The kingdom trembled, though the halls of House Deryn were unnervingly quiet. Only the faint clatter of armor from the servants disturbed the stillness. My father, Baron Elias, stood rigid before the war council table, hands gripping its edge as if it alone could anchor the realm. His gaze was fixed on the map spread before him, tracing the lines of rivers and passes with an intensity that belied his shaking fingers.
"We stand with the Crown Prince,"he declared, voice low but unyielding.
A murmur ran through the hall, soft enough to be mistaken for the whisper of the wind outside, yet carrying the weight of every noble in the room. The choice was dangerous. The Prince's uncle, Duke Roderic, commanded a larger army, bolstered by seasoned knights and mercenaries. Our barony was a minor dot on the map, worth little to either side except as a waypoint(military access for allies) or a test of loyalty. And yet, my father had spoken choosing to honor his oath of fealty to the previous King above taking his chances with the more powerful Duke and his allies.
I leaned over the table, eyes narrowing as I traced the eastern pass marked in ink. That narrow stretch of hills was our charge. Yet reports told us the Duke had dispatched not his own banners, but a detachment of five thousand men under Count Baldome. He was no fool—his ambition was as sharp as his cruelty. If he crushed us, his name would be spoken with favor at the uncle's court.
And we? We had a thousand men. Farmers in mail, a handful of knights, weary levies with rusting spears. Against Baldome's five thousand veterans, we were lambs before the butcher.
My younger brother, Jaren, snorted, crossing his arms. "A thousand sheep against five thousand wolves. Father, we've thrown in our lot with the Crown Prince only to dig our own graves." His voice was harsh, mocking, but fear lined every word.
I ignored him. My mind had already begun calculating. The pass was narrow—two hundred men could hold it against thousands, if discipline held and supplies lasted. Archers on the ridges, cavalry hidden in the woods to strike when the enemy was forced to bottleneck. Not victory, perhaps. But survival.
Commander Halric stepped forward, his armor clinking. "Five thousand, my lord. They march under Count Baldome's banner. We cannot hope to withstand such numbers. We must withdraw and wait."
"No," I said, my voice steady. The room fell quiet at my interruption. "If we abandon the pass, the Crown Prince is finished before his army even gathers. Our survival depends not on retreat, but on turning Baldome's numbers against him."
Halric frowned. "And how would you do that, boy?"
"By making him bleed for every step he takes," I replied. My finger traced the inked ridges. "Archers here and here. Spikes and pits along the narrowing road. Cavalry hidden here, to strike when they are most exposed. We cannot meet them as equals, so we will not. We fight the land, the weather, and their hunger as much as their swords."
My father's jaw tightened. He had heard the whispers that I saw patterns others could not. Now he had to trust them. After a moment's silence, he gave a single nod. "So be it. We hold the pass."
The choice was made.
Outside, the first banners of Baldome's detachment appeared over the horizon, black and crimson against the gray winter sky. Drums echoed from the hills, each beat a summons of death and duty. The men stiffened, hands gripping spears and swords as fear and excitement mingled.
I drew my blade, letting the steel catch the pale light. Not for glory, but for survival. A thousand against five thousand. It would take more than courage to endure—it would take cunning, and the willingness to sacrifice.
Jaren leaned close, voice low. "You think you can outwit Baldome?"
I completely ignored him and looked once more at the map, at the ridges and narrow paths where men would die. Strategy was all we had. And if treachery lurked within our ranks, even the best plan might collapse.
The candles flickered low as the war council ended. Dawn approached. And with it, Count Baldome's army.