"Resources are the life blood of a nation, specifically its ability to feed its people. The moment that a ruler is full while their people starve, is the moment a nation has failed." - On the Subject of Nations by King Abeau Desramaux III.

Hein stood still, just outside of the King's Tent, his thumbs fidgeting amongst themselves behind his back. He had awoken feeling refreshed this morning, and then he had his morning cocktail. Typically, the combination of salve, liquor, and blood ensured his mornings continued on uninterrupted; however, this morning's medical refreshment had made his body react... well he was not quite sure how it made his body react, but he knew it was not how it was supposed to after just one sip. There had been other reports by various captains, barons, and counts that some of the soldiers had been growing ill, with the numbers seeming to increase at alarming rates. Two such captains from the camp of the Baron van de Wituilen - a noble who oversaw a patch of one-hundred square miles within the Duchy of Obbinkerloo  renowned for the white owls that lived there - even reported several fatalities. Many blamed the ghosts of the Garlieaux, the fateful House whose name and bones haunted the plains they trekked. This was, of course, nothing more than superstition, but the message the old prince had put together was simple: there is something traveling through their ranks swiftly and deftly, causing many to be concerned for their own safety. Finally, after feeling his composure was good enough to present, he allowed the tent flap open and Hein walked in.

King Phillipe stood over a desk, several reports sprawled out in front of him.

"Ah, Hein, please come in."

"My King." Hein observed as his cousin-by-marriage slowly raised his head to meet the old prince's eyes.

"Hein."

"Hello Phillipe." The old prince had still struggled to adjust his behavior toward and mannerisms in the presence of Phillipe to be more casual. I will certainly need regular reminding, perhaps for the rest of my life. The old prince thought to himself.

"Take a look at these reports will you."

"Yes, of course." Scouring through the parchment in his hand, he made out a series of numbers and weights - gallons. They were water tables. Water they carried with them, where they could source; it dwindled, naturally, as their soldiers consumed the water while they continued their march. They also drank alcohol, actually there were a few liquids they carried with them: milk, goat's milk specifically thanks to the small herd they traveled with so that they might make cheese. Different types of liquor, emerald and sapphire wine, and an abundance of oil for cooking. Hein slowly perused the tables.

"Everything seems to be in order, we have lost a few of the goats, but I do seem to recall the scent of mutton a few nights ago."

"Look closer. What can you tell me about the amount of water we have?"

"By my estimates, we will exhaust our supply before we reach Pelaresse, but this was expected. We will simply refill from the River Boum."

"Well, I fear we will have to draw sooner than that. Take a look at these other reports." With some trepidation, the old prince picked through the other pieces of parchment on the desk in front of him. They were letters from some of the same captains and barons who had written to him personally. These are more recent, an entire company has been lost to this mystery ailment.

"Casualties."

"Yes. Since we began our march north, it would seem many of our soldiers have begun to fall ill. I am unsure of the total numbers, as these reports are the first I have heard of this." Hein swallowed hard.

"This is not the first I have heard of this, Phillipe. For the past three days I have been getting similar reports, many giving me numbers of those who have fallen ill as well as fatalities. Going through these more recent reports of yours, I estimate..." The old prince gave pause to tally the casualties. Five-no, ten-thousand have been reported sick, one-thousand --

"Ten-thousand have already fallen ill with a reported one-thousand dead. In such a short interval, this can only get worse." King Phillipe let out a deep sigh and placed his fists on the desk.

"Gods damnit. I suspect you are of a similar mind to me, then, as to the culprit?"

"I presume you assume it is something in the water."

"Do you disagree?"

"No. It rained harshly two nights ago, forcing us to slosh through muck. Even without that happening, it does not take much for the water supply to become contaminated if not carefully watched. Dysentery is often the greatest bane of any army on the march."

"You believe it is dysentery?" The young king leaned his upper body back slightly, his arms crossing in front of him as he gave a contemplative look.

"Based on the reported symptoms, yes. Though the spread has been more rapid than I would have expected, but then again, the loss of potable water could have happened sooner than the rain storm and the muck just made it all worse."

"What is your recommendation, cousin?" The old prince continued to look down at the parchment in front of him as he thought through the possible options. Daily boiling of the water - could help, but would require extra time, cords of wood, and manpower. There are so few trees on these plains, we would soon run out of wood and be back where we started. This also assumes boiling the water destroys whatever is causing the disease. No. Best to start from scratch.

"I recommend we call a meeting with the rest of the nobility in camp. This should be brought to everyone's attention and discussed openly as it affects all of us a great deal. But, ultimately, we should dump our current stored water and refill from the river."

"Very well, I shall call one for this afternoon. Might I change our conversation to a new subject, while you are still here? I was curious about your own supply."

"My own...? Oh, yes, my medicines. Yes, I have been managing on rations. Taking it every other day at first, and now every other third day. It is... I am managing."

"They more than likely will have some of your medicine in Lebatou, it is only a week long ride south. Would you like to head back and resupply before rejoining us?"

"If - if that is what my king... if that is what you wish."

"I am asking you, Hein. You know yourself best. We still have another three weeks at least before we reach Pelaresse at least. Are you going to make it? I cannot have you dying on me."

"No, you have made that abundantly clear. Umm." The old prince followed hard, bits of green mucus descending down his throat. "I will be alright, please, do not concern yourself of me. You have enough on your mind." Phillipe let out a short laugh as he leaned back up against the table.

"Yes, I certainly do. It is incredible."

"What is?"

"Power structures."

"Of... what?"

