The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 38

The host rested at the Fang Gate, nestled between the mountains that shielded Navitium for a day. Duchess Lilliana appointed her own castellan, some knight named Macario Allenzo, to guard the castle as they marched toward Navitium. The knight had sent birds to the other two gates, to tell them of the surrender of the Fang Gate and to urge them to follow suit. To bow down to the true king. But just to ensure that they did not send their armies against the Florjes host.

On their march, Benedict would sometimes think that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see the faint outline of the towering spires of the Navitium Palace. And alas, he did. The march was but a day long. When the sun had begun to set over the horizon, shadows of the Navitium Palace came into view. Legends said that the Palace was built by the Aetherwielders of old. The Earthshakers who raised the white marble, quartz, and limestone, and shaped into the majestic white spires of the Palace, tipped with sea-blue roofs. Windows of the clearest and purest glass. It seemed as if the spires scraped the sky whilst their serpent banners danced to a tune in the wind. The great pure, white walls of the city stood fifty feet tall and twenty feet thick. The city itself was littered with smaller palaces, temples, cathedrals. Brothels, taverns, and inns clustered on every corner of the street. Great aqueducts brought in the cleanest water one would ever taste. If Benedict looked to his right, he could see the shapes of the Coiled Snake Mountains, where silver mines and mining towns would prop up at the bases of the mountains. Out to his right, the Sea of Krakens glimmered and shone as light bounced off of the clear blue waters. Fishing boats filled the bay with fisherman casting their nets in attempts to capture some of the underwater bounty. The barrier islands provided shelter which gave way to the Serpent Lagoon, where merchant ships from all over the world came to nestle their ships, to purchase and trade the rich resources of Sersalvon.

Benedict closed his eyes as he remembered the waterways of Navitium, which acted as streets. Little boats carrying people to and fro were commonplace. The exotic hats, the color, the culture.

And then he remembered... he came here to conquer.

The tales of Sanct Corentina popped into his head. A city to put to the torch. Raped and murdered. It was said that the dead piled so high there, entire streets would be blocked. It was said that sometimes, the bodies covered the floor so thickly that there was no floor to see. Only the dead. No one really knew what truly happened to Sanct Corentina. Not even the survivors. Some of them said it was a fleet of corsair lords, with tens upon thousands of men. Others said it was a Valencian fleet. Some the Barbarudi. But some swore that it was a host of mercenaries looking for plunder. Mercenaries in the service of the Duchess Lilliana Florjes.

Behind the host, the supply train carried their siege equipment. A mixture of catapults and mangonels carried by wagons and disassembled portions of trebuchets with large reserves of flammable pitch, stones, and other ammunition. Benedict looked back to the majestic City of Ships, and he felt the wind begin to blow. Harder and harder. Slowly at first before picking up speed. It began to rattle the wagons and carriages and startled his horse. His hair tossed and turned in the wind, but he continued to stare at the city. Slowly, what he saw began to fade. It began to fade and transform into something else. Something horrifying.

He saw great burning fireballs rocket to the City of Ships in an arc of flames, like shooting stars in the dark of night. Great flames illuminated the otherwise dark skies as the stars looked on, blind to the slaughter below. Bodies littered the fields before the city. The Navitium Palace was crumbling. It's towering spires coming crashing to the ground as it burned from within. The sigils of Florjes reigned supreme over the blanket of death. And the screams... oh the screams...

"No!" he shouted and spurred his horse forward, racing for the city. But then the smoke hit him like a thick blanket, shooting through his nostrils and clouding his eyes. Filling his mouth and racing down his throat. His horse reared up and screamed, drowning out even the sound of polearms against shields. Of screaming commoners and crying highborns. The steed through Benedict off and left the prince lying on the ground. He was dying, being drowned by the smoke.