<u>Chapter 49 - The First</u>


    Kalin pinched his neck and tugged on the skin. He relinquished much of his mental strength towards a sore throat and migraine. He''d lain awake night''s full duration while stuck within sweat dampened clothes and sheets. Morning saw him ill like he hadn''t been since childhood. Every joint in his body pleaded at him to lay down. Small movements became a pain. Eating hurt terribly. He''d barely swallowed two mouthfuls of lukewarm porridge before giving up, stomach upset at the lack of food.


    Kalin held his breath as an armorer strapped his pieces in place and pulled the latches to make sure everything fit tight. Polished armor shining beneath a blue sky. A cold morning. The Shining General, they call me. Kalin looked down at wings of the Silver Eagle on his breastplate as the armorer worked on his shin guards. He twitched with annoyance, recalling his duel with Kazir. A duel which he undoubtedly would have lost without Sar''tara''s intervention. He remembered taking off his armor after that fight. Remembered all the deep scratches made on his plate. The Eagle''s wings had been sliced to shreds.


    A new breastplate had been made since that time some eighteen years ago. But a shadow crept into Kalin''s mind now. Doubt plagued him. He''d only beaten Kazir with the aid of Sar''tara. And now, he planned to face the man alone. "He''s blind now. What''s there to fear?" Kalin muttered. But he swallowed regardless at the thought of dueling that man again, his sore throat not making things easier.


    "Pardon, my lord?" the armorer asked, working on the second shin guard.


    "Nothing," said Kalin. As if Kazir would even bother to take a duel now. Not when he felt he was in a superior position in this war. Not when he knew how damaged his opponent''s mental state would be after the vile schemes he''d pulled. He had no reason to risk everything on a duel.


    That isn''t your daughter, a tiny voice in Kalin''s head cried. A voice he just couldn''t bring himself to believe.


    "My lord?" the young lad asked, standing up. "Are you… well?"


    Everyone within the walls had already heard. Even non soldiers had climbed to the ramparts to get a glimpse of whom the enemy claimed was Elizia. The low on morale and all around dreary. Even those that were enraged and swore revenge faltered when seeing the body impaled there on the spear. Many had expressed their intent to run out the fortress gates and retrieve the corpse, but General Rask had ensured no one did any such thing. And so the soldiers were stuck, fighting on the walls with the knowledge that their future House Lord was very possibly dead and left out to rot for crows.


    All of them had admired Sar''tara, and she''d been felled. Then, when Elizia began reclaiming their hearts, Kazir had stolen her too.


    Kalin felt a surge of anxiety wash over him. His lips quivered and his hands shook. What would happen if Tara woke up now? She would hate him, inevitably, for failing to protect their daughter. For failing to keep safe the evidence of their love. He looked up at the very top of the castle, to the window where his room lay. It was a long way up. And a very long fall. A very enticing fall.


    "My lord?" the armorer asked again.


    Kalin blinked, as if just realizing that the lad was there. A breeze passed by, cold realization washing over him. Flames, what had I been thinking of? He realized his lips were turned down and he was slouching while standing. He couldn''t be like this. This version of Kalin wouldn''t inspire the soldiers. "I''m well son," he told the armorer, patting the boy''s shoulder and waving him away.


    Kalin stood up straight and wore a mask he hadn''t worn in a very long time. That of his stone face, emotionless. A face he''d worn before Sar''tara had entered and brought color to his otherwise grey life. An expression of calm and collectedness that made others around him believe that he had all the answers, that he was unbreakable.


    But they saw you cry last night, that whispering doubt reminded him. What good will this illusion do now when it''s already been dispelled?


    Kalin closed his eyes and took in a deep and painful breath, swallowing again, throat throbbing. He considered making his way to the medical ward for hot ginger tea, but the men on the walls had already begun firing arrows. The siege towers had to be moving. There was no time for a drink. Besides, it would only relieve his throat for a while anyway. He marched towards the ramparts. His knee and shoulder joints creaked like rusted door hinges. He grit his teeth and endured, climbing up the steps to the wall, thighs losing strength very fast.


    His body was not in fighting condition.


    ***


    Emeria climbed up to a height from where Lord Serene usually inspected the siege. The castle of Arcaeus Peak was built with a wide base at the bottom, and a narrowing top like the layers of a wedding cake. Emeria walked to the outer terrace of the third layer. The fourth and highest layer was where the duke''s quarters and office room was, as well as a few extra rooms that was lent to Emeria and Elizia when they spent time at the garrison.


