Roswell Fanatics

Michelle in LA wrote:

Only when Kal-El and Michael approached the doors

Kal-El?

Screwy typo...dumb author can't even edit his own stuff.

*sigh*

Fixed now though.

nibbles2 wrote:It's funny, I always thought that towns were built around the castles for protection and security, rather than miles away.

This is a palace, not a castle. Think of the palace of Versailles, which was built miles away from the stench, crowding, and noise of Paris.

nibbles2 wrote:Jeff's reasoning made no sense to me, at all. Smiles and soft words will work well on the castle servants, but not when dealing with business men, hardened soldiers and other lords in a society where women have no rights and aren't even expected to be educated.

Liz has the baron's full support and has the castellan, steward, and captain-general to back up her soft words if needed. And anyway, as one writer once said, "It's easier to attract with honey than with vinegar."

nibbles2 wrote:Plus, war is about to break out in Alemannia and surely a supply base for Max's army would become a target for Kivar?

Roswell is something of a backwater in the kingdom. Khivar won't be anywhere near there, not for sometime anyway. By the time he could possibly learn of the new supply base, he will have long since been tied up with the loyalist army.

nibbles2 wrote:Jeff should have gone back himself and left Liz in charge at the other end where she would be safe. He's not doing anything that Liz couldn't have done herself there and she knows who Max is and has his ring so it wouldn't have mattered about telling her Zan's true identity.

The reason Jeff had to stay in Krakovia is simple: Liz is still a minor. She can't sign any contracts in Krakovia, even with their enlightened beliefs about women, simply because she's not an adult. In Roswell, however, she can help arrange contracts, which the steward would then sign and seal, making them legal.

She has power over the others in her father's service in Roswell because her father has willed it so, which does not require her to be an adult.

nibbles2 wrote:If Liz can succeed in her mission, then that's going to go a long way to proving her worthiness to her future in-laws.

Very true.

nibbles2 wrote:ETA: I really hope that Michael write to Maria, because she's going to need more than a PS from him.

The Black Knight write? Hmm...we'll see.



The four arrows crashed up against the shield Max had cast around himself. All four arrowheads crumpled and the wooden shafts splintered, ending up like child’s toys in the hands of a angry god.

An angry god was the least of anyone’s worries Michael and the other five guards drew their swords and checked the fleeing crowd of courtiers to see if any guards were using the confusion to try to escape. They spotted four, and assuming Max was safe behind his shield, gave chase.

When Max saw Michael takeoff running, he dropped the shield around the famous knight so he could kill if necessary. The steward, meanwhile, was calling for more guards at the top of his lungs. Palace guards and the other five of Max’s guards came pouring into the throne room with their weapons drawn, half expecting to see the steward spitted on some assassin’s dagger, but when they saw Michael chase down a guard and stop him at sword’s point, they got the idea and stopped the other fleeing guards from leaving the throne room.

The first rogue guard was disarmed and taken to one side by Michael, with the other three being taken into custody by the newly-arrived guards and frog-marched over to join their compatriot. After the four rogue guards were thoroughly searched for weapons, Max approached them - keeping his shield up - and asked, “Why?”

The men were sullen, and stayed quiet, until some of their former comrades in the palace guard started poking them in the fleshy parts of their bodies with sword points. “Why should we tell you anything? You will kill us no matter what we say.”

“True,” Max agreed, “you will die today, and you will do so publicly. You will be taken into the city and executed in the main square. But the speed and pain of your deaths have yet to be determined. It can all be over with the flash of a sword if you cooperate, or you can spend some time being worked over before being killed in some grotesquely brutal way. Your choice.”

“Our families? Will our families be spared?”

“You have my word, as a member of the House of Evans, that no harm will come to your families…with the one proviso that they cannot have known about this or participated in it in any way.”

“Fine,” the seeming ringleader said, as his shoulders slumped, “we’ll talk.”

Max took a seat on the steps of the dais, and then upon his steward’s recommendation, shifted to the throne to make a more imposing sight. Michael stood at Max’s right hand, with his katana still out and his eyes searching the crowd for more threats, while Steward Schmidt stood at Max’s left hand.

