THE PRINCE OF VELMYRIA

  The snow was beginning to melt, Cassius thought as he crested the hill. The chill was slowly dissipating, and the cloak was beginning to become scratchy. Yet whenever he pulled it off, he was forced to don it again as it became too cold.

  “Truly the dilemma of the gods,” Syr Garlan joked. Worst of all, the rest of them laughed. It was truly an embarrassing time for him.

  Cassius did have to let them have the laugh. They were wearing full battle armour that was baking them in the heat, even as it was dyed white. Cassius was wearing lighter armour. Still full Rammsteel but it was thinner and lighter than theirs. He also had less padding underneath.

  Yet he still felt validated as he had a heavier and thicker cloak than them. And his armor was pure black, with only a few streaks of milky white veins coursing through his armor.

  Cassius wiped his face with his gloved hand, and he could feel the sweat seeping through the thick moleskin. They’d already taken their helmets off, and a fair bit of their leathers.

  Months of rain and I leave, and the gods decide to use the stars to cook the Earth like a chicken, he cursed. The puddles from the rains were still scattered through the landscape, and the marches were turned into pure mud.

  It was becoming a pain to travel through, even a chariot would be better than marching through these marches.

  They were heading for Lion’s Hold, seat of House Dien. They were a two week ride from Ina, and Cassius was happy to visit his aunt, Lady Irene.

  Cassius could barely remember the last time they met, maybe half a year ago, when he called Lord Edward to court to answer for his bannerman’s crime, and the bastard sent his aunt instead of attending himself.

  They’d make for the main castle in six days. Last night, they had two choices, to either keep going the quicker route and camp on the plains or make the longer route and stay at Castle Tartor.

  Cassius eventually chose Castle Tartor. They had already camped in the plains three times already, and Lanvari troops were nearing dangerously close to their camps, and the safety of a Castle would serve them well.

  They would however be forced to still camp under the stars for one more night, and it could be the most dangerous. The lands were known to be raided often by the Lanvari…

  He wanted to keep a march. Most of the men had horses, and the rest were small enough of a group that they could ride with the rest or the carts or double up on the horses. He was truly considering it.

  A non-stop march would probably run them dry of energy, yet it was safer than being run dry of their freedom. He did not want to die like his grandfather had, all those decades ago. He always deferred to his council for these decisions, and the war had never forced him to make these decisions on the ride to and from Ina. so he deferred to sar Garlan.

  He rode closer to the Custodiaus Knight, “Sar Garlan, I must ask for your advice,” he said, trying to keep his courtly teachings in mind, “Should we do a forced march through the night and half the next day to Castle Tartor?”

  The knight considered his words, and the two rode in silence for a moment. The noise of their horses, and the two hundred men behind them filled Cassius’s ears. “I do think it would increase our safety, your grace.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  “And it could also make half the men collapse from pure tiredness, and not to even speak of the horses.” The horses were the true issue. Cassius could force men to march until they fell and died, but their horses were more stubborn. If they were tired, the horse would deny moving forward anymore. “Give me an answer, sar. Should I order a march?”

  The knight did not answer for two miles or so. Then, with a sigh, he finally broke his silence, “I will advise that we do, your grace,” he said bluntly, “but I also know of the risks. I suppose we can keep the horses moving for a few more hours-maybe an entire day if we break during the afternoon.” he shifted his mouth to the side of face and sucked in his cheeks. “I suggest we do, your grace. We set camp an hour ahead, break for two hours, then ride once again.”

  “Do we know the way, sar?”

  “We can, your grace, the moon will be bright tonight, and if we have the guards ready, we can hold lanterns.”

  “Thank you, sar Garlan,” Cassius said with a nod and a smile, “Your council is greatly appreciated.” Cassius looked ahead, and saw a clearing where the mud abruptly ended. “There!” he told sar Garlan, pointing, “We set camp there, tell the rest of them.”

  “Yes, your grace,” the knight responded, and slowed his horse, until sar Torren rode nearer to him, and whispered the orders into his ear. Sar Torren nodded, and turned to give the orders as sar Garlan sped up to take his place beside Cassius.

  Cassius sat on his horse with sar Garlan, sar Torren, sar Desmund and sar Aragone watching as the serfs set up the camp. A fire pit to cook some of the food they had brought, and twenty men took the horses to let them feed-except for theirs.

  “I want to break camp and leave at sundown,” Cassius told the four knights, “no later.” The knights were happy to oblige. By their estimates, sundown would begin in about five or so hours.

  Cassius sat inside a small tent, a table was placed inside, with a map of the continent laid across it. Syr Garlan and Cassius’s swords were put on the ends to stop it from curling back up as it had been.

  Their route was constantly changing with the territorial changes and battles. Fort Darin was not a safe haven anymore, under siege. Castle Horn, under siege. Fort Edmure, under siege. Is there a damn fort or castle that isn’t under siege? War was war-yes-but eighty miles south of the border should not be under risk of raiding.

  Lion’s Hold was living up to its name as lord Dien had kept his castle safe, and most of his lands, and by proxy Cassius’s lands, out of invasion. Yet, even lord Dien’s hundred thousand could only keep hold over his lands for so long.

  “If we leave castle Tartor in two days, we can cross the Redwyne without issue, your grace,” sar Desmund said, pointing to the Redwyne river, “After that, Lanvari men can’t pose a real threat to us. We’ll be free to ride through the hills without worry all the way to Lion’s Hold.”

  The Redwyne was the longest river on the peninsula and basically made the peninsula into its own island of sorts. There were only two real crossings; the Redwyne bridge, and the Twin Towers. The Towers were basically useless to Cassius, the bridge was collapsed-along with the towers-the castle was abandoned and lord Harven Swaenn’s banner flew over it.

  “Aren’t the Crocodiles migrating to the Redwyne this time of year?” Cassius asked. He was always frightened of the big cunts, they were big enough to eat a man whole, and the biggest of them could even run a man down on foot every time.

  “They are…your grace,” sar Aragone replied. And a silence fell over the room. Everyone of them remembered the last time they met face to face with one of them. The bellow that sent a chill down their spines and made their bones vibrate like a drum. Even the horses barely saved them that day…

  “Is there another way, sars?” Cassius’s voice was barely a whisper. “Or do we have to brace?”

  “There are no other ways, your grace.”

  Cassius took a moment. “Fuck it, we’ll make the crossing.”

  The knights nodded. “Yes, your grace,” sar Garlan replied, nodding his head. His tone was dead and his eyes were deep with the memory of what they witnessed the last time.

  “I want the crossing made quick. Anything that would slow us down, take them on the long way to Ina, we can take the quick. way” If they were forced to wait for the carts, every serf and all, they’d get run down and innocent people would die even quicker. “We’ll ride at sunrise, and keep the pace quick and steady.”

  “Yes, your grace.”