Chaos dominated the city's headquarters and borders as well as the city's palace, houses, streets, down to the citizens' souls, with the same intensity the advancing barbaric troops were looting and killing with, seizing village after village burning them to naught just like the people's hopes and the soldiers' determination.
For the first time, the composed counselor warrior was silent for most of his rounds at the city's borders. He loathed words of encouragement when it befell tired hearts. This war of tug went for too long, exhausting the city's arsenal and supplies. He did not need to encourage the soldiers to fight for their beloveds, this was mandatory and spouting foolish words of love and protection upon those who were abandoned would only extinguish what little remained burning of their hopes.
It was total hypocrisy.
These soldiers, his troops, the city and its people were abandoned. Urgent messages calling for help were sent to the neighboring cities and provinces, reaching as far as the capital, but the response like these people's wishes never came.
The city's defenses were weak, Laurentius and many other counselors and generals beseeched the governor to pay attention to this important part of the province but it fell on deaf ears, the same way those messages asking for help fell on ignoring ones.
Germanous's ears were not deaf to these words, they were heard… Laurentius knew. However, they were drowned by the wishful tunes of glory, by the sweet songs of preeminence, by the alluring whispers of dreams amusing the young governor's head.
Dreaming of grandeur while being weak was not a mistake, it was not a sin. It could be argued it was honorable and inspiring. But without the power to erect and protect that grandeur it was pitiful, a pathetic madness.
Laurentius had managed to reclaim some villages and monuments, but now they held no importance and sharpened no wills, left ashen and demolished. They were nothing more than a wrecked ship that could inspire no soul to venture the seas and raise the masts again.
"Lord Laurentius…"
One of the generals addressed the long haired man whose head was immersed in the maps of the city's walls, the general did not have to meet the man's tired eyes to know they were tracing every gap and weakened revealed by that map.
"What are you orders for today?"
"Fight."
The general was speechless for a few moments. What kind of order was that? No plan, no strategy, no options… He thought of repeating the question or asking for more clarifications, but the counselor was right… there was nothing left to do; only fighting.
Ironically, this was the most plausible order.
The general nodded and left, unable to bear the sight of the counselor warrior shoving the map away, and taking his black steeled sword by his hand, never to let go of it for the next few days.
When that general left, surprisingly, he was not disheartened. The esteemed Laurentius had told them to fight, giving up was not an option. Though a wise and strategic choice in certain occasions, this one was unfortunately not one of them. Those barbaric tribes would erase their entire existence whether they surrendered or not so at least, their leader, despite the great odds of defeat, still strove to maintain the honor of the city and the soldiers he had trained.
For the few passing weeks, the soldiers and troops were used to unexpected occurrences; sudden attacks, sudden deploys, sudden shifting… but the sight that greeted them that morning still managed to surprise them more than everything they had witnessed and endured for the last few days.
Their governor, Germanous, donning his armor and wielding a sword at his waist, strode proudly among them. He did not address anyone, spoke no words, only gazed at the prelude to the chaos soon to ensue.
Strangely, the soldiers did not react, they stood in respect, hailed him, bowed their heads… but their words were echoless, their gestures automatic.
It was an empty charade.
Typically, when a leader strode among his followers, their hopes would dance, their spirits would be ignited, their determinations would be sharpened, but not a single soldier among these troops felt these sentiments, Germanous himself included. The governor could clearly see himself donning the armor of a clown amidst the unfolding scene. And he did not loathe himself for it. He loathed everyone else instead.
He loathed his father who deemed him unworthy, he loathed his uncle who never descended from his self – proclaimed high stall to see eye to eye with him, he loathed Sabina whose judgement of him was being proven true, and he loathed the citizens who did not support him, did not even try to understand him and instead cast him aside, a decoy governor, a puppet governor whom they threw away his first command and tainted his reputation and respect.
Looking behind him, in the direction where a loyal follower, a knight, was supposed to be trailing after him, he even loathed that man as well.
The lancer, the dual wielder.
That stranger was the only soul to pledge him his loyalty, and where did that loyalty land him? Right at the brink of ruins, ready to devour him and his dreams into oblivion.
No, oblivion would be too merciful. He was a sacrificial offering at the never forgotten alter of shame.
The brown reddish irises widened with disdain as they seized the tall haughty figure who was supposed to stand by his side for a beautiful eternity. Then, they fluttered like an injured butterfly, a blown blossom, as they landed on the figure reflected in the golden orbs.
Those orbs still shone with strength and resolution, though not rooted deep into their owner's heart as they were no longer befogged by misconceptions and false hopes, but they still shone as if trying to envelop the figure they were reflecting safely within these feelings.
The two lances of red and gold were held firmly and resolutely, the hand grasping them never faltering, neither the steps taken by their side. Only the reflection in those orbs was shivering and crying for help.
Germanous lowered his head, shame had no place in his heart, only pain and cruel realizations.
The lancer was not there, despite these strenuous times, despite this crucial turn in the governor's rule, he did not show up.
Germanous had driven the man away, had cast his light away from his shadow and neither entities wished to return to each other.
At that moment, at the garrison residence, the blond was invisible. Maybe he had been thus the entire time, since his birth, till his first strolls in the palace… and now.
He had walked among his people, he was walking this very instant among his troops and protectors... however, his steps had no traces or sound. They were taken on clouds of wishes and self – indulgent dreams.
The armor he chose to wear that morning to invoke a sense of comradery with his soldiers was better being worn throughout his whole life against the illusions of his mind.
The sword he chose to wield that morning to invoke patriotism among his soldiers was better wielded against his own dreams.
When the red irises shifted their gaze to the ground, the golden orbs no longer reflecting them, another wave of feelings surged within them.
They did not emanate with power and will, pity spilled all over them.
Who was Diarmuid pitying himself or the shivering blond in front of him?
The grip he held to his two prized lances with loosened. These two god – gifted weapons had paved his path to knighthood, to highest honors, to love, then they were tainted with a mad lad's promises.
Germanous could not fulfill his own promises to himself, how could he fulfill promises generously yet wishfully given to another soul?
Who had been the bigger foolish between the two all this time?
The gaze of pity darkened in the golden orbs, hatred and frustration tinting it.
Similarly throughout the past few weeks, every morning Diarmuid opened his eyes Sabina's words rang in his ears, her promises overpowering those of the governor's, dominating them, until they faded to the back of his mind and perhaps had evaporated entirely not to be heard anymore.
The lancer would go collect news where the garrisons were stationed, sometimes offer them his aid in battle out of sheer boredom and Sabina's words would not fade, they rang and rang before the sound of heavy steps and clashing blades brought him back to the current ongoing battle every time.
After a day of another lost battle, Diarmuid watched Laurentius giving commands, overseeing the defenses, sending a soldier to tell the governor to stop coming and take refuge in the palace for now. The gray eyes had no bright in them, but they never lost their consistency and Diarmuid's golden orbs blazed with rage at this realization.
The man standing before him was no different from the spear dual wielder at one point in his life. Leading armies, giving commands, rallying hopes, presenting a beckon to their followers. The difference laid in one's ability to maintain that visage.
The counselor succeeded while the lancer lost it too early.
Diarmuid's eyes met Laurentius's this time, and despite the mixed emotions both men held toward the other and the evident disapproval they harbored toward the other's attitude and choices, for the first time, both men reflected in their eyes the same realization.
The time for carnage was beckoning.