“We were approached individually by agents of Khivar and offered huge bonuses for making sure you didn’t survive if you came to the palace.”

“How…how did you hope to escape?”

“We weren’t expecting you to have guards of your own with you. They cut off our preferred escape route.” The former guard gestured toward the dais. “There’s an escape tunnel behind your throne. In the confusion, we expected to get in there, shut the door and drop the bolt into place so we could make our escapes. We were told the tunnel empties out into the stables of the palace guards.”

“So it does,” the steward said.

“How much were you four to be paid?” Max asked.

“One-thousand gold pieces…each. More than enough to move my family elsewhere, buy a tavern, and improve our lives.”

The other three former guards told much the same story, before Max officially passed judgment. “It looks like my first official engagement will be to attend a public execution.” He turned to his steward. “Set it up. I want it over as soon as possible.”

“As you command, Your Grace.”

“And while you are at it, find these men’s families and pay them the one-thousand gold each that was promised. That way, they can start that new life.”

“What if they have pride and reject the blood money, Your Grace?”

Max smiled. “If they reject the money, offer a position here in the palace to the eldest child of each family. Those are the kind of people I want serving me.”

The executions were taken care of within an hour. Max and Michael didn’t even clean up before riding back into the city at the head of a large procession. Right in the middle of the main square, a headsman’s block was set up with an empty bucket for each man sitting before it. The first of the condemned men approached the block from the other side, knelt, and hung his head over the edge of the block, right above the bucket.

The execution itself was a two man job, with the first man using the tip of his sword to pierce the side of the condemned man which made him involuntarily stretch his neck in response. The second man was an expert swordsman with a razor sharp blade, and his powerful downstroke made contact with the condemned’s neck just as it stretched out.

One by one, each man paid for his treason with his life, and as the man who imposed the sentence on them, Max was there, right in front, to bear witness to the sentence being carried out. On the ride back to the palace, he confided that he wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“Blood can do that,” Michael replied. He thought a moment, and then added, “I bet condemning those four men to death and then watching someone else kill them was tougher on you than killing the twenty-four men who ambushed you back in Krakovia.”

“Yeah. The difference was having the time here to think about it.” Max was quiet for a minute, and then said, “It was necessary though. Not so much for those four men, but as a deterrent for any other man or woman who might think to betray me in the future.” They rode in companionable silence for a while, until the palace itself came into view. “I may not be too hungry, but I think I need two baths now: one to remove the filth of our long journey, and the second one to cleanse myself of the stench of death.”

Max saw the huge green flag with the embroidered golden eagle flying from the highest point of the palace. He noted that this flag had a heavy gold fringe, as opposed to the plain green and gold flag that had been flying when he had approached the palace the first time. When he pointed it out to Michael, the Black Knight asked, “So, the gold fringe means the duke is in residence?”

“Yeah. It looks like Steward Schmidt wasted little time in accepting the changeover.”

“Good. Think you can order up a pair of hot baths? Without having a gaggle of servants trying to scrub me?”

Max laughed as he remembered the indignity of being taken care of by Lord Parker’s servants. “I might be able to manage that for you, my friend, but not likely for me.”

Max was smiling, imagining what it would look like if the servants tried to wash Michael, when Michael asked, “Do you mean that, Your Grace? Are you sure?”

“Mean what? I rarely say anything I do not mean.”

“You called me your friend.”

Surprised by the question, Max turned in the saddle and looked at his bodyguard, companion, and friend. “Yes. That is a word I do not ever use lightly.”

“Good. I can always use one more friend.” And today I got my first one, Michael thought, as a tight smile crept into position on his face.

As with Max, Elizabeth had little trouble establishing her position once she presented her letters from her father. The castellan, who was in charge of Roswell Castle, the steward, who ran Lord Parker’s affairs while he was away, and the captain-general of his army were all intensely loyal to Lord Parker and would do as he commanded without question. That meant they were all at Elizabeth’s command for the duration.