    If the walls surrounding the fortress were about four storeys high, then where Emeria was now must have been at least twelve stories up in the air. She leaned over the stone. It was a very long way down. A dizzying sight. The people scrambling below were like tiny crumbs on an otherwise empty dish.


    The soldiers of House Serene seemed impressive when watched from this vantage point. They stood in closed ranks, their arms resplendent beneath the sun. But Emeria knew better. After what she''d seen the night before, they were anything but a force to be reckoned with. She''d been expecting to find Lord Serene on this level, inspecting the battle as usual. Not to comfort him, but rather to discuss if there was anything she could contribute in restoring the soldiers'' willpower.


    But no. The duke was down there, preparing to fight. "He''s angry," Emeria said. "This isn''t good."


    "Fighting at the front is certainly a risk," Irus commented, standing behind Emeria. She glanced his way. He was wearing a dark red uniform that marked him as a higher ranked Queen''s Guard. It seemed a size short with his muscles clearly defined through the cloth. A black cloak hung from his shoulders. Two more guards in blue uniform stood at the entrance leading back inside the castle. "But, I think it is a calculated risk. He knows the men are demoralized and need him present. Perhaps he can stir them to overcome their grief."


    "He''s the House lord. If he falters, is wounded even, then there will be nothing to support the soldiers from collapsing."


    "Your highness, you''ve little faith in the duke it seems. He''s stood tall as the bastion of Xenaria for decades now."


    "He also believes he''s lost his wife and daughter," Emeria said. "To the same man that sits with an army outside these walls too." She hugged herself unconsciously, remembering what it had been like to lose her own father years ago. It had taken months before she felt normal after that incident. "Lord Serene can''t possibly be functioning as his best self. Or even thinking rationally." Emeria couldn''t lose the man. She''d spent an increasing amount of time at Arcaeus since her father''s passing, seeing the place as a second home.


    "Should I ask someone to fetch a second cloak, your highness?" Irus asked.


    Emeria released her arms. "I''m not cold," she said. A wind passed by then, making her shiver and exposing her lie. She tightened the laces of her shirt, closing up the collars to protect her neck, and then buried her arms deeper into the cloak without wrapping it around herself. Something settled on her shoulders. She frowned at Irus as he placed his own cloak on her.


    "I take it you wish to watch the battle today?" he asked. He dusted away snow from the chest high stone barrier surrounding the terrace edge. Chest high for Emeria, anyway. For the knight, it was closer to waist level.


    Emeria said nothing, resting her arms on cleared, but still cold stone. She could hear shouting from the distance. Arrows were loosed into the air. They were like thin black lines drawn upon an already complete picture. The distant siege towers grew near as the man Emeria presumed to be the duke made his way to the ramparts. Soldiers gave way as he moved between them.


    "Trust in Lord Serene, princess," Irus said.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She nodded, chest feeling tight. She shivered again as another blast of wind brushed by.


    ***


    Seeing the impaled body again was near overwhelming. Kalin closed his fists, willing himself to watch Tarmia''s army march past the spear like it didn''t exist. Archers on the wall fired relentlessly. Empire soldiers crept up the incline, shields overhead and at the front. Hidden somewhere within those shell formations were ladders.


    Elsewhere, hundreds of strong armed men pulled three different towers, each man being guarded by another with shields wide enough to protect two. The massive wood structures inched towards the walls. That was where fighting would be at its thickest. Men manning ballistae fired at the towers, but its sides were reinforced with iron and the bolts did little damage to them. Few found cracks and likely damaged stairs inside, but not to the length that the towers would be useless. Firing on men pulling the towers hardly slowed them. Any man that was slain was quickly replaced by another.


    Kalin spat over the side of the wall, mouth tasting bitter. He drew his sword and clapped his soldiers on the back as he walked through the ranks. All of them were breathing hard, vapor clouds rising from their mouths and noses. Far down the pathway from the gates, Kalin spotted a gathering number of Tarmian men carrying what looked to be a thick log that had to be near a meter in circumference on a cart of some sort. Slabs of iron were nailed to the end of the front. A battering ram. This was the first time the Empire was using them. The iron fencing set into the dirt before the garrison gates seemed to have deterred them, but today, they were finally attacking the gate as well.


