Markus took to his feet. He had longed to know a leader so capable and kind.
“A Lord does not bow before another, only to the King!”
“I am at your command, Sir, what would you have me do?”
“You have done quite enough already, I will have your men billeted in the camp. I will have duties enough for you come tomorrow. Today I wish you to rest and relax among your people.”
“Thank you, Count Kohler. It will be an honour to re-take the city under your command, Sir.”
“The Gods themselves could not hold us back. The Lords meet soon after first light at my tent. Be here, and you will be briefed on any developments. Harro, see that these men are billeted and fed, they have earned it more than any man who bears arms among us.”
* * *
Markus sat on a log of firewood beside a roaring fire that night, Bull sat beside him. His armour was packed away in his tent, and his shoulders felt as light as feathers with the weight of his equipment removed. He had laid his arming jack out to dry and donned the doublet he had been given in Leonzal, not fit for a Lord, but he did not care.
The safety of the huge encampment of Werstrian soldiers was a relief to the men. But the imposing fortress, which dwarfed their army, was ever in their minds, light piercing the towers of the monstrous city. Markus felt weary, he could not have ever have imagined it would have been such a struggle to reach the city.
“That city, you want it badly?” asked Bull.
“It is the symbol of their victory, and our defeat, a wrong which must be righted.”
“And if we take that city, what will you do?”
“Whatever is needed, this has raged for generations and we have slowly lost more and more ground. Something must change.”
“You wish to see an end to the war, Markus?”
“One day, certainly. I do not yet feel that my brother’s death has been avenged.”
“Will it ever? How many men must you kill to feel happy?”
“Coming from you? I have seen you in battle, you want for blood like a beast at its prey.”
“But only in battle. I do not seek blood and death, only deal it out when the time requires it,” Bull answered him.
“Then what is it you want in life?”
“Honour, glory, comradeship, women!”
“In that order?”
The two men laughed aloud.
“What will you do when this war ends, Bull?”
“I will think about it if it ever does. All I have known is war and my father before him, why should we assume or plan for anything else?”
“Surely we should all have something to look forward to in life,” said Markus.
“I do, nights like this, fine ale, a good woman, a good fight.”
“And that is enough for you?”
“It is as much as I think we can expect. Anything more is luck.”
“Well, I’m going to hit the sack. Whatever the Count has in store for us tomorrow, I can guarantee it won’t be easy going.”
Markus climbed into his tent. The simple bedding was absolute luxury to his aching body. He thought of Lena, was she safe? Was she thinking of him? He could see her beautiful face and longed to hold her. Lying back, he contemplated the hard days it had required to reach the army. He wondered if it had been such a hardship to assemble an army, how could they manage against the might of the Karsian armies? He was learning the harsh reality that his country had hung by a thread for so many decades, and he may not personally witness the end.
The conflict and strife between the Lords of Werstria was clearly a pettiness that he was going to both have to get used to, and be involved in. He had never been one for a war of words, so he would have to manage the Lords in his own way.
* * *
The heat of the spring morning sunshine beat down on the canvas of Markus’ tent, waking him from his uneasy sleep. He sat up in bed, still wearing his doublet from the night before. It was a slash cut doublet, his shirt visible through the slits in the torso and arms, and scarlet in colour. The design was flamboyant, but the materials and decoration simple. He buckled his sword belt about his waist, an item that showed his status properly, accompanied with his trusty dagger.
Markus was a man who had naturally taken to combat and leadership, but never had he been prepared for the diplomacy and nature of the Lords. He now walked towards the Count’s tent, having no idea of what to expect. Arriving before the mighty canvas, the guards pulled back the door flap and let him step through.
“Markus! Good morning! Gentleman, this is Lord Markus, leader of the Salbein Knights. A new order, but no less decorated, they have already fought two successful battles in the south,” said Count Kohler.
The eight Lords that stood before the Count’s table all offered their hands in a gesture of good will. Each of them was far more finely dressed that him, but his victories in battle gave him substantial respect. Despite this, none knew quite what to make of him, clearly not a noble by birth, nor a man of great wealth. Yet he wore the belt and sword of a noble, and led men like a Lord.
“Markus, I was just briefing the Lords on our progress. We have assembled many of our forces and the production of siege equipment is well underway, but we are still missing the men of Ambstern. They were sent the same call to arms of the rest of us, but as of yet have not presented themselves.”
“Holbein is a fool and a coward,” said Lord Cranach.
“Let us not judge him without knowledge of the events. We have received no news from Ambstern, and we need every man we can get. Markus, this is the first thing I ask of you. Go to Ambstern with all haste, request an audience with Lord Holbein and discover the reason behind his absence,” said Kohler.
“Count, I am a fighter, not a talker,” replied Markus.
“Which is exactly why I am sending you. You are a true champion, a Lord who proves himself in battle. Your presence may shame him into assisting us, if he indeed has chosen not to heed the call of battle.”
“And if he will not ride to Lienzberg?”