The maids still left in the castle after the move south months earlier were supplemented by the ones she had brought with her. Any needed additional hires she left to the head housekeeper, as she had something more important to deal with. After establishing herself, she held an immediate council with those three men to explain her father’s position and the job that she had been given. Elizabeth made use of the men, particularly their experiences and knowledge, to decide on the best way to proceed.

Elizabeth then assigned the steward to the task of finding the logs she would need, while she and the castellan went personally to hire the local sawmill. The miller was more than happy to have the baron’s business, and told her he could start making planks now from his on-hand stock of wood, while he waited for the steward’s logs to start arriving.

The captain-general brought Lord Parker’s army closer to home so that it would be better able to provide security for the supply base. The castellan went down to find the best location for the base. Elizabeth was glad the harvest was already in so that they didn’t have to destroy anyone’s crops.

By day three, Elizabeth had a crew putting up the first warehouse, and by the end of the first week, the first building was completed and two more were under way. She was putting in long hours every day, because she believed if she set the example of hard work, she could demand the same from the people under her.

The fifty man guard that had accompanied Elizabeth to Roswell had already started on the return journey to Krakovia, and something had already come to her from her father. When the courier hand delivered the packet from her father, she retired to her in-castle office and sorted through the letters in the packet. Along with instructions from her father was another letter from Max.

Feeling a surge of energy coursing through her veins at the sight of Max’s handwriting, Elizabeth smiled and hurried next door to carefully place his letter inside her lacquerware box. Just knowing he still cares charges me up like nothing else, Elizabeth thought happily. And knowing we are fighting for the same cause makes me feel closer to him everyday.

Late that night, after a late combined dinner and conference with her primary subordinates to review what had been accomplished and what needed to be done tomorrow, Elizabeth finally allowed her maids to wash her and dress her for bed. Only when they were gone, and a small fire was burning in her fireplace, did she dig out her precious new letter, crawl into bed, and allow herself to wallow in her feelings.


Beloved Elizabeth,


I love you.

It’s been weeks since I left you, but it has felt like years. I long to see you, to touch you, to steal one more kiss.

I remember the anger and harsh words of our parting, and wish I had that day back to do all over again. You were angry, and rightly so, as there are a number of things I had kept from you to protect you. Know now that whatever anger I showed you that day was just misplaced wounded pride. I do not hold your words against you, but only wish I could take my actions back. It seems that even the hurt of being called a coward by the woman I love now pales in comparison to just how much I love her.

And I do love you so.

You inspire my actions just as much now as you did when I left. Even now, as we near our first goal, I live each day as if you were here with me, and find myself asking if the actions I take are ones of which you would approve.

Dearest, Elizabeth.

I am sure you worry about me, though I believe you are not the type to let it show. Just know I am being as safe as I can, so I can return to you someday. For example, we have just heard a large military force is encamped around Salzerei Castle. The Duke of Salzerei is a known ally of the king, but the force may be Khivar’s, laying siege to the castle, so we will proceed with caution. We have decided to swing wide around Salzerei to continue our journey, as getting there late is better than rotting in a dungeon somewhere.

I am almost out of space for writing, and I want to send this letter off in the morning with the merchant we talked to who warned us about the troops up ahead, so I will close this letter with my wishes for your health, safety, and happiness, even as I know I have yours.


Yours, now and forever,

Sir Zan


Elizabeth leaned back against her fluffy pillows and drummed her heels against her mattress out of sheer delight. Then she went back and read the entire letter once more before holding it against her chest as she closed her eyes and thought of Max.

After that, despite her exhaustion, nothing would do but that she get out of bed and retrieve the other two letters from her lacquerware box so she could read all three of them over and over. Elizabeth drank in every word and basked in every emotion from the letters for quite some time before finally putting all three letters securely in their box, and snuggling her pillow close as thoughts of Max soothed her to sleep.

Looooong update - for me at least - to make up for the time it has taken me to get it posted.


