Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 51 - CIVIL WAR

  The oppressive darkness of the hours before dawn clung to the world with a dreary weight as dukes Carter Wrighton, Lucas Benjamin, and Samuel Ebonny stood beside their horses in the heart of the camp. Their hearts pounded in anticipation, nearly audible over the cold autumn breeze that swept in from the sea causing the provincial standards to flap and flutter around them, dramatically displaying their colors and crests to the world. A decade of planning, arguing, building and rationalizing had led them to this final, culminating moment; the war they had so often dreaded was now unavoidable since the death of King Castius. They had long sought a peaceful solution to their grievances, despite the overwhelming evidence of Castius' cruelty, but with the power vacuum created by his death, they had no choice except to act immediately. It had been hoped that Governor Bradley's reputation as a lazy descendant of old money, whose family had maintained control over Shaleport since before the formation of The United Kingdom of Verden, as it had been officially known in the century since the fall of the dragons, would be reflected in his decision making when given the opportunity to maintain his position as a condition of surrender. He had rebuffed the proposal, preferring to drag out negotiations without outright declaring himself against the resistance, forcing their hand to initiate hostilities themselves before the Grand Army of Verden could reinforce Shaleport.

To the best of their knowledge, Governor Bradley's sudden nerve and skill in negotiation were, in large part, due to the council of his Captain, Barclay, who had led the guard regiment of Shaleport over the last decade. By all accounts, he was an exemplary leader, strong in the ways his liege lord was not, and had earned the undying loyalty of the men under his command. If they were to force the city to surrender, they feared it would be under the order of the captain, not the governor. He would have to be captured or killed swiftly after entering the city if they hoped to end the siege with minimal casualties.

It had been nearly two hours since Hal and Ezrael had set off to infiltrate Shaleport and even longer since Duke Carter had quietly slipped away with his regiment to position for a strike from the east. All that remained was for the three dukes to lead their armies toward the fortified walls of the city and draw the attention and fire of the waiting guardsmen. It was the duty of their forces to sacrifice their lives to keep the defenders of Shaleport focused in their direction and away from the Eastern Gate that Hal and Ezrael were to sabotage.

Duke Lucas loosened and retightened his bracers for the hundredth time since he had first donned them, glancing sidelong at Samuel and Percival beside him. Percival stood tall and proud, his face calm and composed as ever, if he held any fear in his heart for the coming charge he did not show it. Samuel, so much younger and more inexperienced than the other dukes was unable to hide the powerful emotions swirling inside him. His jaw was clenched so tight that Lucas feared the man's teeth would shatter in his mouth. Samuel's skin was a pale white that almost seemed to glow under the fading light of the moons as they began to set below the horizon, making way for the daily ascent of the sun that would take their place within the next hours. His hands shook as he sheathed his sword causing the metal to rattle audibly against the slender scabbard that hung from his hip. Pity filled Lucas as he beheld the terrified duke, who was no more than a handful of years older than his daughter and nephew at most, and instinctually he stepped closer to offer some measure of comfort; with effort, he stopped himself before he spoke. While significantly younger than the other dukes in the resistance, with the exception of Anthony of course who had been suddenly thrust into his role after the murder of his father, Samuel was an equal to them in every way and Lucas knew that if he worded his comfort poorly it would shatter the younger man's carefully cultivated image and confidence.

"Samuel, would you mind checking the straps on my breastplate?" Lucas gestured helplessly toward one of the many leather bands that stretched between the fitted metal of his armor. Samuel nodded wordlessly, a look of great relief washing over his face at the chance to focus on such a mundane task, even if just for a moment.