The Grey Ones

RICHMOND

The soldiers from Westbridge were all stationed just south of the Three Crossings. The camp was big and muddy and the soldiers were impatient and restless.

Lord Richmond Arlington had arrived that morning, together with his son and the Cornwalls. They had travelled as soon as Sebastian had returned from the dreadful fiasco that was the attack on the invaders—indeed, the mission was to destroy the invaders and bring back Richmond’s daughter. That did not happen, of course, as his son had retreated with his tail between his legs and brought the news that his daughter had gone there of her own volition and that she had chosen to stay with the beast-men instead of doing her duty and marrying the Cornwall boy.

Richmond knew this was true; his daughter was a spiteful girl who always found ways of dishonouring her poor father, but this might have been her greatest betrayal as of yet.

Of course, Richmond did not share this truth with Lord Cornwall; in fact, he told the Duke of Westbridge that his soon-to-be daughter-in-law had been kidnapped and was held hostage by the evil demons. Lord Cornwall, being the pious man that he was, had acted accordingly, and their plan of attack was now in the makings.

After discussing some of the finer details, Richmond and his son had withdrawn to Richmond’s tent to discuss the matter further.

“Look at this,” said the older man and gestured the scene. “This is what an army should look like. Metal armour, broadswords, and fine, well-bred men ready to fight for their race.”

Sebastian was silent—strangely so.

“Are you not impressed by this, my son?”

The young man sighed. “Father, I saw what they did to Sir Bolton. That wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter! And that wasn’t even one of their officers.”

“As far as you know.” Richmond sighed impatiently. “Sebastian, do you know how many soldiers there are out there?”

“Five thousand.”

“Yes, five thousand.” Richmond shifted in his seat. “Plus our City Guard. That’s more than six thousand fighting men. And how many soldiers did the Grey Ones have?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian muttered. “But there were more than a hundred. Double, at least.”

“Two hundred, then.” Richmond muttered. “It doesn’t matter. They may be larger and stronger than us, and they might kill a great number of our men, but they are savages. They lack the refinement of true knights. They will realise their defeat once they see the strength of our forces, the tenacity of our will, and leave our shores!”

Sebastian, however, did not seem convinced. “I spoke with their leader, Father. They are indeed savages, but they are murderous savages. You should have heard him speak of battle, as though he liked it. Those monsters are bred to kill—it doesn’t matter how many we are if we’re fighting the demons from our darkest childhood nightmares! And even worse, they have Juniper!”

Richmond clenched his jaw. He knew his son had a faint heart, but this was more than he could bear. “My son, they are horrible beasts, yes, but they are killable. Six thousand men will stand against them, to protect their homes, their families, and their faith.”

“But that’s just it!” Sebastian then spat. “Lord Cornwall’s men aren’t even from the Free Cities! They are sell-swords, they have no loyalties. They can go back to Illyria anytime they want, and why would they face such monsters to protect us? Who would stop them from leaving? Lord Cornwall? You?”

“They will stay where the money is, and since Illyria has the Golden Army, no one needs sell-swords there.”

“They will stay as long as there is money,” Sebastian nodded, “but war is expensive. The last war ended because it bankrupted every Free City in Nornest!”

“That was hundreds of years ago—”

“And we still haven’t recovered from it!”

“I have sent word to the other four cities as well,” said Richmond and sighed. “The beasts won’t stop with Noxborough. We need to stand united against them.”

Sebastian huffed. “Ravensgate and Riverport have been fighting for generations. They would never stand on the same side of anything, and neither Kingshaven nor Eastshore have any armies to speak of. Kingshaven only has taverns and farmers, and Eastshore is nothing short of a ghost town, for Builder’s sake!”

Richmond ground his teeth and sighed. “And what is your suggestion, then? Bow down to the heathens?”

Sebastian paced the tent. “We should send word to the Emperor.”

The old man croaked a laugh. “The Emperor? That is your great plan? Beg? To that ridiculous excuse of a ruler? Yes, that’s a great plan, indeed. Let him kill them with wine and pillow biting!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a seat. “It doesn’t matter, Father! If he commands the greatest army in the Edredian World, he can drink as much wine and fuck as many boys he wants for all I care!”

“I will not kiss that bastard’s feet,” Richmond barked. “He is just as much of a heathen as the beasts are.”

“We need their support in this,” Sebastian growled. “Let’s say we defeat them. Good. Great, even. We might lose half our forces, but that doesn’t matter, because the invaders have been defeated.”

Richmond liked the sound of that, but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“But do you really think two hundred men are all they have? Of course not! They’re invaders, Father. They’ve ravished Tallis and the Western Isles for hundreds of years! Do you think they could do that with just two hundred soldiers?” He snorted. “I’m not even sure the Builder knows how many more warriors they have on that wretched island of theirs, but when they retaliate, they will come in full force. By then, we will only have half our men and we will be slaughtered.” He took a deep breath. “Unless we have the Golden Army on our side.”

Richmond was getting tired of this. “Well, aren’t you the war expert? You think Illyria cares? They didn’t give a shit about us during the War of the Kings, so why should they give a shit about us now?”

“That was hundreds of years ago, you said so yourself. Why would they care about some wretched farmers fighting each other in the north?” Sebastian spat. “They’re Illyria, for Builder’s sake! Valaris is the Golden City, the Holy City of Edred. They didn’t need to care about our civil war. But I do think they would care if a whole army of invaders stood at their doorstep, then as well as now.”

“Valaris hasn’t been taken for a thousand years,” Richmond muttered. “The Emperor won’t care.”

“You’re just an old fool,” Sebastian muttered. “Juniper would agree that we should write to the Emperor and—”

“Do not utter that bitch’s name in my presence,” Richmond growled and pointed at his son.

“She’s your daughter,” Sebastian said. “She’s your daughter, and you drove her away.”

“Shut up!” Richmond flung from his chair. His head was pounding with pressure and annoyance and he glared harshly at his son. “She was taken, and that’s that.”

“No, she wasn’t.” Sebastian rose, as well. “She went there on her own accord, and you know it. You drove her away. She has never been anything but loyal to you, and you drove her away!”

In a fit of rage, Richmond slapped his son straight across the face. The boy gasped, but Richmond growled in his face, “I will hear none of that, and you won’t speak of it ever again. Do you hear me? Your sister has made a mockery out of me, out of all of us. I want a good like for her, and she could have that in Westbridge, but she has refused it. She could be Duchess of Westbridge one day, but she refused that as well.” He straightened and fixed his cuffs. “I am willing to look past her transgressions, if she comes willingly, and that is the narrative we shall carry forth. The last thing we need is Cornwall thinking that Juniper has gone to spread her legs to the beasts willingly. She has been taken and is waiting in earnest for that little shit Lord Christopher to come to rescue her so that they can marry, have sons, and join our Houses. Is that understood?”

Sebastian looked at his father in surprise, teary-eyed, but said nothing.

“Get out of my sight,” Richmond muttered and gestured at him dismissingly. “Your bitch of a sister has bigger balls than you.”

While his son stomped out of the tent, Richmond sat down again, now with a blasting headache.

He had heard the guards speak of the dreadful scene that had played out down by the harbour that day, when Sir Bolton was cut down by a Grey One. He had been their finest knight, trained in Illyria, and a veteran champion in the yearly tournaments for almost ten years—but he stood no chance against the lithe and quick Grey One.

Indeed, it was unfathomable that they would lose a battle with such odds, but the men had been disheartened by the display and nothing was more devastating than bad morale.