Once everyone was bathed and attired in fresh clothing, Max ordered up a meal for himself and his eleven companions. While they were waiting for the kitchen staff to prepare the meal, he decided there was no time like the present to deal with another issue: his army and why it hadn’t yet joined the loyalist forces. He sent two members of his bodyguard to fetch Steward Schmidt for what promised to be an interesting interview. It took a few minutes to locate the man, but he didn’t give them any trouble, and followed them to the small receiving room where Max and Michael were waiting.

While the bodyguards were searching for the steward, Max had pulled a chair from its position against the wall and placed it in the middle of the room. When Lord Schmidt arrived, Max nodded to the single chair and told him to sit. After that, no one said anything for several minutes as Max slowly walked around the chair like a predator circling its prey.

Finally, he came to a stop directly in front of the steward, and asked, “Why has my army not joined up with the loyalists? You know, those people who are trying to save my parents’ thrones? Has your loyalty been bought? Are you scared? Or are you inalterably dense? As I see it, those are the only three possible reasons that my army is still encamped not more than ten miles from here.

“Unless, of course, you are going to try to convince me that my captain-general is the one at fault. If so, you had better have documentation of your claims.”

The Lord Steward had bristled at the first question, which Max thought was a good sign, and the man had positively glowed at the idea of shifting the blame, until Max had told him he would have to prove any such claims. The man might be a capable administrator, as evidenced by the smooth way Borussia has run in my absence, Max thought, but he must be a lousy card player. Every thought or emotion he has is there to be read by anyone who looks at his face. He would never survive palace politics.

“You are not stupid, or else Father would have replaced you years ago, and your reaction to the idea of being a traitor makes me think you have not gone that route, so that leaves you being scared.” Max shook his head. “Afraid of Khivar? Of what he might do to you if he wins?” He leaned in menacingly, placing his face mere inches from Steward Schmidt’s. “You should have been afraid of what I would do when I found out.”

When Schmidt didn’t say anything in reply to that, Max began to wonder whether the man had found his courage, or if he was just to stunned to speak. Either way, the man was headed for a private cell in the dungeon of nearby Adlerhorst Castle. That should give him plenty of time to think about what he had or had not done.

“Take him,” Max said curtly to the two men who had brought the steward to the meeting. “I will write out the order of internment. Once it is signed and sealed, all you will need to do is take an officer of the palace guard with you for identification purposes.”

Hearing he was headed for a jail cell did what nothing else could do: it got the now ex-steward to speak. “Nooooooooooo, not prison. Please, Milord, anything but that.”

“What you have done is not worth execution, and I cannot afford to have you running loose in Borussia when I leave. Your potential to cause more trouble because of your fear once I am gone is too real to ignore.”

Max moved to a writing table over against one of the walls and sat down. He carefully wrote out an order for the castellan of Adlerhorst Castle to hold Lord Schmidt until such time as Max wrote another order for his release. He sanded the paper to take care of any unabsorbed ink and then folded it closed. Picking up a green stick of sealing wax, he held the end of it over a candle flame until the wax melted and dripped on the folded paper. Once he had a respectable puddle of hot wax right over the end of the folded sheet, he pressed his golden eagle signet ring into the wax, leaving behind an impression that every officer and court functionary in the duchy would know.

Handing the letter to one of the men escorting the former steward, Max said, “Do not worry about leaving here until after our meal. The prisoner is not going anywhere. And if I remember correctly, the castle is close enough that you should be back well before the evening meal.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

After the meal, the prisoner and his guards left, and Max sent for his personal tailor. The man and his assistants were going to be busy over the next few days making as many proper uniforms for himself and Michael as they could. Max was fully aware of how vulnerable he was sitting in his palace, but he didn’t plan on staying there any longer than necessary. As soon as he had things squared away in his home, he planned on joining his army as it moved to meet the loyalist forces.

After the tailor had made the proper measurements of Max and Michael, the rest of the afternoon was spent in conference, going over the state of the duchy and all of the information that had come in about the location, size, and composition of the various forces in the war. This was the first solid information they had received, and it allowed Max and Michael to make some definite plans.