"Everything. I always assumed my father had complete control over his vassals. He could do what he wanted when he wanted. Command the people, retaliate against slights. But... that could not be further from the truth. He never had unchecked powers, nobility that would move to execute his every whim."

"They do fall in behind you."

"Yes, yes they do, thanks to contracts and oaths of fealty. But, as can be seen with current affairs, they do not always mean anything. We are in the middle of a civil war, Hein, and if we win, it will be difficult for us to rebuild. I will have to put that load back onto my vassals and they will have to put it on their vassals, who will put it on their vassals, and ultimately it will all rest on the people. This war is going to cost a lot of money, and money that we may not have. An entire city burned to the ground? I cannot begin to imagine how much that will cost the crown. My very first command as Emperor might be to raise tithes, that will certainly go over poorly. Thank you all for dying and fighting for me, now give me your coin. How much could I even expect to collect?" The young king looked to his advisor for advise, a sorrowful look having taken over his eyes.

"Realistically? Fifty to sixty percent." Hein watched as the stress of the situation brought low the king's shoulders as he slumped his head forward.

"So to get what I need, I shall have to demand double."

"Yes. A smart ruler knows to ask for more, knowing they will get closer to what they actually desire. But, I know you have not collected any taxes since your coronation."

"No, I have not. The idea of demanding coin from those who might be yet unconvinced of supporting me does not seem like a good one. I can only imagine how my uncle would spin around, calling me greedy and out of touch with the needs of my subjects. So, I have been bleeding through what is in the treasury. Fortunately, thanks to forty years of piece, my father was able to build the treasury up nicely - though a recent report from Renault informed me that a descent some cannot be accounted for, no doubt stolen by agents of my uncle. If all drags on for too long, the realm will go bankrupt."

"Phillipe, if I may. We are not going to see prosperity in our empire for at least another decade, and that is a conservative estimate. I would say we should expect fifteen years, perhaps even twenty. The country side has been torn apart as armies march through demanding supplies and soldiers. Any stock was taken, and fields will yield lower results in the coming years thanks to the depopulation done by deaths in combat. About a fifth to a quarter of all villages are marching in armies, and we can expect almost half of them to parish on and off the battlefield." Prince Hein watched as his words hit the brain of his liege. Phillipe's eyes began to sink into his skull, a deep frown overcame his facial features as his eyebrows went up at the center and down at the ends.

"So, then what do we do?"

"Phillipe, you are worrying far sooner than you need to about such eventualities. We have to win the war first." Phillipe's face snapped back into reality at that moment.

"Right. Winning the war. Let us do that."

"It is important to think ahead, Phillipe, but you should not get lost in the fate of the future while the present happens around you."

"Wise words. This is why I need you alive, Hein. You truly are my greatest council."

"Thank you, Phillipe. Would you like me to disperse the summons to the dukes and duchesses?"

"Yes, please. We shall meet on horseback just outside the north side of camp."

"Why on horseback?" The king gave the old prince a knowing look. "Ah, yes. I will do so. Until then."

Prince Hein exited the tent, his hands now by his side, thumbs still figeting. He stiffled a cough.

Seated on their horses within a circle were the primary nobility of the Southern Desravank Front. King Phillipe, with Prince Hein to his right, Duchess Zoe, Duke Serge, High Chief Blazing Arrow, Duchess Nadine, Prince Thijn, Duchess Heleen, Duchess Belle, and then Duke Henri at the king's left side. Phillipe glanced around at all of those before him. Traitors and new friends, all of which had bent the knee and sworn their loyalty, their fealty to the King and Emperor who can offer them no guarantee that they have ultimately chosen the right side.

"Thank you for gathering on such short notice." Phillipe began.

"In times like these, short notice is the norm." Nadine noted.

"Thank you, Nadine. With respect to that notion of brevity, allow me to get straight to the point. You all, I presume, have also come to the same conclusion I have recently that there is a problem with our water supply. Perhaps it is disease, or," Phillipe allowed his eyes to wander between his subjects, gaging their levels of shown reactions to the words he spoke. "Or, foul play."

"Such as?" Nadine inquired.

"Poison."

"Poison?" Duke Serge did nothing to hide his shock and disgust with such an accusation. The rest of the nobles in the circle gave varying levels of surprised faces.

"You believe someone has poisoned our water supply?" Serge continued on with the same tonality as before, his hands clenched tight around the reins of his horse.

"It is merely a theory." The king replied.

"Well, I must say, Your Highness, that it is a silly theory." Henri added in.

"Why is it so silly? We are fighting a well connected foe, a foe that has no objections to underhanded tactics like poison and assassinations."

"Who among us here would poison the water supply? Why do such a thing? We all drink from it." Phillipe narrowed his eyes at Henri.

"An excellent question, Henri. Why would someone poison the water supply of an army of over ninety-five thousand soldiers marching north with the intentions of clashing with another force of equal strength? Not to mention, some of those within our ranks only until just recently served the other side."

"I am hurt and insulted that you would imply such a thing, my Lord." Henri sat up taller upon his saddle, an expression of having just had his heart ripped out came over his face.

"I am not insinuating that it was any one of you. For all we know, the perpetrator laced the water and then absconded. But, perhaps this is not the line of thought we should explore at this moment. After all, it very well could be some form of infection that has made its way through our camp due to water that has, for lack of a better word, spoiled. However, our ignorance to the cause does not change the fact that the water which we travel with is no longer potable and must be disposed of. Hein, what are the numbers just over the last two days?" Hein perked up, his mind ready to dispense information.