    Kalin felt hot beneath his armor. His rage grew, doing his migraine no favors. Kazir was going all out this day, likely having anticipated the dark mood within the fortress. House Serene''s army isn''t so weak. Kalin raised his sword to the air. "Stand strong oh sons of Xenaria!" he roared. It came out like an aged man''s ramblings, reedy and sort of hoarse. Like he was trying to shout but whisper at the same time. His sickness had taken his voice too.


    Luckily, raising his sword to the air turned the men''s attention to him. Through all the shouting and clamoring, they listened. Kalin cleared his throat, doing his best to keep a straight face from the tearing feeling within it. "Never have we given any ground to these invaders of Tarmia. Never have we ever faltered in a battle against them. Yet why now, do I see fear in your eyes? Why now do I see despair? You are men of Xenaria! Men of High House Serene. You are the wings of the Silver Eagle! And the Silver Eagle soars higher than any, has more pride than any, and is more fierce than any other. So stand tall, my kinsmen, my blood, my brothers! I assure you, that that thing down there," he pointed at the spear on the field, "is not my d— ack!" Kalin bent and coughed, throat itchy.


    No! Not now. Not this moment…


    Cutting off his speech at that moment made it seem like he didn''t quite believe his own words. Made it seem like he choked just when he was about to speak about his daughter. He cleared his throat again, eyes watering from the exacerbated pain of the soreness. He squeezed his eyes and forced them back, knowing full well his stone face illusion was now in utter ruins. He looked like he was crying for Elizia, which Flames knew he wanted to do, but that wasn''t what he was doing now. "That is not my daughter!" he cried. "So rest assured, sons of Xenaria, and fight! Fight, and I, your Shining General, the Silver Eagle, will carry you to a brighter future! For tomorrow!"


    The ensuing cheers were not as loud as Kalin expected. They held no passion. No fire. Nothing about it felt invigorating. But something else was there. Many of the soldiers glanced at the spear and frowned. Their faces twisted. Archers fired with more vigor. Spearmen stood straight. The gloomy atmosphere hadn''t been lifted, but tendrils of hate and wrath were intertwined within it now. Not the effect Kalin had been aiming for, but it would have to do.


    Ladders were thrown up and promptly kicked down by vigilant archers. Two of three siege towers grew dangerously close to the walls. "Back! Back!" Kalin tried crying, but his voice was weak again. Officers in the area shouted the same orders and the men obeyed, clearing some space and creating a wall of spears.


    Empire soldiers, both those within and outside the tower, shouted to each other. It stopped moving. The gangplank came down with a crash, dust clouds rising and billowing forth. The already damaged stone parapets crumbled. Tarmian soldiers screamed as they ran down and leapt onto the walls. The first of them were impaled by spears. Those coming down the gangplank were shot at by archers further behind.


    "March!" Xenarian officers cried. "Do not let them gain a foothold. Push them back into their towers."


    But it was easier said than done. More and more soldiers poured out of the towers like liquid spilling from a crack in a cup. Worse yet, they had proper armor. Some had shields too. Not every spear tip was finding its mark. They were blocked or glanced of armor pieces.


    Kalin cleared his throat a third time. "Swords! Swords!" he cried, as heavily armored Empire infantry slapped aside the spears with their blades and tore into Xenarian ranks on both sides of the gangplank. "Follow me, sons of Xenaria," Kalin said, charging forth. He stepped into the vanguard and swiftly severed a head. He screamed with his rasped voice and swung down in and ark, splitting a wooden shield in two, though barely wounding its bearer''s arm. Xenarian soldiers joined Kalin at the front and attacked, sword and shield in hand. Archers at the rear lines continued to fire at Tarmians pouring out of the tower.


    Kalin channeled all his might and experience into his movements. His vision wasn''t so clear and his head ached, but he was close enough to his enemies to see their movements, to step away from their attacks, and cut them down. He thrust his sword through one man, then pulled out and parried a blow from another, holding the enemy in a lock while an ally cut him down. Playing with enemy vision, he strode forth before both dead enemies fell on their backs and swept his blade in a horizontal arc. Tarmians behind their falling allies saw the attack too late as Kalin had timed the attack just right, slitting three throats in a single sweep.


