Tale of Four

The snapping of leather echoed as Jeremy tightened the strap on Oliver’s chest plate, blowing on his hands afterwards, wincing when the air hit. "I’m done, Ser." Oliver nodded and did a final check of himself. A week had passed since arriving in Epton, and although numerous meetings had occurred, none of them had changed the plan of securing a path to the Waterway. Seeing nothing would change, Lord Alkaris called the march, finally getting the news that Lord Elvissia was leaning towards Prince Brandon’s coalition after word spread that Brandon had declared the Blackwells his enemy before they could choose to side with him.

’Why would he isolate himself from a potential ally?’ Oliver thought about it and quickly felt overwhelmed, trying to wonder what sort of political machinations occurred at such a high level. Instead, he pulled his sword and checked for damage, knowing it was what he should focus on instead.

"Ser," Jeremy said with a grunt, and looking to him, Oliver saw the young boy struggling to put on a backpack that was nearly double his size.

"Why did you fill it with so much stuff?" Oliver asked, laughing when the young boy fell over.

"We need it all. Food, spare boots, bandages, oils, wine, water stones, and cloaks." Oliver stared at Jeremy and shook his head, pushing him aside and throwing the bag open. Looking inside, he skimmed the belongings and couldn’t help but get more annoyed seeing that everything was actually useful. Even if Lord Alkaris would provide things such as food, medicines and items needed for maintenance, it was useful to bring your own.

"Listen. Split it into two bags, and I can carry my own things. All I need is for you to care for it whenever we stop the march and set up for camp." Jeremy nodded and ran off, looking around, stealing an unmarked packpack from a wagon. Oliver couldn’t help but grab his head and groan, but didn’t say anything, knowing he was rather poor at the moment.

"Ser Devon." A grumbling voice called out, and, turning, Oliver placed a hand on his chest and bowed as his fat lord approached.

"Lord Stoneheart." Turning to the fit man next to him, Oliver could barely make out the resemblance between the two. "And this is..."

"My son. Louis." Oliver bowed slightly deeper.

"I greet the young Lordling."

"Relax," Louis said with a friendly tone and looked to his father, "Would you excuse us, Father? I’m sure Lord Alkaris will need to speak to you about supply lines." His voice dragged by the end of his sentence, as he made up a lie to get Lord Stoneheart away.

The fat Lord smiled and smacked Louis back, "You’re right." Looking back at Oliver, his smile vanished as he stepped close. His fat hand wrapped around his shoulder, and leaning towards his ear, Oliver couldn’t help but be disgusted by the laboured breath that followed. "You and my other men better keep him safe." His voice was quiet. Pausing, he peeked back at Louis. "And do not embarrass him."

"Father, you mustn’t miss opportunities. You think Lord Goldvein would spend his time speaking to a knight?" Placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, he smiled.

"Don’t mention that fat bastard, Louis." Lord Stoneheart scoffed but turned around and quickly sped off as fast as his fat body could take him. Louis watched until he was out of sight before sighing and taking out a handkerchief, cleaning the hand that touched his father’s shoulder, then his shoulder before throwing it on the floor afterwards. "Forgive me for him."

"There is no need, Your-" Lousi stopped him.

"Just call me Louis. Your Grace or any other polite way takes too long. Come." Oliver nodded and grabbed the bag Jeremy had finished preparing, swinging it over his back. "I was there at the competition that brought you into my family’s services. You are quite skilled."

"Experience. My opponent could take a beating, but why he chose a flail as a weapon, I don’t know. A sword or spear would have been much better in a duel." Louis chuckled and nodded.

"There are few men who can skillfully use a flail, and even if they prefer blunt weapons, a mace or hammer is much better." Louis said, taking a momentary pause, "Why did you join my family’s services. We aren’t rich, and hardly any knights serve us anymore. There are so many better options."

"Permission to speak freely?" Oliver asked, getting a nod, "I needed some way to enter the noble world. Being a Lordless knight offers great freedom, but not much opportunity. Only by serving a Lord will I have the chance to earn good money and make a name for myself." Louis smirked with a dry laugh.

"So it’s all about money and prestige. What of the vows as a Knight?"