"Ten-thousand have fallen ill to varying degrees. Our priests of Darion are doing all that they can to keep up with demand, but there are so many." Hein fell silent for a moment, locking eyes with Phillipe as if to ask a question. Go on, Phillipe thought to himself, let them know how bad it has gotten in so short a time.

"Another estimated one-thousand have already succumbed to whatever it is that is ailing us. The first reports started coming in sometime yesterday morning after the first few sudden deaths. With a great deal of investigation through all traveling camps, I have narrowed the source down to our barrels of water. They carry a distinct odor that can only be described as swampy and rotten while much of our food stores remains well kept - very little has spoiled thanks to the preservation methods of our quartermasters and those two priests of Clarion from the Mannes." King Phillipe allowed the information from his cousin by marriage to sink in with those around him. Not only the severity of the situation, but also to admire the swiftness of his work and discoveries.

"At this rate, by the time we reach Pelaresse, half of our force will be sick and dead. We must therefore dispose of our water." The young king spoke after he felt adequate time had passed.

"Perhaps we could be of help, Phillipe, Son and King." The attention of all then turned to that of Blazing Arrow. "My troop and I have traveled with our own water supply, each warrior being tasked with carrying their own. We have seen no indications of illness and have no reason to believe that our supplies have been contaminated. It will also take us far less time to reach the River Boum to the east, resupply ourselves, and return with the army than it would for us all to travel east."

"What are you suggesting?" Phillipe asked.

"Take our reserves. We have, perhaps enough for all of you for another three days. If you can make that stretch to a week, we will have more than enough time to reach the river, refill our supplies and yours, and meet back with you further north. This way, we do not lose travel time."

"Are you sure you are alright making this sacrifice for us, Blazing Arrow, Mother, Chief, and High Chief?"

"Phillipe, Son and King. We are allies, and allies help one another. It is a simple fact that you will not make it to Pelaresse in time to help your other allies if you go to the River Boum."

"Can we really trust that water from a centaur will be clean?" the Duchess Belle spoke with a nasally tone that seemed almost forced so as to enhance the condescension in her words.

"Yes, we can." Duke Serge answered the duchess' question, failing to hide his agitation with her. "Ten years ago, I found myself stranded in the Trentenn woods, and if it were not for the Mannes tribes to nurse me back to health, I would not be here today. Not only is it clean, but I firmly believe their water contains healing magic."

"Thank you for that, Duke Serge. Do you require any more reassurances, Duchess Belle?" Phillipe gave the old duchess plenty of time to muster up an answer, he could see the frustration in her face that her insult did not go untested.

"Forgive me, but I trust the words of House Garlen less than I do the cleanliness of centaur. I will take my chances with my own water." Before Serge could fully unsheathe his sword, the young king raised his right hand to stop the duke.

"That is fine, Duchess, you are within your rights to do so. That leaves more of their water for the rest of us. Are there any other objections to this plan?"

"No, and now that we have a plan, I believe we should return to the thought path of who is poisoning our water."

"Duchess Nadine, we do not know for certain that it is poison. I was merely speculating." Phillipe responded to the duchess' passionate statement, taking note of her direct focus on the Duchess Belle.

"Yes you do." Silence fell over the group as they all glanced around one another nervously. The Duchess Nadine frowned and sighed deeply.

"Why must we play this game. People are falling ill and dying at alarming rates, this observation is per your own investigation, King Phillipe and Prince Hein. Dysentery is the bane of any marching force, and it does act quickly but not this quickly. It must, therefore, be poison. A slow agent, perhaps an attempt to make us assume dysentery or some other disease, but it is poison all the same.

"We will have to spend time testing the water. Save some from our current stock, label it as toxic, and we shall see what is causing this terror in our camp."

"You plan to scoop some water and, test it for poison?"

"Yes, duchess." Phillipe could tell the duchess was exhausted already with this conversation, his direct use of her title effectively telling her his decision had been made.

"Very well. If that is what my King wishes to do with his time, then that is what shall be done. However, I do not see the sense it all, when I can tell him with certainty that it must be poison. There is no other explanation."

"How can you be so certain? And by whom are we being poisoned, then, if you are so certain?"

"I do believe our King so eloquently implied it earlier." A sly grin came across the Duchess Obbinkerloo's face as she raised her right eyebrow to her king.

"I resent that." Duke Henri said, his posture remaining as rigid as it was before, his brow furrowed deeper and pointed at Nadine. "I bent my knee. I reaffirmed my oath!"

"Yes, well, we all are capable of lying, are we not?"

"I have pledged ten thousand of my own people, after you had cut down ten thousand already! Such accusations are baseless and come from a place of deep seated prejudice, and I will not allow myself to be slandered."

"There are two of you that used to serve another king. Perhaps Henri speaks the truth, but he is not the only who I accuse."

"Must we really listen to the unsubstantiated claims of a whore?" the Duchess Licon sleuthed her gaze over to meet Nadine's. Once again, King Phillipe felt himself forced to stop an all our brawl.

"I would gladly save you from your ears, or perhaps rid the rest of us of your tongue if you would prefer." Prince Thijn said as he slowly drew his sword.

"Silence, all of you. Let us all calm down." King Phillipe spoke with some new found authority, his arms outstretched as if he could stop the ensuing battle physically. "Duchess Belle, you are dismissed." The old duchess' eyes went wide as she placed her right hand to her heart.

"But my king. I still have much I could say, much I could contribute to this - "

"You have said and contributed plenty and I thank you for your words. Now, you are dismissed. In fact, this meeting is officially adjourned. We have a plan of action. Blazing Arrow, Mother, Chief, and High Chief, I thank you and your tribes in advance. Hein and the rest will travel with you back to your people to help coordinate which of our camps will get what amount of water as well as where we will regroup in six days time."

