Chlotar, from babe to crone knows not to trust a Lampert, just two-legged snakes looking to sink their fangs into you.” Einhard shifts forward towards Dalgiserata, “How do I know you weren’t sent here by your father in witchcraft inspired plot to kill my lord?”
Dalgiserata sighs. ‘’I knew bartering with you would not be easy. As a gesture of good will, I feel you are entitled to know just who had betrayed you..
Odo, the chief of Rudinberg, had been harbouring Lampert agents and providing information to my father for the past three years now… That is how we knew of your coming. That is why you are here now.’’

“Odo broke bread with me and my shield maiden, he swore an oath to King Cauroman, one would not anger Godas in such a manner.” Einhard spat back at her.

‘’Laiamicho, come here.’’

A lanky, handsome man with dark curls and a shaven face appears besides the Princess, and Einhard recognises him immediately. He was at Odo’s side in the hall of Rudinberg!

‘’Hello again, good Paladin of Chlotaringen. It appears we meet under different circumstances now.’’ The man, Laiamicho is his true name, gives a sly smile.

Dalgiserata speaks again.
‘’He is my most trusted servant. His loyalty cannot be questioned..’’ She says, after which Laiamicho follows:
‘’Sadly the same can not be said for Odo’s loyalty to your King Cauroman.’’

The Paladin and the Princess lock eye contact again, and in the moment Einhard knows not how to respond. He opens his mouth, but is immediately interrupted by the princess.
‘’If your king is indeed the honourable man he is known to be, tell him everything. Tell him about Odo. and tell him about my request...

If war can at all be avoided, this is the only way. Will you do this, Paladin?’’

Einhard is still perplexed, overcome with a variation of feelings… Confusion, to name one. Disbelief, and also revulsion -- revulsion for himself that he let himself be betrayed, and that his lack of vigil has endangered Chlotaringen’s entire war-effort. He knows not how to respond to the Lampert Princess’ offer, and neither is he given the chance, for in that moment he could sense the approaching footsteps of someone else coming out of the dark.

A group of figures draped in dark cloaks strides into the tent, glints of reflected firelight in their folds betraying the blades they carry at the ready. Faceless as shadows in their hoods, at first sight they barely appear human, filing behind one whose head is distorted in a monstrous insectile visage. Only at a closer look reveals that it is Dauraulf wearing his Locust-head helmet. The others bear similar countenances on amulets of roughly graven wood.

The adorned helm turns from the captive to the Princess, the Farigai’s hoods following its motions as sword-points budge near them, before the mouth underneath lets out a half-voiced exclamation.

“Pest!” Dauraulf moves a step towards Einhard, blade now well in sight, but stops, glowering at Dalgiserata. “Treason in the King’s own camp! And by whose hand! From you-” he points at Laiamicho, “-there’s no surprise. Rotten mongrels always try to find a way to him, else we wouldn’t be on our feet day and night. But his blood! You’d throw out your father for the Chlotars?” By how he spits the last word, it is clear that is in itself a most grievous curse for him.

If nothing else, this encounter is all the more evidence to the Paladin at least, that the Princess was being honest. Or it’s a very elaborate ruse.
Carrying herself with strength, with no sign showing fear in the presence of her father’s most dreadful retainers, she retorts:
‘’You, from the Farigai. The likes of you should know better than to make such accusations. You serve the Royal Family, and what I do is for the good and survival of our Kingdom.’’

Scowling from the back, Laiamicho calls agitated towards Dauraulf.
‘’The prisoner is our business. Your presence here displeases her highness...’’ To add power to the statement, the armed escort draws his broadsword up from his sheath unto its point, halting a bare second from brandishing it fully.

“Pest and famine! You must think I have rot for a head that you’d have me believe that!” The Farigai leader points his sword at Einhard, his men moving past him into the tent, bristling with blades. “What good’s going to come from dealing with snakes and swine? If this isn’t treachery, you’ve gone mad. Be that as it may,” he steps forward, “we’re taking the Chlotar.”

At his signal, the cloaked men advance into the tent. While they carefully step around the Princess, avoiding so much as brushing against her, they are less considerate with Laiamicho, who finds the points of several swords inches from his throat within the blink of an eye. Under Dauraulf’s direction, they tug open the Paladin’s cage and roughly haul him out of it, the enfeebled prisoner’s weak resistance amounting to nothing as he is dragged out into the night. As his henchmen push their charge out between the tent’s flaps, the leader turns for the last time towards Dalgiserata.

“You’re lucky we’re more loyal to the royal family than anyone in this wretched land,” he sneers, “but remember we serve the King above all. Hope that this doesn’t reach his ears.”

The Princess stands mute and defeated as the Farigai take away her one chance at bartering for Lampertei's future. While Laiamicho only scowls at the men that had threatened him, though cold sweat is on his brow, betraying how scared he actually was underneath the swagger.

Einhard was burning with resentment, but he was unarmed and malnourished, weak. He could but imagine what perverse cruelties these freakish looking Lampert men sought to inflict on him.
The company of men with the prisoner trod down the mountain slope from where the Lampert camp was, southwards towards the green valleys of Lampertei. The wind ceased howling, as though the elements themselves stood watch of what transpired. Save for the torches of the Farigai men, they and Einhard were in total darkness. Darkness, until the first light of day broke through the eastern sky, beaming at the group of men. And following this first beam of dawn, two white wings soared past the mountain tops directly towards the Farigai. As it approached, the Farigai halted, sensing its approach, and looked towards it unnerved. From afar it looked like a seagull, except much bigger. Einhard looked up as well. A darkling after night time? That can't be. Is it a predator of heaven, preying on the enemies of God? None of them could grasp its form by the angle and sheer speed it flew with. Only when it got very close could they see what it was… a white stork? But they saw it was clutching a lance in its bird talon, and it had an oversized helmet on its head. Before they could contemplate how silly that made it look, the stork with its lance swooped down at Dauraulf.

‘’My King, the Horn is lost. As the cowardly Lamperts slew Mauger in ambush, Godas sent down an Angel to pick it up, and took the Horn to the heavens as to not let it fall in Lampert hands. It is no longer of this world.’’
Yet another Paladin speaks.
‘’An angel? I thought it was a white dragon!’’

taken from the Intro Post