With Silverblood in hand, Vaedran pulled his grey fox fur coat closed as he exited the tent, the flaps swished back and forth. The snow had fallen thickly since the evening, it’s cold touch lingering at the entrance, it gently drifted on the wind.

He glanced behind him, his banner the grey fox on a red field, blew viciously as gusts tore through camp with it the smell of smoke. Not the smell of cooking meat but the burning of wood and cloth. The Feast and the Ball should have finished by now.

He re-entered his tent, changing into Flaresteel chain mail and muskets. There was a rushing outside the tent as his Lieutenant Lachien appeared in Flaresteel and coat, ready for a fight. His closely shaved head reflected torchlight, his face clean shaven. Blue eyes glanced tensely. There was something in those eyes, something that Vaedran realised he didn’t want to know. “Prince, I must inform you that… that the Duke and the Duchess of Seaward are dead.” Lachien said.

Vaedran stared at the man, uncomprehending. “Your Grace, we must leave before they come for you too.” Vaedran watched as Lachien formed the words but they did not hit him.

“Before who comes from us?” Puzzled, Vaedran knew something was wrong but he did not understand what.

“King Usteon and Lord Dansen allied their forces and murdered the Duke and the Duchess.” Merrin. No not her, not her. Trystan, what have you done?

“Who killed Merrin? Tell me, Lachien, who killed her?” Lachien’s eyes turned away, glancing out of the tent. The sounds of death and destruction which had not been present before now rang loud and clear. Only when Lachien, bent his knees that Vaedran realized that he must have fallen over.

“Who killed Merrin?” Vaedran shouted.

“He is one of the high lords, rides under the banner of Gracepoint. Vaedran, we must go now!”

“Where is this Lord Dansen?” Vaedran picked himself up, went to his weapons chest and removed his gauche. He drew and checked the blade, then sheathed it.

“Find some Flare oil for me, Lachien, I need to find this Dansen and stab him through the heart.” Lachien looked him over then went to his oil chest. Inside was a vat of glistening oil, finding an empty skin, filled it then replaced the stopper. Vaedran took it and drew his rapier, Silverblood.

The Ignium steel shone brightly against the red sheath, he strode out of the tent. He was deafened by the screams of dying men, the clashing of steel and the fire of muskets. Encircled by the smoke of muskets, Beatrix, a red haired captain of the Flash core, drew her sword in salute. She stood in half mail, her rapier wet with blood.

Beatrix ran to him, pointing west. Towards Bellach and safety. “Prince, we have to get out of Loc Morred. If we can reach the Glenns we can survive in the wilderness.” Vaedran did not care about Bellach or safety, all he wanted was for the pain to go away.  To rid himself of Dansen.

“I want Dansen, I want him dead, Beatrix.” Vaedran pointed to the castle’s inner court with Silverblood and strode towards it.

“Fine, kill yourself Prince but don’t drag us into this vendetta.” Beatrix said.

“I do not have to explain myself to you. You’ll be lucky if I don’t have you strung up!” There was no fear in Beatrix as she opposed him. A figure came sprawling out of the snow fall, sped towards Vaedran, daggers in hand. Calmly he raised his musket, inserting the Flares. There was an audible click as it fit into place. A burst of energy shot through Vaedran’s hand igniting the Flares, firing the musket. The warrior collapsed clutching his chest.

“This will turn into a slaughter soon enough, Prince. We must leave.” That was when the rest of the soldiers attacked. Beatrix had taken command. She raised her musket and inserted her flares.

“Form a line, hold by the flame, damn it hold!” “Fire!” Beatrix fired followed by the successive shot of the other men. Fourteen or fifteen of the attackers went down, but the majority charged towards them. Vaedran raised Silverblood and charged the enemy. They wore the Indigo and blue of Gracepoint not the turquoise gold of The King. Parrying the first blade, Vaedran felt the man’s nose crack under his elbow. He slashed with his gauche, ending the man’s life.

Corseques struck and the flash core formed tighter ranks. A boy of fourteen, Marcus, his squire pressed by two men prodded him with halberds and Corseques. Vaedran scissor cut the man’s corseque, parrying it away, before stabbing. Oliver raised the fallen Corseque, catching his opponent full in the chest. They were still surrounded. The remaining privates of the Flash Core were holding but there was no way they were going to be able to get of here easily. Vaedran drew one of his muskets fired then dropped it. In the distance a chorus rang clear.

“The Falcon bleeds deep

Lying broken

Lying broken

Vengeance a Wyvern may reap.”

“The Fallen Falcon, the Fallen Falcon! Seaward Bastard, Traitor.” Two spears held aloft with something atop them. The shouting grew louder as the group approached. Warm brown eyes opened in shock stared at him, her warm eyes.

Merrin, her beautiful golden hair hacked at. Trystan just stared on. You Bastard, Trystan, you Flaming Bastard.

Merrin was gone, that head wasn’t her. She was dead and Vaedran hurt, he hurt more than he had before. He slashed side to side, not caring who he hit friend or foe. He hurt. Parrying the first rapier, he danced between the blades. His hand ached; he felt each strike jolt his arm but still he cut at them. He didn’t notice the clash of steel around him as his soldiers joined the fight.

“Marcus, Flare oil.” Oliver grabbed a flask then poured it over Silverblood. Vaedran felt the ignition, he felt the sword surge with flame. Heat passed his face as he swung it left and right, cutting viciously. The spear bearers stood with mouth agape.

“You think you are great warriors because you killed a traitor? She was good, she was kind, she never deserved this.” They dropped the spears, the heads falling to the ground. “I will make you hurt, more than you have ever hurt before.” Vaedran flung his gauche at the first, cut the throat of the second. Usteon would know blood.

Next Chapter: Harthold