"My the gods guide your path." Blazing Arrow bowed her head at the neck, Phillipe returned the gesture. Prince Hein followed the high chief slowly, allowing the other nobility to filter in behind him as they made their way to the Mannes camp.

"Duchess Nadine, if I may speak with you just a moment." Pealing off from the group, the Duchess Nadine Obbink coaxed her horse to approach and then stop right before him.

"Yes, my king?"

"Who do you believe has poisoned the water?"

"Did I not make it obvious enough?" The young king inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through his nostrils.

"Is this merely a grudge you have towards House De Licon? It is clear the two of you do not care for one another."

"I can see why my king would reach such a conclusion, but the answer is no. She made it abundantly clear when we took Licon who she serves, and it is not you. I suspect, given the chance, she would take an action such as poisoning the water supply, even if it meant her own death."

"Do you have spies in her camp?"

"Of course. Do not worry, they shall find what we need to find."

"I should let you know that I do not condone such use of espionage between my vassals."

"Why? Have you not spies in my camp?"

"I do not." Phillipe noted the rapid alteration between expressions in the duchess' face as an immediate response to his statement. First, confusion, then inquisitive, doubtful, and finally, disappointed realization.

"My king, may I be candid?"

"You may."

"You are a fool and an idiot if you are not spying on your own people."

"I have reason to trust my people."

"People? I misspoke. I do not mean the farmer plowing their field, or the smith crafting nails for the carpenter. I mean your vassals." King Phillipe thought on this for a moment. Not trust my vassals? If I do not trust my vassals, how can I ever expect to get anything done as their ruler? A good leader must trust their people, otherwise paranoia will get the better of them. Or at least, that was his father's thinking.

"Have you given me reason to distrust you?"

"Not yet." Nadine locked eyes with Phillipe. He took the opportunity to attempt to see passed her veneer. Perhaps she was lying. Would her eyes tell him so?

"Well. Until that day comes, I will not have spies in your camp."

"I see. So my king does have spies in other camps then, yes?"

"Why would I admit such things to you?" Nadine let out a light chuckle in response to this, prompting the king to throw some of her words from earlier back at the duchess. "People are capable of lying, are they not?"

"Yes, they are. Allow me and my people to aid you in your investigation of the water. Perhaps we will discover a more pleasant truth than the one I expect to be. Until then... come Thijn. My shoulders are killing me, what do you say we return to our tent and you give me a good rub down?" A large smirk took over the old prince's face.

"Nothing would make me happier, my love." The two turned to leave, but Prince Thijn stopped suddenly and turned to his liege.

"King Phillipe, you have married a good person."

"What?"

"The Queen, my niece. She is a wonderful person, and I trust you will treat her as such." Phillipe's head craned back slightly, his eyes fell as if to ask a question.

"I have every intention of doing so."

"Good. Perhaps you can learn a few things from me. I am always willing to teach." Sending his eyebrows now in the opposite direction, the young king could not imagine what the old prince had meant by this, but was certain it came from a caring and familial place in his heart.

"It is appreciated, Prince Thijn. Uncle." Prince Thijn let out a truncated laugh at this.

"He calls me uncle. Well, nephew, allow me to leave you with your thoughts, then. I am sure you have quite a lot to think over."

The morning air was humid. Prince Hein awoke suddenly, stretched out, yawned, and froze. Ears twitching slightly, he listened closely to the sounds coming from beyond his tent. Screaming. Clashing of steel. Training? Drills. No. Why would they be running drills at this hour? Drills had been reserved strictly for their mid-day stop. It had been four days since they swapped out their water supplies, and already the health of their soldiers had been improving, though, the effect was still being felt. Fifteen-thousand sick, four-thousand dead over the course of just two weeks.

He continued to listen. The noises grew in intensity. Fear as a motivator, he scrambled from his bed, threw on his tunic and brigandine, nearly toppling himself, and attached his sword belt to his waist. Breathing heavily, a lump formed in his throat forcing him to swallow hard. No, I will not be a burden. The old prince thought to himself.

Bursting from his tent, his eyes were met with nothing but dust and debris. Adjusting his eyes to the sunlight, careening around with sweat already dripping from his face, he watched as soldiers fought. But who were they fighting? One such spearmen baring a black and white gambeson traded spear thrusts with another, wearing green. The peryton! Licon? It was in that moment as he watched the peryton spear exit the back of the head of the soldier in black and white. Shock and horror ran through his veins. They were being attacked, they were being attacked from within. Hearing running from behind him, Hein whipped around drawing his sword to face whatever approached. Relieved, he saw a soldier wearing the sanguine colors of Serge and Garlennes, their hands clenched firmly around the hilt of a claymore.

"Prince Hein!" The soldier lowered their claymore slightly, their voice was a mid-pitch and gruff, likely from all of the dust inhalation. It was difficult to make out facial features through it all, but they appeared to be masculine with an a chain gorget on their neck.

"Yes. What is happening?"

"We have been betrayed." Hein coughed with a harshness that could stumble a horse. Gripping his chest, he felt the mucus begin to build up from deep within.

