A chant began among the gathered soldiers, quiet at first but growing in strength and volume with each repetition.
“King of Blood! King of Blood! KING OF BLOOD!”
Before long, Jonas found that he was joining in—and in doing so, he became charged with the energy and bloodlust of the crowd. But a part of him knew that King Gaius wasn’t his king. He had no king.
Yet he was following this King of Blood into battle and was willing to lay his life on the line in the process.
“Three months ago, an innocent Paelsian boy died at the hands of a selfish Auranian lord,” the king roared. “Today we will gain vengeance for that. We will take the Auranian kingdom and strip the king of his power forever. Auranos is ours!”
The crowd cheered.
“Bring me King Corvin’s head and I will give you treasure unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” he promised. “Spare no one. Show me a river of blood! Take it all. Kill them all.” He raised his sword above his head. “Attack!”
The troops charged forward, racing across the field. The ground thundered beneath their feet. At the river less than a mile from the palace walls, the Auranian force met them head-on in a violent slam of bodies and clash of sword and shield.
Men on both sides fell all around Jonas, taken down by steel-tipped arrow, by battleax, by sword before the fighting had barely begun. The coppery scent of blood filled the air.
Jonas slashed and fought his way through the thick mass of bodies, staying close to Brion, the two lifelong friends watching each other’s backs.
The carcasses of horses fell heavily to the ground and in the river itself. Their riders, crawling off, met with the thrust of their enemy’s swords through their chests. Pain-filled screams and cries filled the air as flesh met metal and hacked-off limbs scattered.
They fought to get closer to the walls. To take the palace by force. They were so close now, but the Auranian troops were equally vicious and brutal.
Jonas found himself knocked to the ground by the slam of a shield to the side of his head, and he lay there stunned, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. A hawk soared in circles above the battle as if observing from a disinterested distance.
An Auranian knight appeared above Jonas, raising his sword to bring it down into Jonas’s heart.
But another sword swung first, taking the Auranian down hard. A figure slipped off his mount and quickly rammed a smaller blade into the knight’s neck, wrenching it to the side to rip out his throat in a spray of blood.
“Are you going to just lie there like a rock?” a voice snapped. “Get up. You’re missing all the fun.”
A gloved hand appeared before his face. Jonas shook his head and forced himself to sit up before Prince Magnus helped yank him to his feet.
his was not to be. Blood would spill.
The troops gathered in formation on King Gaius’s orders and began the trek toward the walls. There was a river to cross, bisecting the green and grassy land of rolling hills and valleys. Beyond that the walled palace came into view—a spectacular golden sight that made Jonas’s breath catch in his chest.
As did King Corvin’s massive awaiting army, fully outfitted in sleek shining armor, burnished helmets atop their heads. The Auranian crest glinted golden on their shields.
They stayed like this for a full hour. Waiting. Watching. Jonas’s heart pounded hard in his chest, a heavy sword gripped so tightly in his hand that it began to form blisters on his already rough skin.
“I hate them. And I’d kill them all for a chance at a life like theirs,” he said under his breath to Brion, unable to keep his gaze away from the massive shining palace—so different from the modest cottages in Paelsia. And this land—so lush and green when his own was fading away and turning dry and brown. “They would take everything and let us suffer and die without even a thought.”
A muscle in Brion’s cheek twitched. “They deserve to suffer and die as well. Let grapes feed their nation.”
Jonas was ready to die today to help his people have the chance at a better life tomorrow. Nothing was ever easy. And all living things eventually died. If this was to be his day, then so be it.
King Gaius rode his sleek black stallion along the line of waiting soldiers, tall in his saddle, a look of sheer determination on his face. Prince Magnus rode nearby, his cool gaze moving across the waiting troops. The cavalry would lead the charge. War flags were held high bearing the colors of Limeros and the words Strength. Faith. Wisdom.
Sounded very proper and studious. That the flags were red was the only indication of King Gaius’s reputation as the King of Blood.
Chief Basilius and his flank of elite bodyguards were nowhere to be seen. Earlier, Jonas had walked through the city of tents set up on the other side of the forest. The chief had taken four tents to himself, needing the space for privacy, meditation, and rest to help summon his dormant magic to aid their efforts.
“The sorcerer will awaken,” the rumor among the troops went. “His magic will crush our enemy to dust.”
Chief Basilius would be their key to victory.
Jonas chose to believe this was true as well, despite his mounting doubts.