The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Fifty-Two: The Tide Turns

The messenger came late in the morning, but the word was already in the ears of everyman in the Prince's army. The victory at Rainguard and the routing of Wroc Maegarc's army were now distant afterthoughts to the news that came from the west. Tauron did not believe it. He could not believe it. He waited in the council chambers of Rainguard until official word from the front reached him. Out west between Talonwood and Rainguard was Rainchild, occupied by Martin Bailor's forces, about two thousand men. Tauron would not accept any facts until they were reported by his generals.

The Prince, Duke Horith and his sons, Lord Gramman, Antony Oaran, Captain Noc, Helg and his younger brother were there awaiting word from Lord Bailor. No one was speaking and all had looks of dread on his face, except for Horith the Bloody, who wore a smug grin on his face as if he saw the whole conundrum coming from the start.

Jerod and Killian had similar looks to everyone else. They did not share their father's pride in Prince Tauron's failures.

With the room so silent, they could hear footsteps approaching them behind the closed door that led into the council chambers. It was a simple room with a large round table and a large chair for the chief amongst them to sit in. On the wall was a ten foot painting of Duke Horith with the Red Titan of the Rorchistyrs burning behind them.

The footsteps got louder until they stopped, and they heard faint voices. The door then opened and the messenger and the guard entered.

"Messenger from Baron Martin Bailor!" the guard announced loudly. A man wearing riding gear and a red face from the cold followed and presented himself to the council. In his hand was a roll of parchment.

"You're Martin's messenger?'" Lord Gramman asked the man who nodded nervously.

"Let us see the message then," the Prince said, bracing himself for the news. The parchment was handed to him and he opened it.

"So it is true," the Prince said calmly. The rumors that have dogged him all morning had merit after all. Rengle Fallaner has failed. Talonwood has fallen. The Morcar horde was now making its way towards Rainguard.

"The campaign has failed!" Antony exclaimed, "We are doomed!"

"Calm yourself, Oaran!" Gramman barked at him, "Now is not the time to panic!"

"Not to panic?" Oaran stood up, "Oh Lord Nicholi if only all the men has your courage. The Morcars will be upon us before the day is done! The men will scatter! Desert! Mutiny! We have lost and the kingdom is doomed!"

Horith decided he could not hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. His gnarled yellow teeth and clammy skin gave him the appearance of a jeering ghost.

"How can your laugh as this?"

"Oh, it's you Litici! You come into my country so proud. So mighty. And now after a week you've lost half your army and are already proclaiming defeat! Oh ho ho..." he continued laughing.

This time it was James who spoke, "Father! Now is not the time for games!"

"Games? I love games! I've been playing a special game for the last fifty years! The game of not getting my head chopped off! And now we play it again, except this time we have to play with these idiots."

Helg stepped forth, "You will watch what you say to your future King!"

"And who are you, boy?"

"I am Sir Helg Velrock, future Duke of the Royal Lands! And I..."

"Oh, so we have a son of the Velrocks in our midst," he spoke to his sons, "The lapdogs of the Heflites."

Helg's face was reddened. He wanted to slice the Bloody Duke's head off, but he had learned much in his life about enduring taunts. He withdrew himself as to not humiliate himself more in front of the council.