"Betrayed... no, it does not make any sense. Why would they... we outnumber them! Unless..." Hein continued to do the math in his mind. The only soldiers that had fallen ill were from House Garlen, Pascellet, Obbink, and Dietma. None from House De Licon or Batelle suffered. Nadine was right. Nadine was right! The old prince began to wheeze through his labored breath. Righting himself, he went to follow the claymore wielding soldier, only to see the only weapon that soldier bore was a knife deep within their chest. Collapsing to the ground, a soldier in the blues of Lebatou walked forward, knife coated to the hilt in Garlen crimson in their left and hatchet begging to be used in their right. Hands shaking, Hein reached for his sword and ripped it from its scabbard. He licked his lips, sweat draining down his face. He wiped his eyes swiftly, reopening them just in time to see the soldier came forward in a flash. Prince Hein ducked to the side, clenching his eyes shut as he felt - nothing. He missed. He missed! Turning back around, he swung his sword wildly but once again felt nothing, his sword striking only the air. As the enemy combatant staggered away, the two made eye contact. Hein choked down a glob of mucus. I will not be a burden. Racing forward, with his sword raised, the old prince feinted to the right and struck at the left, slashing the traitorous fool across the chest. Letting out a sharp grunt, he gripped his chest and fell to the ground. Hein raised his sword to finish him off, and instead landed a glob of green mucus over the dying mans face as he hacked up that which he had kept in for so long.

Prince Hein ran back into his tent and tore open his chest. Medicine, medicine, where is the medicine. This could not happen during combat, during battle. What if he fell? Come on, come on. Where is it? Where is it? His thoughts following with the frantic nature of his futile search, screaming internally. It was not there. Where was it? Where was his bottle of medicine? He knew he had left it - and then he saw it. Raising it, a chill ran down his spine as his heart rate slowed for a moment. Empty. He could have sworn their was enough. He had been rationing, keeping track. He thought he had had enough. But, the image before his eyes told no lies. An empty glass bottle. His heart began to race once again, faster and faster as his vision started to blur. Blinking faster and faster, the old prince slowly brought himself to stand - he would not allow himself to pass out, he would not faint.

Sheathing his sword, he steadied himself by wrapping both arms around the central tent post. It was then the tent walls behind him were ripped down as a new enemy stumbled in. Blood careening down its fur, matting it with clots, stood the thing of legends. That which his ancestors had used to conquer their foes - a mighty Bullman of the Linten in the Forests of Boum. The creature was easily seven feet tall, horns caked with gory scraps of its fallen foes. Skin, hair, and blood of some misfortunate sole had been left behind to mark where the owner had died. It gnashed its teeth and licked its lips as its eyes fell upon the frail old prince before it. But, it was wounded. Two spears protruded from it, one in its back and the other in its left side - most likely the source of its stumbling. Hooves scraped across the dirt floor. One, two, three slow steps forward, their eyes never leaving one another's. Hein retched. Green sludge erupted from his face to meet the wide open eyes of the beast before him. Surprised and equally disgusted, the creature stumbled back, tripped, and fell directly backwards. A sound cracked bones came forth as the spear in its back was compelled through its chest thanks to the force of their fall. It let out a long, raspy moan that eventually switched to a gurgle, and then nothing.

The old prince sat down. This could only mean one thing. Rikkert had successfully negotiated with the Forests of Boum. The Linten fought for him. How could he have convinced them? They had made it very clear that they would never again fight for a human. And yet, here they were. Fighting, and dying, for a human, for a Biljvank. Hein attempted to stand, his knees buckled, and he colapsed once more. Managing to roll himself onto his back, his eyes glossed over as he stared up at the remains of his tent. Sounds of battle reverberated all around him: the roaring of bull men, the blowing of horns, the clashing of steel, and the grunts of those dying. Perhaps this was where he dies, too. Hein struggled to keep his eyes open, and finally, everything went black.

"No you fools! Keep in your lines! Circles! Schiltron! By the Gods. Bershion himself has cursed us." Duchess Nadine Obbink turned around, cursing the name of the god of war. Axe in her right hand, shield in her left, her infamous plate armor was nowhere to be seen. With the surprise attack that greeted them this morning in lieu of their usual breakfast, she was forced to don nothing but her gambeson. However, during the heat of combat, she was able to repurpose a chainmail shirt from a slain foe. Barking orders at her retinue and any soldiers or captains that could hear her, one of her knights came running up to her.

"My Lady." The duchess did not bother to get a good look at him to discern who she was speaking with.

"What?"

"We have confirmed reports. It is the forces of Lebatou and Licon as well as warriors from the Linten tribes. They must have crossed the River de la Garlieaux last night without us knowing."

"Yes, well, that much is obvious. Our lack of knowledge and foresight is what makes this a surprise attack and an ambush!"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Do not stare at me. Go out. Make your rounds. Gather captains. Get everyone up! I will not have us be slaughtered in our sleep!" It was in that moment, just as Nadine turned her head back towards the battle at hand, she heard a scream from her right. Whirling back, she watched as the knight she had just been talking to collapsed to the ground, an arrow protruding from his left eye. The duchess rolled her eyes and muttered to herself.

"Gods be damned. Gods be damned!"

A wave of bull men came rushing forward.

"Shields up, spears out!" But it was too late, they collided with her soldiers. Smashing through their shields, horns piercing bodies, axes cleaving heads.

"Damn this day and damn all of House De Licon!" The duchess ran forward, ducked beneath the charging horns of a wild bull man and slashed behind her, cleaving the arm off at the elbow as the creature howled in pain. She continued forward, not feeling compelled to finish off the poor creature. Searching for her next target, she found her way to two soldiers emblazoned with the scythe on blues of House Batelle.

"Where is your bastard of a duke?" She screamed at them. They both immediately turned to face her, weapons gripped with white knuckles.

"Wherever he needs to be, my lady." The soldier named her with a mocking tone and a false curtsy. They then focused the points of their spears on her.

