The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Red Traitor

 The sight of his army is a source of pride for Olsen Ryd. The Red Mountain flag waving over a forest of spears and pikes held by columns of soldiers marching at his whim made him feel like the Lord and commander he was born to be. Instead of wearing the rags that he wore when he was but the petty third son, he now wore the same armor that his father wore in the Corasian War, and that his grandfather wore during the Spartican Incursion and the Rorchistyr Rebellion. It was mostly black with red plates on the shoulders and chest. Behind his flowed a red cloak with the mountain in the center. At his side was a scarlet helm, which he elected not to wear on this ride. He rode with his red, curly hair and a smug grin on his thin, freckly face.

At his side rode his accomplice, Felix Carry. A mildly-built man who possessed a sour attitude since they were children, he was not dressed well. He despised 'proper' attire, and just wore brown leather with a sword at his side, with a wooden shield at his side with a crude red mountain painted on it. Despite the rather ragged look, Olsen Ryd made him the second-in-command of the two thousand men marching towards Talonwood. He would be glad to torch that place. Years ago, he tried to court Kiley Talonwood, and she instead was drawn to Allan the second oldest of the three Ryd brothers. For years he was the family doormat, but no more. Now he was the Lord of Rydstone Keep, and soon he along with the Morcar forces will take Raingaurd and put Horith Ryden's head on a spike.

"Lord Olsen," said a rider coming up along-side the conqueror of Rydstone.

"Jyarvik. Good morning to you," he greeted happily.

"And to you," Jarvik wore a simple grey robe. His long hair had grey streaks, but his eyes were a bright, crystal blue, "You seem to be in high spirits today."

"There's no reason not to be. Today we are marching into the pages of history. Jyarvik, my friend, soon our names will be sung in songs across the world, his mouth curly into a bigger grin and reviled his white teeth, "And the names of my brothers will fade like the lowliest beggar."

Jyarvik was unimpressed by his confidence. Or he may have been. Olsen barely ever saw any emotion in the man, "I've known you for months, and I've never seen you smile, old boy!"

The gray-clad man shot his a disapproving look, "Oh, come. Felix! Is it not time our old boy gave us a smile?"

Felix scowled at the cheerful Olsen "The only things that make me smile is a nice bottle of ale and a fine whore. I've had neither since we left Rydstone."

"By Rathas' grace, you two are as dim as this weather," with each breath, the air around their mouth fogged up for a brief moment.

"Just remember you have not won yet," Jyarvik warned, "And storming into a man's chamber and slaughtering his squire does not make you a conqueror."

Olsen laughed, "No, getting five thousand men to surrender is what made me a conqueror. Even you must admit, it was a plan executed to perfection."

"Maybe, but Clayton Blackwell is a young-blood, with no taste of battle in his life. At Talonwood you will be facing Rengle Fallaner."

"Him and his skeleton army of farmers and sellswords," Olsen joked.

"Rengle is famous even on the other side of Gariel's Wall. He turned back an army of a million with only a hundred."

"A gross exaggeration."

"And his men are battle-hardened, as are the Userians who fight for him. The Litici armies are the not the untrained rabble they used to be in centuries past. Do not underestimate him, or your tenant as Lord of Rydstone may end more quickly than your believe."