THE CROWN OF ASH

Chapter 5 : The Plan

Before sunrise and before the prince's departure, the pounding on Ray's door shattered the fragile quiet of the early morning. Jolted awake, Ray stumbled toward the door and swung it open. A stout dwarf, Ubba, stood before him, panting, his face flushed with urgency. 

"You've got to hear this," Ubba said, shoving his way inside. 

"What is it?" Ray demanded, his voice low but sharp. 

"Aiden," Ubba began, catching his breath. "He's leaving the city—heading east. Four wagons, fifty soldiers." 

From the shadows of the room, Klaus stirred. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, skepticism thick in his tone. 

"My aunt works in the castle," Ubba snapped. "She saw them preparing the wagons late last night and told me. It's happening." 

Ray's brow furrowed, his mind racing. Four wagons? Soldiers? His thoughts churned, and then his eyes widened in realization. 

Klaus noticed. "Don't even think about it," he warned. "You don't even have a horse to follow them." 

Ray grinned, a spark of rebellion lighting up his face. "Who says I'm following them?" He turned to the others. "Are you with me?" 

Meleys and Gunther exchanged a glance before nodding. "Till death," they said together and so did Klaus.

Ray looked back at Ubba. "Can you sneak us into the castle?" 

The dwarf groaned, rubbing his temples. "My aunt's going to kill me," he muttered. "She won't," Ray assured him. "Just this one favor."

Reluctantly, Ubba nodded. Before long, Ray, Klaus, Gunther, and Meleys were following him through the dim, quiet streets, the city still cloaked in the pre-dawn gloom. They slipped into Redcastle through a servants' entrance, hearts pounding as Ubba led them to the courtyard., four wagons stood ready, their contents hidden beneath thick rugs. 

Ray's gaze lingered on the wagons before he turned to his group. "Each of us takes a wagon," he said. "We split up. If we all pile into one, the soldiers will notice the extra weight." 

His friends nodded, each of them slipping into a separate wagon and hiding beneath the rugs. As Ray settled into his hiding spot, his hand brushed against something cold and unyielding. 

"Swords?" he whispered to himself, his pulse quickening. 

Moments later, the wagons began to roll out, leaving Redcastle behind. Beneath the rugs, Ray's mind raced. Aiden's plan was bigger than he'd imagined—but what could it mean? 

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By mid-afternoon, the convoy reached Mordow, one of three villages raided by the Bluebeard pirates just days ago. The scars of the attack were evident: homes burned to their frames, fields trampled, and the people hollow-eyed with despair. 

Prince Aiden dismounted his horse, his movements deliberate and calm as he faced the gathered villagers. "People of Mordow," he began, his voice steady and clear, "I come before you on behalf of the king and the royal family. I know your suffering, and I apologize for it. But I am here to promise you this: I will defend you—not with words, but with my sword." 

The villagers murmured among themselves, their expressions a mixture of hope and skepticism. A revered elder, Ulf, stepped forward, his voice laced with bitterness. "If you've brought food and water, save your effort, boy. We don't need pity." 

Aiden's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "Who said the wagons hold food or clothes?" 

With a nod, he signaled to his soldiers. The rugs were pulled back, revealing gleaming swords and shields. Gasps rippled through the crowd. 

The marshal, Gasper, froze in shock as Ray and his friends tumbled out from the wagons, their expressions a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. Gasper's hand flew to his sword. "They're the rioters!" he growled. "This is treasonous—" 

"They're under my command," Aiden interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He turned back to the villagers, ignoring the startled stares of Ray and his friends. "These weapons are for you," he declared. "If you are willing to defend your families and your homes, step forward. We will train you." 

A hush fell over the village as the weight of Aiden's words sank in. Then Ulf spoke, his voice heavy with doubt. "We don't know how to fight." 

"You will learn," Aiden assured him. "And you will not stand alone. The other villages—Weldor included—will receive the same." 

One by one, men and women stepped forward, their hesitation replaced by determination. A cheer rose from the crowd, the spark of resistant ignited. 

Ulf approached Aiden. "Come My Prince, Rest in my home, such as it is." 

Aiden inclined his head, then turned to Ray. "Follow me," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to talk." 

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Back in the throne hall of Redcastle, King Luken slouched on the wooden throne, the symbol of Soryn's frailty. His face was flushed with anger, his voice echoing off the walls. "You held a council, made plans, and acted without my authority!"

The chief minister, Sigurd, stood firm. "We needed to act quickly, Your Grace. The villages couldn't wait."

"And you broke the law!" the king roared. "You armed the lowborns. Swords in the hands of peasants!"

Chief Minister Sigurd stepped forward, his posture unwavering. "Your Grace, we acted with urgency," he began, his voice measured but clear. "The pirates continue to raid with impunity, and we cannot sit idly by. The first step is to capture some of them—imprison them—to learn their strategies and uncover their alliances. We must understand the world beyond Soryn, as our isolation has made us blind to the broader threats and opportunities. If we continue in ignorance, we're no better than prisoners, locked in a cage, unaware of the dangers that surround us. Perhaps... perhaps even deals can be struck to turn the tide. But without action, we're doomed to remain trapped." 

The High Priest raised his hands, his voice placating. "Perhaps the foundations need rebuilding, Your Grace. The people need hope, even if it means bending the law." 

King Luken's eyes burned with anger as he leaned forward, his voice low and venomous. "You don't understand. Sometimes a prison is safer than the illusion of freedom." 

The room fell silent. The councilors exchanged uneasy glances as the king continued, his tone eerily calm. 

"In a prison, you know your captors. You know the walls that confine you. But in the guise of liberty, you wander blindly, enslaved by fears you dare not name." 

The councilors shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, the king's drunken haze was replaced by a clarity that left them all unsettled.