"Oh for fucks sake." Smashing the spears to the side with her shield, she ran the length of them. Head butting one, she heaved her axe to slash the face of the other, turned, and stabbed downward with the tip of her axe. The fool underneath her gurgled her last as she whipped around at the call of her name.

"Duchess Nadine Obbink! Whore of the South!" Turning with a freshly fueled fire in her eyes, the Duchess Nadine locked her gaze with the Duchess Belle De Licon. Clearly the traitorous duchess had had more time in preparation for this bout, as was evidenced by her peryton gambeson beneath chain mail, her bascinet affixed to her head, and splint vambraces and chausses protecting her limbs.

"You will pay for what you have done to my House, to my family." Belle spoke with raised sword, point extended out to Nadine.

"The only family which owes a debt is yours, Belle. Your grandfather is the reason I am alive today, and is the reason you and your family will cease to exist."

The two women charged at each other, weapons drawn. Nadine feinted to the left, ducked, spun, and went to slash from left to right in an upward motion but was taken aback as the Duchess Licon leapt to her left, guessing the feint and striking downward with her sword. Lifting her shield, Nadine blocked the assault and jumped backwards. The two women now circled one another with just enough distance between them, jaws clenched and eyes focused onto their opponents.

"I have been wanting this for a very long time, Nadine. When I kill you, your son will be next. That bastard between you and Prince Thijn. Or, was it with your husband? Had you been a faithful wife all along?"

"My marital matters are of no concern to you." Nadine gave a snorted laugh and continued. "Forgive me for laughing, but it is quite comical that any member of House De Licon would believe that they have the moral high ground when it comes to marital affairs."

"Your family has lied about and slandered my family for three generations now, and I will not have any more of it."

"It is only lies and slander if it is not true."

"You bitch!"

The two lunged at each other once again, Nadine this time foreseeing a swipe from the right, leapt backward to block with her shield. She returned by coming from above with her axe, meeting the shield of Duchess Belle, imbedding the head deep within the wood. This forced the women to be pulled close together, face to face. Clenching their jaws at one another, they were close enough that Nadine could hear Belle grinding her teeth in front of her. Belle went for a cheap stab, which Nadine quickly swatted away with her shield, then head butted the duchess, sending her stumbling back as she let up her shield. Axe still embedded, the Duchess Obbinkerloo found herself somehow wielding two shields, though not in conventional ways. Nadine grunted in frustration, throwing her own shield to the ground to then rip off the shield emblazoned with the peryton, donning it for herself. Belle let out a forced laugh.

"Just like a whore Obbink, you take from House De Licon and claim it as your own."

"I am only taking that which was so freely given by one that would have otherwise forced themselves on me." Rage boiled as the two women once again went forward.

Nadine preemptively raised her shield to block an attack from the left, but was wrong in her estimations. Belle feinted to the right, side stepped, and slashed upwards. The force of the strike caused Nadine to stumble backwards. Blood did not splatter, as the chain mail and gambeson had done their job, but it allowed Belle an opening to lunge forward with a strike that otherwise would have pierced her in the belly. Had she not managed to turn to her right and block with the peryton, Belle would have ran her through.

Leaping backwards, only to spring forwards off her back leg, Nadine came with a downward swing of her axe. Belle spun to her right, but, rather than slashing her foe, gripped the peryton shield with all of her might and tore it from Nadine's arms. The sudden shift in her body from the force of the pull sent Nadine down to the ground. The Peryton Duchess reattached her shield to her left arm and rushed the now downed Duchess Obbinkerloo. Rolling to her right, the duchess dodged the downward arch of Belle's sword. Stumbling back to her feet with great speed, Nadine reared her arm back for another strike from her axe but was shocked to find her face making contact with a shield. Clutching her now bleeding nose with her left hand, the duchess wobbled back, only to receive another blow from the shield this time directed at her chest. Flying back, the Duchess Obbinkerloo was now sprawled out on the ground, her axe just out of reach. She breathed heavily, spat out some blood, and cursed.

"Gods... have damned... this... day..." The Duchess Belle slowly walked forward, attempting to catch her breath as she now spoke.

"I have to admit... Nadine. I had expected... a little better. Though, it was still a good fight. The Peryton, will always beat the Bull." The Duchess De Licon stood triumphantly over the blood covered duchess of black and white. Her sword's blade rested on her right shoulder, a flash of victory across her eyes.

"Is that so?" Reaching to her left, grabbing at whatever it met, Nadine found the severed foot of a very unfortunate knight or levy and hefted it forward, effectively kicking the Great Peryton in the face. Dropping her sword and shield as she went to clutch her face, Belle arched herself as she brought a leg back to steady herself. A loud, yet muffled, grunt came from under her hands.

"YOU WHORE!" Quickly reaching down to grab her sword, the peryton duchess rushed forward with such impulse that she lacked the time to right herself fully. This worked to Nadine's advantage, as she was able to kick up at Belle's chest, nearly forcing her to the ground. Jumping back up, the duchess of black and white was able to return with an axe strike from the right, having taken the time Belle's face was covered to recover her axe. Belle leapt back and came forth with an attempted stab, forcing Nadine to parry with her axe, spin, and find herself back to back with her greatest foe. The two women then spun, two left handed punches aimed for their enemies head met only knuckles. Backing away, they shook out their stunned hands and grunted.

"You pack quite the punch." Belle sputtered out, eyes focused on her hand that looked as though it were frozen open.