With the weather getting colder, they figured there was only about another month of good campaigning weather before it got too cold for any fighting to continue. Max’s first goal was to maneuver his army to join up with the larger combined army Duke de Laney was leading, without running into Khivar’s force first.

His second goal was to then lead that newly combined army south toward the supplies that Lord Parker was assembling in Krakovia. That would make it easier to supply his men during the winter, and hopefully make things much more difficult for Khivar’s men, giving them the choice of retreating toward their own lands for shorter supply routes or enduring a miserable winter that would likely wreak havoc on the army’s health and morale.

Max wanted to avoid a big battle this season, and get his men into a snug, well-supplied encampment where they could wait out the winter. He then planned to visit as many as possible of the lords that had not yet committed to one side or another to talk them into supporting the king, so their personal armies could be added to the one he and Duke de Laney had assembled. That way, the loyalist forces would have enough men to be able to go on the offensive in the spring and hopefully finish the war.

While Max and Michael were checking maps and making plans, his servants were preparing a small baggage train just for him, with plenty of fine food and wine, a large tent, and an array of fine clothes for him to wear.

Max made one special request of his people: he wanted a couple of good-sized white and gold royal standards. Even though he was playing the role of duke right now, he knew he’d eventually have to identify himself as the crown prince, especially on the battlefield, and marching under a white silk flag with an appliquéd gold silk dragon was the easiest way he could think of to announce who he was from a distance.

To finish off the flag for him, the women on his staff had to give it a heavy black fringe. A plain royal standard might just indicate a unit of the royal household guards, or some portion of the King’s Legion, but a gold fringe meant the king was present, a silver fringe indicated the queen was the senior family member present, and a black fringe meant the crown prince was the leading family member present.

Max asked that the women not fringe the second royal standard because he thought he might run into his parents or sister at some point and wanted a back up flag for one of them in case it became necessary.

As his last item of business for the day, Max appointed his Lord Chamberlain to temporarily fill the post of Lord Steward while he himself was away with the army. Max had chuckled at the man’s startled expression and had then added that his first item of business would be to select someone to take his former position as chamberlain.

That night, after a long day of planning, Max, Michael, and the ten man bodyguard slept in real beds for the first time since leaving Krakovia. They all figured it was likely their last time for quite some time, too, and thus planned on enjoying it to the fullest.

The next morning brought about another change in Max’s life. Once he had come home and claimed his position as the reigning Duke of Borussia, he knew it wouldn’t take long for word to reach Khivar that the crown prince had come out of hiding. Max would join his own army well before Khivar learned this, but that might just make his army Khivar’s primary target instead of Duke de Laney’s.

In any case, as Khivar would soon know where he was, there was no sense in hiding any longer, so his valet dressed him like the wealthy and powerful man he was. Gone were the chain mail and leather armor and the somewhat ratty looking frayed wool shirt and trousers.

Max was now arrayed in a fine linen shirt with lace on the end of his cuffs, a green wool military jacket with gold scrollwork on the chest and forearms and a gold silk sash across the waist, a pair of finely woven white wool knee breeches, and glossy, knee-high black riding boots. To this, he added a bright new white leather sword belt from which he hung his sword. He had all sorts of other clothes he could wear, should the weather worsen, but the cold weather gear was stashed deep in his baggage train. The one extra bit of clothing he expected to make much use of was an ankle-length waterproof cape made out of oilskin. Fall weather was unpredictable at best; but he was sure it would rain at some point.

Michael picked up some well-needed changes of clothing to go along with his armor. The staff found some standard soldier’s tunics and trousers that would fit Michael with little in the way of alteration, and then dug up an oilskin cape for him, along with a thick winter fur coat, hat, and mittens for the colder months ahead.

Michael was amazed to see that by the time they were ready to leave, he had acquired so much in the way of extra clothing and personal items that a wagon had been entirely devoted to his things. He was pleased to know he’d be sufficiently warm in the winter, but wondered at the toll the extras would have on their speed of march. He was about to protest them as unnecessary, when Max just pointed at the baggage train that carried nothing but things for him.