"I have been in a room with men for the past week, who have taken those vows and discussed how effective Lord Limbs’ pillaging will be. At this point, do they mean anything?" Oliver laughed at himself, "Don’t get me wrong, I will try and uphold the vows of honour, nobility and all that bullshit, but when fighting in a war, those things tend not to exist."

"You sound rather bitter."

"Not bitter, just disillusioned." Turning behind him and looking at Jeremy, he smiled, "He still has that idolised view that I had when I was a kid, but that’s because he ain’t fought. When you’re surrounded by men covered in mud, blood and shit, you realise that the vows are meaningless."

"Sad, I had looked forward to my first battle," Louis mockingly said, getting a chuckle from Oliver.

"I had a strange visit from a certain Lord." Louis raised an eyebrow and looked at Oliver strangely, "Lord Limb wished for me to suppress your father." Oliver watched the young man and found it strange when he didn’t show any anger or suspicion; instead, he looked ahead with a blank expression.

"Okay."

"You’re not mad?"

"Lord no," Louis said in shock, offended by the question, "My father is a fat fool, who believes he deserves more than he does. He is a man of these valleys and yet has never fought a day in his life. It’s embarrassing that I am even related to him. Our sigil is a stone hammer, the same type my ancestor used, and the only thing my father can lift is a fork." Louis cleared his throat and fiddled with the chainmail covering his wrists, "Forgive me."

"Is it all right to say all that to me?"

"It is no secret that I dislike my father. I hate that my mother is even married to him, considering how unfaithful he is." Oliver watched him, able to tell that Louis was saying what he did just to vent, knowing there was a chance Oliver would die and never repeat it. "I honestly admire Lord Limb for being able to do what he did to his family."

"That’s a dangerous thing to say."

"Then don’t say it. To anyone. After all, I will know." Oliver smirked.

"I will take it to my grave." Louis smiled and looked ahead at a group of knights waiting for them. There were only five, and Oliver looked around, recognising them from his brief time in Lord Stoneheart’s lands. Sharing a nod with them, Louis leaned the carriage again and looked around.

"My father will have ordered to give me all the credit for what you do in war. Don’t. Take the glory for yourself if you win any." The men smiled at Louis’s words. "Secondly, I don’t want to be coddled. I trained with many of you, you know my skill with a sword. I need to earn my own, and will do so on the field of battle. Protect me, but don’t make it your life." The men nodded again. Looking around, Louis smiled, "That’s all. I’ll make sure you’re all handsomely paid when we return. As for loot you scavenge, it is up to Lord Alkaris. If he gives the responsibility to me to decide, you can keep all your spoils, or give them to me to keep hold of."

Louis clapped his hands and turned to his horse. Slapping its body, he affectionately smiled before climbing up, "We ride in twenty minutes. If you need me, I will be outside the castle walls"

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Sitting atop his horse, Lord Limb stared ahead, the distant fire reflecting in his dull eyes. Screams echoed in the night, drowned out by laughter and the cracking of fire. Watching it all, seeing every murder and hearing every scream, his face didn’t change, unnerving the men beside him, who at least showed some sort of emotion, whether joy or disgust.

"Ser." One of them worked up the courage to speak, getting the pair of dead eyes to look at him. "I have received word. The second group of criminals is being sent to us. They will arrive in three days."

"Take two men to meet with them. My march doesn’t stop." His voice was flat, lacking anything that might have given away how he felt, if he even did. Receiving a bow for his order, he marched forward, looking around at the dead bodies of villagers and knights who had put up a struggle against his force. The heat of the desert was already harsh, but the fires that burned evaporated any moisture in the throat. Houses and farms were burnt, and whatever couldn’t be taken was destroyed.

The screams got louder as Lord Limb rode deeper into the village, and looking around, he saw a group of his men kicking down the door of an untouched house, running in only to hear more anguished cries. Going forward, he saw another group, dragging children towards the village centre, and throwing them in cages, leaving them to be surrounded by bodies, forced to watch what happened to their parents before being randomly chosen to join them.

Looking up to the moon, he sighed and reached for his horn, blowing hard into it to summon his men back to him. ’They are taking too long to enjoy themselves.’ Although it annoyed him, he found the results good, seeing that his plan would definitely make the Desert Lord hesitate to march out. ’Although some need survive.’

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