For King and Country

The End of the War

Chapter 40:

Elijah

The air was still as the two armies advanced towards each other. It was a steady march, perfectly in time to the deep thumping of the drums. Looking over the field, at men whose hands were white as they clutched their weapons, my stomach tightened into a hard knot. This was war. And one side wasn't coming out alive.

But still we marched, my horse moving lazily underneath me as it walked next to Jefferson's and Prince Fitzgerald, both now outfitted in full battle armor. Jefferson's eyes were drawn into a squint as he examined his brother's troops. Fitzgerald looked less nervous than I felt. He was comfortable among these men, the majority of which were loyal to him. They would not let him die in battle, not like this.

Soon, both lines were within yards of each other, then the arrows started to fire from either side as shields were drawn in front of their soldier's faces. Then, someone on the other front yelled charge, so with cries of anger and fear, we did.

I was confident in our troops abilities, and after minutes of fighting, we were pushing back the less experienced, hastily assembled men. Every few moments, a small pocket would break our line, only to absorbed by the waiting troops. In one of the more successful attempts to weaken us, my horse was cut out from underneath me, sending me tumbling to the ground. The soldier, wearing the royal blue of Jordan leered over me, brought his sword down, and I blocked his strike just in time. But then, he fell, a sword jutting out of his side as I scrambled to my feet, panting slightly as another one engaged me.

My father had given me my first sword when I was six years old. It was a little thing, razor sharp, of course. My mother had had a fit, but I had loved it. My instructor told me I was a natural, and I could hardly picture anything more perfect than the smooth edge of a blade, or the subtle hiss as it cut through the air in a smooth arc. I spent hours hacking up straw dumbies in our court yard, or sparring with anyone who would take the time to when I was at Henry's court. He'd seen me there one day, going through movements by myself. I couldn't have been more than ten, but he'd watched, then nodded his approval when I finally stopped.

"You're Thomas's boy?" He asked. I had nodded, red-faced, realizing I'd been caught playing alone. All the other boys my age had been off riding or playing tag or whatever else they did. I had never had the patience for all of them. "I suppose you want to be a General."

"Yes, your majesty." I had stuttered, looking down. I had run my fingers along the ridges of the leather hilt, waiting for his insult. Henry was notorious for his wit and lack of patience.

"Well, it's not all sword play, you know." He said, making me look up. Henry had turned, and walked towards the entrance of the palace. "Well, come along then." He turned, looking back at me, his eye pulled half-way up his forehead in amusement. I'd scurried to catch up, almost tripping over my boots. "Oh, put that thing away before you poke someone's eye out." I sat it down, following him into the glass atrium of the entrance hall.

"What's your name? Ezra or something or other?" Henry asked, grumpily as he marched through the halls, me struggling to keep up.

"Elijah, sir." I responded. "My father is..."

"Duke Thomas. I'm full aware. He's constantly annoying me about this infernal war." He walked to what I now know was his private study. Well one of his private studies, he had multiple tucked all over the palace. This one was a small library with a long conference table and cushy chairs with a desk put in the corner under a window. Henry immediately started grumbling and pulling books off the shelf in a huge stack. "Come in, come in." He waved his hands dramatically. I took a nervous step into the room, the heavy door closing behind me.