Mortance: A Miscarriage of Hope

Angus Ⅶ

Ser Philip peeled off for the Caldera two miles from Untot. I rode on towards the battle with Ser Aaron and Ser Roderick, praying to the Sacred One we weren't too late. The village had fallen under siege, according to the repenting sinners, but I knew that could only last so long. Hopefully they'll be ready to fight back by the time we arrive, I thought. Three knights could never stand alone against some seven-hundred elves, but if the villagers helped, we might be able to hold out long enough for Ser Philip to bring reinforcements. The plan was to take them in the rear with the element of surprise, but I hadn't expected the fight to start without me.

"They're already fighting," Ser Aaron yelled out as we rode towards the battlefield. I could smell the blood and death even from far away. It was already stronger than the smell of the coming rain.

"I know," I said. "I see it."

My horse Victor thundered across the burnt fields towards the army. Ser Aaron and Ser Roderick rode together beside me atop a brown mare. "Change of plans?" The latter asked.

"Not by much," I reached down and pulled a horn from the saddlebag. "Follow my lead. We'll cleave a path to the gate and join the villagers there."

"As you say, your highness," Ser Aaron said. Ser Roderick nodded along with him and pulled his bow off his back. I steadied myself on Victor and brushed my hair from my eyes; it had grown longer in captivity. Supremacy hung from my hip, sharp and ready for a fresh coat of elf blood. That blood will never dry until Untot is freed, I vowed. Prince Angus Kingson would win his first battle today, and so would begin Sacreon's journey to victory in the Thousand-Year War. It was said that would fall on Ascenday, when the moons are both full, I remembered. Is that today? I'd lost track of time since we'd been betrayed, but it hardly mattered now anyway. All that mattered was the army before us and the bloodshed they were causing.

Ser Roderick shot an arrow through the eye of the first elf we saw. He was a scout, and he was dead. I glanced back to see him nocking another arrow. This one was for the next scout, a bit farther away. He fell too, but there was a third scout closer to the army. "He's out of range," the knight yelled to me. "They'll know we're here."

"So they will," I nodded and raised the horn to my lips. "They'll all know."

The blast was deafening. They must've heard it all the way at the Caldera. My eardrums rang still as I lowered the horn and stored it away again. The prince of Sacreon is here, I thought. Any elf what wears the colors of Elsinct will leave the battlefield a corpse or a prisoner, I care not which. The boast needn't be said aloud; it hung in the air regardless. Every elf knew what fate befell those at the wrong end of Supremacy.

And so we plunged into battle. Despite the horn, no more than half the elves actually turned to face our approach. It hardly mattered which way they were facing, though. They all died indiscriminately. Mounted atop an armored horse and wielding a blade of ryn, I was all but invincible. I cut a path through the horde, and my knights supported me from behind with arrows.

Adrenaline rushed through my blood. I felt higher than I'd ever been. As enemy after enemy charged at me and died, a smile grew on my face. All this death was wrong, but it felt so right. Blood and water exploded around me as Victor galloped through the shallow river and on towards the gate. Yes, I thought. Fear me. I am invincible. I am unstoppable. I am the doom of Elsinct. No elf can stand against Prince Angus Kingson of Sacreon.

It was all so perfect, just as glorious as I imagined it... until Victor buckled beneath me, and suddenly I was on the ground.

By all rights, I should've been swarmed by the elves and brutally murdered. Arrows flew from twenty directions to save me from that fate. I was on my feet as quick as I could be. Three elves were already facing me with their blades drawn. It was only then that I realized how close we were to the walls of Untot.