“Don’t worry about one wagon,” Max advised. “With all the wagons I have, and then all the wagons they are sending with the troops that will accompany us, one wagon more or less will not matter.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, “I guess one-thousand soldiers do require a lot in the way of provisions and baggage. Still, I’m not used to traveling so heavily.”

“Get used to it, Michael. You are not guarding a ‘squire’ anymore. Now you are dealing with the wealthiest duke in the kingdom.” Max reached up and scratched the back of his head. “The days of the twelve of us just hitting the road and riding are over. I will not be able to go anywhere ever again without a large entourage.”

The column of troops - which had been guarding the palace itself - and supply wagons left during the afternoon of Max’s second full day in his palace, mostly due to the time the tailor needed to make proper uniforms. Two nights in soft beds had been nice, but they needed to get going, as everyone was sure word of Max’s appearance was even now making it’s way to Khivar’s spymaster.

Word that the crown prince had reappeared could cause Khivar’s army to change course and try to intercept him before he was able to link his army with de Laney’s. Khivar was in between them, somewhat anyway, but if Max moved quickly, he stood a good chance of getting his army on the move before any spy information had a chance to get to Khivar.

Elizabeth was having a big day of her own the day her beloved Max left his palace behind. But it was a big day she didn’t think anyone remembered. She woke that morning knowing it was her seventeenth birthday. As her maids helped her through her morning ablutions, she thought it likely that with her family and most of the long-time Parker family servants still in Krakovia, there wouldn’t be many left who would remember this was her special day.

Trying to put aside her disappointment as just another cost of doing such an important job for her father and the royal family, she moped her way through a breakfast that had little more than a few strawberries in her oatmeal to ‘brighten’ her morning.

The weather was already quite a bit colder than it had been only two months earlier, and Elizabeth dressed for a day in the blustery winds that were common up in the foothills of the mountains. She still wore dresses, but now her dresses were made of heavy wool and she wore several wool shifts underneath her dresses. Wool mittens, sturdy boots, thick wool socks, and a hooded, thick wool cloak finished her ensemble.

Each supply caravan from her father in Krakovia contained another chest of money for expenses, but when Elizabeth had thought her workers might be inadequately clothed for cold weather work, she had sent an emergency request to her father for as many warm gloves, mittens, hats, and cloaks as he could find. That request had been dispatched by courier, as she felt she couldn’t wait for the returning caravan to carry the message. Her father had agreed and had sent everything he could buy in and around Varshova to send to her with the next supply convoy.

Those clothes were well appreciated, but only supplementary to the clothes the workers’ families made with the increased wages they had been receiving for the work they were doing during what was normally a time of little or no work in the town. The upshot of the free winter clothing was that the people of the town knew just how much their lady cared for them. Elizabeth had even gone to the caravan when it came in, to help distribute the clothes herself.

As she headed down the winding road from the castle to the town on her way to the sprawling warehouse complex she was in charge of, she was surprised to see the town square was unusually busy, with various people busily setting up numerous tables and long benches.

Elizabeth stopped her small bodyguard and headed over to the hubbub to find out what was going on. When she dismounted, she saw her father’s steward was among the people setting up, which only managed to pique her interest further.

“Would someone be so kind as to tell me just exactly what is going on here?” Elizabeth’s voice wasn’t impatient-sounding, nor did she seem angry. Most people within hearing distance just thought she sounded puzzled.

The steward had come to town early this morning just for the purpose of answering this question. He knew Lady Elizabeth would notice the unusual activity and wonder about it enough to stop. His task was to get her to stay…or better yet, to come back down from the castle in an hour or two when the air was warmer and the people had set things up.

The steward gestured back toward some open space, and asked, “If you would, Milady?”

Elizabeth consented to the steward’s request for a private talk. When they had walked far enough to be well away from everyone, the steward said, “It’s a festival of sorts.”

“A festival? For what? Harvest is long gone, and Winter Solstice is not for more than another month.”

