Their advance would have been slower had Hartwell decided to march them all together in a single file. Instead, he divided them into smaller regiments that would travel in a h.o.m.ogenous pace. They each took different roads, making their approach faster. 

He had converted all of Arsalan's fallen soldiers into his own too. His army was now sixty thousand strong. Only twenty five hundred of them were living, breathing humans. The rest were walking dead, blood thirsty monsters. 

He rode through the forest with Marshal Olivier by his side. 

"The men are getting restless," he told the General. "How long must we walk these d.a.m.ned woods?" 

Hartwell looked at the sky. "Supreme Leader has already begun his fight," he said. "We'll be there by noon. Not much left until we put this war behind us." 

"Hoping we'd find our men still standing," Marshal Olivier interjected. 

"We will," Hartwell a.s.sured him. "Supreme Leader never fails." 

Back in the battlefield, things were looking dire on both sides. The king had swiftly sent his cavalry to push Eli's regiment back. Stalwart's surviving soldiers from the first regiment had recovered by then. They started climbing over the boulders and ran to support their comrades. 

"We should send out the third infantry," General Ulrich suggested to the king. "We have the upper hand, sire." 

"Then where are Stalwart's remaining regiments?" the king asked. "Our scouts said he had ten thousand men. A quarter left to the Aslanor border. We have been fighting half his men the entire morning. Are you certain nothing will surprise us from the east?" 

"Positive, sire," the General replied. "They'd just sent word now. They are hours away from our camp." 

"Good," the king replied. "We'll need all the men we could get." 

He turned toward the battlefield. Something wasn't right. Stalwart promised their annihilation. He wouldn't have sent just two regiments to fight. 

He was still engaged in a fierce battle with the Bishop. King Nicholas could still hear loud explosions in the distance. 

"Send the third infantry in," he ordered. "Let's see what Stalwart will throw at us next." 

An hour had pa.s.sed. Despite the king's numerical advantage, they still couldn't break through Marshal Eli's ranks. As the day advanced, the mist began clearing. The king gnawed on his fingernails as he watched the gruesome skirmish below him. 

Archers from both sides showered the enemy rank with arrows. The king saw Marshal Eli's men, and his heart skipped a beat. They were indeed monsters. Their green skin and their tusks were a clear indication. 

"Sebyan!" the king gasped. "How did Stalwart convince them to fight?" 

He saw the big brutes take arrow after arrow and still charge. Before his men could take down one of them, they'd have already taken five lives. Things didn't look good. The king was thinking about sending in his reserves when he heard the horn blow, once. 

He turned around, hopeful. That announced the arrival of allies. It was the battalion he'd sent east. He ran to the other side and looked down toward the road. Eight hundred horses trotted in a single file. They were coming up the serpentine road that led to the king's camp. 

All riders were bound to their saddles. Their decapitated heads were tied to their hands, and their swords deeply lodged where their heads had been. The king's stomach turned. He folded in half and reeled. The horn blew again, three distinct, and consecutive blows. 

Two short blows and a long one in between, that meant an enemy approaching. General Ulrich hurried toward the king, who was still emptying his stomach. Ulrich had fat creases on his forehead. As he strode toward his sire, his eyes wouldn't stop. He frantically looked around, scanning for every possible danger. 

"Your grace, we must get you to safety," he urged his sire. He extended one hand but Nicholas brushed it away. He wiped his mouth then shot a furious look at Ulrich.

"How did this happen?" he hissed at the General.

"We don't know sire, but we have to get you to safety. Come, now!" Ulrich extended another hand toward Nicholas. 

The king brushed his hand away. "No!" he said then stood. He adjusted his armor and held his head high. There was doubt and fear in his eyes. Despite the death that surrounded them; despite the sound of clas.h.i.+ng swords and the horrible screeches soldiers made as they fell; despite the odds clearly indicating he was fighting a losing battle, the King decided to make a brave decision. 

He gulped and squeezed his hands together. "I'll fight," he said. "I will not abandon my people. Gather the men!" 

Ulrich bowed. "As you command, your grace." 

The king ordered his horse to be brought. He got into his tent and strapped his sword around his belt. He inhaled sharply then got out. Five thousand men stood before him, awaiting orders. 

General Ulrich came to the king and handed him his helm. A long red feather protruded from the top and bent backwards. The king held it in his right arm and approached his men. He paced around them, searching for words to give them courage. 

"A wise king would retreat to live another day," he began in a faint voice. Soldiers exchanged questioning gazes. "A wise king would use his soldiers as s.h.i.+elds. He'd sacrifice them for the greater good, to negotiate peace with a much stronger opponent. A wise king would do it for the greater good, for the safety of his people, whom we ALL protect."

He looked at his men, and they all returned his gaze with puzzled and frightened looks. He took a deep breath then spoke again. 

"Alas, there is no negotiating with a mad man. We suffered great losses, but we knew what we were up against when we declared this rebellion. Before me I don't see just men with swords in their hands. I see fathers, worried about their children's futures. I see husbands who want to give their loving wives the world they deserve. I see strong men, ready to stand up for what's right. I see hope.

"We will not cower and kneel to a mad man!" His voice had risen, drowning the sound of clas.h.i.+ng swords below them. "The age of Stalwart's tyranny is over! Look at him up there. He's not the only powerful one. We have our own allies, who believe in justice and freedom as we all do. Don't let Stalwart's magic push you back! Death is inevitable. Only your legacy will remain. What will you leave behind for your families, for your children, for the future of our people?! Down with Stalwart! Fight for your families! Fight for your freedom! Fight for glory!" 

"FOR GLORY!" All soldiers raised their hands in the air and screamed in unison. 

"FOR GLORY!" The king repeated. "MAAAAAAARCH!" 

The horn blew once more. An eerie silence settled in. Time stood still. Everybody held their breaths and p.r.i.c.ked their ears. Sure enough, the second blow came. Soldiers began whispering. The king took a deep breath. His heart was already pounding against his ears. He could only scoff. His speech had riled up the men. Only for the horn to come and blow all his hard work away.

A scout came running toward the king and whispered. 

The horn blew for a third time, announcing retreat. King Nicholas turned to Ulrich. All color had deserted his face. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost. 

"Sixty thousand men are approaching the trench," he said, crestfallen. 

Whispers broke among the king's men. The whispers soon became cries of indignation. The king looked up to see a soldier approaching him at full speed. The soldier pushed and shoved everybody away as he made for the king. Ulrich immediately stepped in, but the soldier knelt right before reaching the king. 

The soldier removed her helm and let her hair loose over her shoulder. "Your grace," she said. "I am Baroness Elsa Vogel of the Milkweed, please hear me out."

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