    But regardless of how many he slayed in how short a time, he wasn''t making any ground forward on the walls. Mounting corpses before his feet made moving difficult and an increasing number of enemies climbed the siege towers and spilled on to the walls. Their numbers didn''t end and Kalin, in his sickly state, was wearing down fast. From the corner of his eye, he saw a rank of enemy crossbowmen marching up the incline. With the vast majority of Xenarian archers in the surrounding area focused on the siege towers, Tarmian archers were free to walk up to the walls and return fire.


    Kalin cursed, doing his best to ignore his throbbing head and throat. He attacked on, suffering cuts on his arms and face. He tore deeper into the enemy foothold, blood and gore flying everywhere, including into his open and gasping mouth. He awkwardly stepped over corpses and hacked, breathing hard —nearly choking even with how constrained his throat was beginning to get. Somehow, against all odds, he found himself standing before the gangplank and staring down the pouring flood. Xenarian soldiers cheered, standing at his side and driving back the Empire''s forces. "Archers below!" Kalin tried to warn. With the foothold regained, his archers could focus on the enemy''s crossbowmen.


    But his voice betrayed him again.


    A wave of bolts flew up, most missing, but enough hitting to drop three men and wound two more. Xenarians archers now turned their attention down below, but a second line of Tarmian crossbowmen took aim while the first reloaded, and fired. A wave of Xenarians cried out as they fell over the walls. Lines thinned, Kalin had no choice but to step back and give away the regained foothold.


    He saw strange flags marching towards the walls mixed in with the Red Hand of the Empire. Flags he''d heard of but hadn''t seen in person. Among them, a white banner with a black circle, and another one completely red but with a black turtle image on it. Banners of accomplished mercenary groups well known for their uncanny fighting styles that brought them frequent victories. They were approaching the siege tower with an intent to climb it.


    Kalin began screaming, but his burning lungs stopped him midway. His anger was no longer granting him strength. His attacks became slogged. The inside of his chest felt seared. And exhaustion mounted. He deflected a thrust and cut off an enemy''s arm. Shouldering the man back, he spun to dodge a stroke, retaliating with a sweep, sending the assailer falling in a spray of blood and chainmail links.


    A bolt from below struck Kalin''s thick bicep. He stumbled to the side from the impact. A blade edge arced towards his neck. He brought his own weapon up with one arm to parry, but it was blown back easily. Iron bit into his neck, scratching it. Tired and dazed, Kalin stepped back. The same enemy before him attacked his side next. Kalin saw the blade sweep towards him in slow motion. It tore into the latches of his breastplate and passed the mail beneath it, and skin beneath that. The impact made him tilt to the side, mouth open and gasping from pain. He fell upon an ally, who looked down at him in horror.


    "Lord Serene!" the soldier cried. He pulled Kalin backwards and into the arms of more allies. Indiscriminate bolts from below whizzed past, striking both Xenarians and Tarmians alike. Some Empire soldiers leaned over the edge of the walls and cried for the crossbowmen to stop firing, claiming that a foothold had been secured.


    The words made Kalin furious. He''d be damned if he let the Empire encroach upon the walls of this garrison. He tried standing but failed. His soldiers cried out his name and dragged him backwards. He felt warmth roll down his side. His right arm ached from the bolt embedded there. "I have to fight," he murmured, world swimming around him. After all, he had to lead and inspire. If he wasn''t at the front now when his soldiers were in dire need of mental encouragement, then the lines would collapse. "Let me go," he tried, tugging against those pulling him away.


    Kalin saw the clear blue sky as he was carried on his back. Dark birds flew overhead. They flapped their wings and circled the garrison. They were crows, not eagles. Kalin''s skin was slick with blood and sweat, and also tears. Every part of his body pulsed with pain. He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to writhe as he was carried down the rampart stairs.


    "Take him to the medical ward! Now!" someone said.


    Wind passed along the top of Kalin''s head and across his face, chilling him now that his heart wasn''t beating as hard and heating his body. The soldiers carrying him tried their best to hurry while being gentle. He blinked, trying get a glimpse of the fighting on the walls. Despair dug its noxious claws into his thoughts. The enemy foothold was growing. Banners bearing the Red Hand had been put up. Word of it would spread among the Xenarian soldiers all around the walls, further demoralizing them. Word of his fall at the front lines would spread.


    The first of House Serene to lose Arcaeus Peak. His entire life was naught but a string of failures it seemed.


    Kalin squeezed his wet eyes shut.