The steward pursed his lips and then came right out with it. “The purpose of this festival is to celebrate your birthday, Milady.”

Elizabeth was both surprised and pleased. If asked, she could not have said which feeling was stronger at that moment. Gaining time to think, she asked, “Umm…why?”

“First, because you are a demanding but pleasant lady who does not ask anything more from her workers than from herself. The men who work under your direction all know you are the first one to the job site in the morning and the last one to leave at night. They appreciate that you share the long hours and the tough weather conditions they have to face.

“Second, because you have taken the time to get to know your workers. Most of those men had never met a member of your family until you came home and started this project. The people of Roswell have always liked the Parker family, knowing them to be good rulers, but getting to know you, even a little bit, has them starting to love the Parkers.” The steward shook his head in wonder. “It has been an amazing thing to see over the past several weeks.

“Third, because your family is hundreds of miles away. The townspeople do not want you to go through this special day alone. They seem to want, if only for a day, to be your family. From what the mayor has told me, this will be a big deal. All the families are expected to bring a special dish for a day of feasting, there will be games for the children and even some for the adults, and then the town band will play and there will be lots of dancing and drinking.”

“I have come down to town for most of the festivals,” Elizabeth said, “but this sounds like something a bit bigger than what I remember.”

“It probably is. All of this war work is pumping a large amount of money into this town, extra money the people do not usually have, so most of these families can afford to do something a little more special and still have a decent amount of money left over.”

Elizabeth smiled softly as she watched the preparations that were for her. Or at least, she sensed, mostly for her. “I assume the reason you told me this was not that you were afraid I would stop it, but more that you wanted me to give everyone a day off from working at the supply base.”

The steward cracked a smile of his own and nodded once. “Truly, you are your father’s daughter. You have his incisive mind…and yes, I do think the townspeople need a day off, to celebrate, let off steam, and to thank you for what you have done for them.

“But they are not the only ones who need a day off, Milady.” Elizabeth looked at the steward with raised eyebrows that seemed to ask him ‘who?’ “Lady Elizabeth, you need a day off more than anyone else. I see the way you work. Day in and day out, you drive yourself relentlessly, and I think you need a break now and then to relax and rest.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“No. If I may say so, Milady, you look as lovely as ever.” There the steward paused. “There is just a tightness around the eyes and maybe a slight shortness of temper these days that give you away.”

“I am not…” Elizabeth had been about to say she was not getting short-tempered, but she caught herself just about to respond to the steward with some heat, and it surprised her. “Humph. I guess I am wound up a little bit.” Elizabeth peered at the steward. “How long have I been like this?”

A gentle shrug proceeded his answer. “A week or so. Most everyone has noticed it. Everyone, that is, except for the children. To them you are still unfailingly sweet.”

Elizabeth accepted the steward’s judgment in the way it was intended. “Okay. Announce a day off for everyone in town. Send a note to the captain-general apprising him of the situation and let him know if any supply caravans come today, they will just have to come down and join the party today, and we will unload them tomorrow.” Elizabeth turned and looked back at the party preparations. Figuring the townspeople needed more time, she said, “I am heading back to the castle to change into something more festive. I will be back in an hour.”

The steward faced Elizabeth and bowed low, “Happy birthday, Milady.”

Elizabeth came back down, as she had said, in a much more festive dress, though still layered for warmth. When she and her ever-present guards reached the town square, an odd mishmash of table and chairs were set up, a number of which were laden with food and drink. Hundreds upon hundreds of town folk were gathered around the mayor and town council, which were all seated together in a long row.

As Elizabeth approached the council, the men all rose, and one of her guards rushed forward to hold her horse while a couple of townspeople dragged a mounting block into position, all for Elizabeth to dismount her horse like the fine lady she was.

She assumed she was supposed to approach the mayor to get this underway, but when she moved that way, the mayor gestured, and two very small children made their way out of the crowd and headed toward her.