"I know." Ignoring the pain in her own hand, Nadine lunged forward again, feinting with a swing to the right, pulling back, and stabbing. Though, much to her dismay, her eyes had lost contact with Belle just long enough for the hilt of Belle's sword to smash her collar bone. Feeling and hearing the snap, Nadine was forced to stop her motion as her body involuntarily winced, opening it up for the kick to her chest the peryton had prepared for her. The Duchess Obbinkerloo once again found herself sprawled out on her back, a searing pain coursed through her upper chest and right shoulder with any attempted movement from that arm. Looking to her right, Nadine reached for her axe, but the pain from her injury inhibited the full extent of her arm.

The two women breathed heavily as the battle commenced around them. Screams, horns, the roar of the Bullmen. Belle walked over slowly and placed her foot on Nadine's chest.

"Well, Nadine. This seems to be an all too familiar position for members of your family it would seem. And now you die, like the whore you are. Legs spread, on your back, and about to be penetrated for the last time."

Nadine closed her eyes as Belle raised her sword high, aimed to bring the point down on the Duchess Obberinkloo's sternum. Waiting for the sound of crunching bone, what she heard next instead surprised her. A grunt, and a scream, followed shortly by a light thud, and then a loud thud mixed with the clanging of chainmail as the weight of Belle's foot left her chest. Opening her eyes and looking up, she saw the body of the Duchess Belle De Licon, head a foot away. Standing before her now, longsword in hand, and extending a hand to bring her up, was Prince Thijn Biljvank. He grabbed her, lifted her, and embraced her.

"My love. Forgive me for saying this, but none shall penetrate you but myself." Nadine gritted her teeth to ignore the pain as she brought her right arm around to smack his face. His head remained resolute, leaving no sign of impact save for the handprint on the left side of his head.

"You really could not let that go?"

"She was going to kill you, so I saw it necessary to free her shoulders from the weight of her head."

"It was certainly not much weight to lose. But... thank you, my love." The duchess watched the wave of emotion fall over the old prince's eyes as she spoke those words. My love. Such a hopeless romantic, she could not believe she allowed herself to say such a thing back to him.

"Come, my love. We have managed to create a small safe haven for the injured. I will take you there."

"No. I must command - "

"You must rest. We have cornered most of the forces of Licon and are making good headway in rounding up those of Lebatou."

"What of the Linten?"

"They are the primary concern now."

"How many have fallen? How many injured?"

"We will worry about that in the aftermath, please, let me take you to safety. You are bleeding a lot from your nose and must be scarred across your face and chest."

"What makes you think I am scarred across my chest?"

"Nothing, I would just like to check."

"You really think now is an appropriate time to ogle my tits?" Thijn gave no answer, as a smile came across both of their faces. "I would kiss you now, you old fool, were it not for the blood." Thijn planted his lips on hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, then closed in the safety of his embrace. The two looked into each others eyes.

"That must have been disgusting." Nadine said.

"I am not going to say anything about it. But please, let us grab your axe and go."

A row of halberds faced out, as a mixture of levy and knights dug the ends of the shafts deep into the ground behind them. Holding firm, the points of their weapons rose from the ground at forty-five degree angles. Twenty of them in total stood in front of King Phillipe, whose sword was extended while a hastily attached breastplate protected his torso over a gambeson. The Bull Men of the Forests of Boum rushed forward. Mythical horrors and yet some of the mightiest warriors to walk this region of Yarucasna. Large, strong, and fierce. Of course, something must contain these elements if they wished to survive within the Forests of Boum, spending each day amongst the other monstrosities that roamed there. It was said that a druid oversaw the forest, cultivating the strong and culling the weak; all to protect the forests and the creatures that reside within from any outside harm. Any who so much as touch a tree can expect an unwanted visit that same night.

A row of ten Bull Men came rushing forward into the halberds. Half of them fell immediately, but their moment from their charge sent them onward still, snapping wooden poles in half as their corpses crushed the halberd bearer. Screams of pain were made murkier with the sounds of crushing bones. It was then the young king recalled a teaching. He remembered what little he knew of the Linten, that they would fight amongst each other when a unanimous decision could not be made about who would lead them. They lived by the rule of might, as did most residents of those woods. So, as the stragglers on both sides continued the fight, Phillipe leapt forward and into the fray, his sword raised high. Charging the nearest Linten he could see, he slashed the creature across the throat followed by a pommel to its head with his shield. Whirling himself around, he brought his shield back round in just enough time to block the cleave of an axe. The young king gutted the belly of his assailant with a swipe from left to right. As the creature let out a shriek, he silenced it swiftly with a piercing blow through its gaping maw. Jumping back from the crash zone, he watched as first a trickle of blood hit the ground in front of hooves, followed by the dull wet plunge of organs into the dirt, and finally the surprisingly quiet thud as the corpse impacted the ground. Eyes wide, the young king stared blankly at the slow growth of a pool of blood beneath his slain foe. Snapping himself back to reality, he scanned the surrounding area and found nothing but chaos.

A three sided conflict? He thought to himself. No doubt, he could easily make out the colors of the peryton, along with the blues of the scythe. House De Licon and House Batelle were certainly behind this onslaught - though, such a betrayal could have been more easily handled had it just been the two of them. The sudden arrival of the Linten has worked tremendously in their enemies favor. Phillipe clenched his jaw and looked for his next foe. It was then he saw one Bull man amongst the rest. Taller, wider, with scars up and down their arms and torso, a necklace adorned with horns draped around his neck - it jangled heavily with every swing of his weapon. More than likely the horns were taken from fallen foe. This must be their leader. He reasoned. What is mightier than slaying your own people, challengers no doubt, and wearing their bones as trophies?