“Then we will have to fight without him. Markus, we have no time waste. I cannot spare any men from this fight, so return to us as quickly as you leave. Remember, you are a Lord, and accountable to only myself as leader of the country’s armies and the King himself. Let me make this absolutely clear! We need the men of Ambstern, as many as can be mustered, how you get them here is entirely up to you. As a Lord you may act as you please, and deal with the consequences as such.”
“As you wish, Count, I will do what I can.”
The Count nodded in gratitude. Markus could tell that the Count admired him, he saw the soldier within, a little of himself perhaps. It was clear that the Lords did not recognise him as one of their own, but the Count saw his potential. Markus could already tell that he was in for a battle of wills with the Lords of Werstria, they would not accept his status willingly. This was a fact he had already begun to despise as many of the Lords had seen less action than he had in the last week.
Markus walked back to their encampment where the men were preparing their breakfast and glad to not have to be readying their horses for yet another journey. Behind them the fortress of Lienzberg ever loomed over them, but it was a battle they did not have to concern themselves with that day. It would be a several more days before the siege works were ready and the assault could begin.
“Knights! Saddle up, we ride on a task for the Count! Gustav, you may stay here and continue to rest that wound, Alix, you are in charge of the men. The rest of the knights, we ride to Ambstern!” shouted Markus.
He could already see the disappointment as the knights bowed their heads. They were relieved to finally have joined an army and been given time to rest and recoup after the fighting they had already participated in. Vesart walked over the Markus as he was strapping on his armour.
“It’s a tall order to ask the men to ride for yet another day, why are we being sent?” he asked.
“It is not our choi
ce to ask why, the Count commands it. We all signed up to fight for Werstria, we must trust in the man who leads the army,” replied Markus.
“Being a leader does not make you right.”
“Then why do you all follow me?”
“Because you have proved your worth.”
“Then give the Count the same opportunity to do so.”
“That’s a fair point.”
“Vesart, remember we are all new here and have yet to prove ourselves to the Lords of Werstria, they have no reason to trust in us yet.”
“Then let’s do this right.”
“Agreed.”
Markus was glad to find his arming jack had dried out overnight, having turned it inside out and hung it next to the fire. It was a relief after the clammy sweat-filled garment it was the day before. The blood and sweat on its surface had now dried into a patchy mess, and his armour was just as dirty. It took far longer than it should have for the men to equip themselves for the journey, none having any enthusiasm for the task they had been set.
Eventually Markus and his dozen knights saddled their horses and rode through the camp to the east. The soldiers of Werstria stared at them intently as they trotted through the lines of tents. They had no idea who they were, but their armour and evidence of battle commanded respect. Markus knew that they would have to pass through Raubuck on their journey, the last place in the world he wished to see again.
It was not long on the journey when the old village came into view. It was completely abandoned, not a single person or animal left insight. Most of the buildings were at least semi-destroyed by fire, many completely flattened to the ground. There were no signs of the fighting that had taken place, or the slaughter of the few remaining civilians that most certainly would have followed it. Not a single spec of blood remained in the ghost town. Markus could only imagine that the Werstrians had it cleared before the army arrived, as to not to dishearten them.
The thought of his brother’s death weighed heavily on him. The two of them had promised to avenge their father’s death and fight the Karsian forces together. Never could he have imagined the short end to his life that his brother would face. He regretted not knowing what come of his brother’s body, he prayed that his own people had found his remains and given him some respectful end. Alix had tried his best.
It was a long ride to Ambstern, a boring and tedious journey, especially as they were heading away from the battle, which they had so desperately fought to get to. Despite this, knowing they travelled in safety did allow them to relax a little. Vesart rode to Markus’ left, Bull to his right.
“Ambstern didn’t send any men did they?” asked Vesart.
“No, we’re being sent to find out why,” replied Markus.
“Given the job of a messenger boy,” said Bull.
“Perhaps. Count Kohler believes they have chosen to not send men, and the Count wanted men who could be persuasive.”
“I can do that,” said Bull.
“I think it requires a rather more delicate touch, my friend, but if it comes to it, I’ll be glad I did not go alone.”
“You expect trouble?” asked Vesart.
“If Lord Holbein defied the King’s orders then how do you think he will feel about a self-proclaimed Lord and his battle-weary men questioning his authority?”
“Then perhaps we know why Kohler sent you.”
“Go on.”
“You are a blunt instrument, a fighter, not a politician. The Count will know it will rile up Holbein. It will also make him look a coward and foolish. He is hoping that with your very presence you can shame Holbein’s men to fight, with or without him.”
“An interesting theory, or we could have simply been sent on an errand, Vesart.”
“Kohler recognises the potential of men, and what you could mean to the common soldier. He is a wise man, I like this Count.”
It was long into the afternoon when they finally caught sight of the city. Markus had not seen sight of it since the day before his brother’s death, never could he have imagined returning under such circumstances. The city was nowhere near the grandiose size and structure of Lienzberg, but it was impressive in its own right.
The Salbein Knights arrived at the long ramp up to the city’s gates, passing farmers who were travelling in and out of the city with supplies, as if completely oblivious to the state of war and invasion that the Kingdom faced.
“You would think they didn’t know there was a war on,” said Vesart.
Several of the farmers walked past looked up at the Knights in disgust, though they didn’t know why they would do this. The Knights rode up to the entrance where two men stood on guard.
“What is your business here?” shouted the guard.
“I am at the command of Count Klaus Kohler, and request an audience with Lord Holbein!” Markus shouted in response.
“Wait here!”
The guard disappeared through the open gates into the town. The knights were left waiting for more than was a polite amount of time, and were getting ever more tired of the situation. The people who walked in and out of the town passing them looked in either surprise or disgust. It was clear that nobody they had seen had the stomach for war, and they saw them as harbingers of it. Finally, the guard appeared at the gate again, though he did not look inviting.
“His Lordship will see you, but your weapons must be checked in at the gates first.”
“We are Knights of Werstria, and you would have us lay down our arms? This is an outrage!” shouted Vesart.
“Vesart, calm yourself, we will abide by the Lord’s rule in his city,” said Markus.
He hated the situation as much as his men did, but there was nothing else for it. They would not be allowed into the city by any other means, and they would not go back to the Count empty handed. The men climbed down from their horses and tied them at the rack outside the wall. Stepping through into the city, they removed their weapon belts and handed them to the guard, before being led through the streets towards the Great Hall.
It was only a short walk to the Lord’s Hall, the city being less than half the size of Lienzberg. Traipsing through the streets with their full armour, and yet no weapons they felt oddly naked, especially with the manner in which they were scornfully watched. The guards marched them to the Lord’s Hall as if they were to be put on a charge. Markus was not yet used to the way a Lord should be treated but he understood that he was already being mocked, before the city’s Lord knew who he was.
As they approached the huge doors to the Hall, the guards at its entrance heaved them open, allowing them to pass through, a guard always before them.
“Stop here! You may take only two men into the Lord’s Chamber.”
“We are on the orders of the Count, not an enemy’s messenger,” said Markus.
“I do not care if you are Count Kohler himself, my Lord Holbein has strict orders as to those who wish to visit his chambers.”
Markus nodded to Bull and Vesart, he could already feel the hostility brewing. The Lord was sitting at a huge wooden table with six men and two women beside him, all nobles. He wore his daily finery and fur cloak and he clearly had no intention of going anywhere, as if he had never received the call to battle at all.
“Lord Holbein, I give you Lord Handel of Salbein!” shouted the guard.
The room went silent, the Lord squinting to try and recognise any of the three men before him. The nobles beside him looked in disgust, shaking their heads at the filthy clothing and armour of the knights. Markus could already tell that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
“Lord Holbein, I bring word from Count Klaus Kohler,” said Markus.
“What of it?” asked Holbein.
“He requests you travel immediately with all the men you can muster to the gates of Lienzberg, where our armies await battle.”
“I thought he would have gotten the message that we remain within our walls, by the lack of our presence!”
Th
e nobles around him laughed at the Lord’s words, but Markus disliked the man more for every second that passed.
“My Lord, the Count does not have a sense of humour when it comes to the safety of our Kingdom and all of our lives. I ask you again, please raise your army and march to the city.”
“You are starting to bore me, messenger boy. I have given my answer, and no man may tell me otherwise!”
“Then you disobey the King’s orders to battle, and refuse to fight for your country and its people?”
Holbein jumped up from his chair, shaking with rage.
“A Lord does not refuse an order, he chooses not to respond to a request! Lienzberg fell in a matter of days and the easterly lands of Werstria will soon fall with the coming of the spring! Only here, in the north, defended by the Salbeins to the south, and Blundon to the north, may we hold what little we have left!”
“Our people are fighting and dying so that you may live a peaceful existence, we are fighting for the very survival of our people and great nation, and you would do nothing?” Markus asked him.
“We will defend our lands and those to the east, we will not risk any men in a foolish battle to the west!”
“If the west falls to the Karsians you will not survive a year!”
“I have heard quite enough of your wisdom, Sir! I have rather more experience in these matters than a farmer who wears finery and calls himself a Lord!”
“Then I call you a fool and a coward!” shouted Markus.
“You would insult me in my own house! You are a pathetic excuse for a man. You are not a Lord, not a Knight! You are a peasant in a Lord’s armour! Guards, remove these men!”
“I will not leave empty handed!”
“You will leave by will or you will be sent to the dungeons for your insolence!”
“I am a Lord of Werstria, and will be treated as such! Any man who dares lay a hand on me will meet the same end as the Karsian scum that I have already despatched from this world!”
“Your words do not frighten me, boy! I am Lord here, and I will not tolerate this insolence any longer! Guards!”
The eight guards around the chamber approached Markus and his two friends with halberds. Looking at the finery of their clothing, and the manner in which they moved and held their weapons, it was clear that they had spent more time in the Lord’s Hall than on the training field.
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