He raced forward, dodging to the left as the blow from a stray axe came descending down, landing in the mud. As the creature wielding it attempted to pull the head back out from the earth, made muddy with blood, the king swiped from the back, reared back, and ran them through, the point of his sword poking out the other side. Unsheathing from his target, the king spun back and slashed at the back of the warriors knee, letting him collapse with a soft, cruel moan. Phillipe continued on, allowing the fallen beast to bleed out. The king kept onward, ducking passed as a spear was hefted in his direction, the would-be-killer bearing the great peryton on her chest. Before he could respond in kind, an arrow poked out from behind her neck, her thorax severed by its point. Not slowing down as he ran backwards, the king then turned round to find himself fast approaching his intended - the decorated warrior of the Linten. The creature grunted.

"You fight well, little human. But your kind have never been a true match for ours. I will feast upon your flesh once I sap the life from it." The necklaced warrior said this as he snapped the neck of a solider in black and gold, their body hitting the floor, eyes wide open and still. Clenching the hilt of his sword, whipping his face to the side so that the sweat would fly off, King Phillipe took a wide stance, presenting his shield and keeping his sword back in reserve.

"Ahh, defensive. Good, good. I love when I must break through, it makes the scattering of your bones all the more enjoyable." The decorated leader of the Linten reared back and charged, horns prepared to bring about the demise of any in his path. A moment before impact, Phillipe leapt to the right and slashed downwards, grazing his blade across the back of this beast. Pulling his head up, the creature turned and bellowed.

"And you fight back! Good, this will be a good death for you, human." Another bull man approached from the side, axe raised high to cleave.

"Halt, this one is mine." The secondary bull man squinted at the other, snorted, and raised their axe once more high about their head to strike. The decorated Linten, with deft hands, grabbed the axe from his subordinate, tossing it far away and, more than likely, into another unfortunate target. The confused bull man only had enough time to glance to the thief of their weapon before the decorated Linten's own axe was dug deep into their skull. There was no sound and there was no scream. They simply collapsed, dead, axe protruding from their head.

"Well, now you have me at a disadvantage, human. I am unarmed. But it makes no difference to me." Charging forward, the presumed leader of the Linten extended his hands, as sharp clawed fingers came raining down upon Phillipe's head. Raising his shield just in time, his ears cowered at the sound of the claws scraping wood. Pulling back, the two circled one another. As they circled, the Linten retrieved his axe from its resting place.

"I suppose at this point I should get to know your name. You have stopped two of my blows already, that is respectable."

"I am Phillipe Desramaux, King of the Desravank Empire."

"This is fitting. I am Menelaus, Chief of the Linten." So the stories were true, it truly is rule of might. The other Linten was more than willing to betray the command of their leader, and met the fatal consequences of that. If I win this duel, perhaps I could bring a quick end to this fray. Assuming I can win, that is. The two combatants threw themselves at one another, one utilizing brain and the other brawn. Menelaus opened by heaving his axe downward, forcing Phillipe to adjust his maneuvers. Jumping backwards and inadvertently raising his arm forward, the axe became buried in the king's shield, allowing the chief to rip it off of him. Menelaus simply rotated his axe, gripped the shield, and shattered it off of the axe head. These few seconds of distraction, however, gave Phillipe the opening needed to strike. He came forward and slashed: once, twice, thrice. Menelaus fluttered backwards, arms up to protect himself as now cuts dug deeper and deeper into his forearms. He grunted wildly and flung his unarmed hand outwards, smacking the young king in the face and sending him reeling. The two examined their wounds, Phillipe felt the claw marks that ran across his cheek. Chief of the Linten, Menelaus ran to the corpse of a foe, tore off half their gambeson, and used it to bandage his forearms. It was by this point, Phillipe realized that some of the fighting had died down around them in the most immediate vicinity - a small crowd seemed to have formed around them. Neither side was willing to continue the fight as their two leaders attempted to bring it to an end.

Bounding forward once again, Menelaus brought his axe high, causing Phillipe to jump back. This allowed the chief to plant his next step forward and utilize the momentum to halt his arm mid-swing, pulling it back and come back around with a swing from the right. Spinning to dodge the blow, the chief just barely nicked the king in his side. Falling to one knee, Phillipe could hear the guttural laugh of the chief of the Bull Men as he slowly approached. However, Phillipe landed precisely where he had desired to land, his left hand slowly gripping the handle of the hatchet on the ground. Just as the chief began yet another downward swing, King Phillipe rotated on his knee, and cleaved across the stomach of Menelaus with first his sword, following close behind with the blade of the small axe. Stopping mid-motion, his arms went limp, though his axe still fell to the ground. Phillipe rotated back, pulled his right arm passed his torso, and stabbed his sword from the right side through the left side of the bull man. As he pulled his sword out the young king raised the hatchet above his head and buried it into the skull of Chief Menelaus of the Linten. The creature before him collapsed into a heap, limbs twitching slightly. With crowd still watching on, the sounds of battle seemed to slowly die down. Phillipe walked over, placed one foot on the shoulder of the fallen chief and yanked with all of his might the hatchet out of his head. Making eye contact with any member of the Linten he could see, the king turned and, with the hatchet, hacked off the right horn. Raising it high in the sky, Phillipe cried out.

"Bull Men of the Linten Tribe! I have vanquished your chief! I hold high above me his horn! Lay down your weapons, lay down your arms! I lead you now!" Hesitation overcame the crowd, and then, the sound rang out like a cacophony. A symphony of surrender, as Bull Men and levy alike slowly laid down their arms, until all that remained of House De Licon, Batelle, and the Linten were unarmed, hands and heads down in surrender.