Neither child looked to be more than five years old, and Elizabeth thought they were absolutely adorable. The little girl looked up at her with wondering eyes. She’d never been this close to someone this pretty, who was dressed so fine, and she wanted to be just like Lady Elizabeth. The boy was shy and very nervous. Only with repeated vocal prodding by his mother did he manage to get close enough to Elizabeth to do his job.

The girl curtseyed and the boy bowed, neither of which was smooth, but both were endlessly charming. At least Elizabeth thought so, and she dipped a brief but elegant curtsey of her own, which caused the girl to giggle madly and twist the fingers of one hand in her blonde curls, while the boy blushed and turned back toward his mother, who instantly told him to turn back around and do his duty.

The girl stepped up to Elizabeth and handed her a small basket of savory treats. There were small glazed fruit tarts, warm meat pies with flaky crusts that were filled with meat, spices, and gravy, and other local delicacies. Only the best of the best had been placed in her basket, and the smells wafting up from it were already making her hungry. The little girl received a big hug and few quiet words of thanks from Elizabeth before she scurried back to her family.

The boy was next, and he handed her a small bouquet of the last wildflowers of the year. Purples, yellows, and pinks were all mixed together, and even though the petals looked somewhat wizened, they were still pretty. And in any case, it was the thought that counted. Squatting low enough to peer into her small admirer’s eyes, Elizabeth was surprised when the boy finally screwed up the nerve to look at her. What he said next was just too precious for words.

“Will you marry me when I get big?”

Wanting to honor the courage it must have taken for the boy to utter such a request, Elizabeth leaned in, said, “We will see,” and kissed the boy on the cheek.

His eyes and mouth opened wide and he gasped, before running away from Elizabeth, a hand pressed over his kissed cheek, shouting, “She kissed me! She kissed me! I’m gonna marry Lady ‘lizbeth!”

Elizabeth laughed out loud, clapping her hands a couple of times before clasping them together and holding her flowers up so she could smelling her fading bouquet. The rest of the day, she was the guest of honor. She spent much of her time going from family to family and meeting the wives and all the children of the men who were working for her on this project. Elizabeth was grateful for her basket of treats, as that kept her pleasantly filled while visiting, plus everyone liked seeing her enjoy their special treats.

Elizabeth watched from the side as there were games and races for kids and adults, and once the late afternoon approached, the town band, small and not all that great, enthusiastically punched out some music to dance by. She took a turn with the mayor and with her five-year-old admirer, before taking center stage and loudly thanking everyone for making her seventeenth birthday one of her favorites.

Elizabeth drifted back up the winding road to the castle feeling refreshed. For one day, she’d been able to leave behind the grinding work of preparing to supply an army. Her only wish was that Max and her family had been here to enjoy this day with her. She stopped halfway to the castle and looked back on the townspeople as they cleaned up and went about their business. She wondered how many of them had a loved one in her father’s army and were worried about that army being sent off to war. She hoped an end could be reached so they wouldn’t have to wait and wonder like she was. When she made it back to the castle, she made sure to seek out the steward.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said warmly.

“For what?” the steward replied as he looked up from his account books.

“For arranging that lovely day for me and for the townsfolk…we all needed a day to let loose a little bit.”

“But what makes you think…?”

Elizabeth cut off his attempt at modesty with a raised hand. “You said it yourself: I am my father’s daughter. The townspeople never would have had the nerve to do something like this for a member of my family without some high-level encouragement.” Her sudden smile was as warm as her voice. “Once again, thank you.”

The steward smiled then and nodded his head, reluctantly accepting thanks for a job that had needed to be done. “You are most welcome, Lady Elizabeth. It is always my pleasure to serve the House of Parker.”

Reaching the main part of his army was easy as it was less than a day’s march from Max’s palace. The hard part would be joining his combined force, which now numbered 13,000 men, with Lord de Laney’s force farther to the east, as Khivar’s army was closer to both Max’s army and Lord de Laney’s army, than they were to each other.

Max and his captain-general had fast-moving light cavalry surrounding the main body of the army like a cloud as they marched toward Lord de Laney. The cavalry had two highly important primary jobs to accomplish while the rest of the army concentrated on marching at a fast, sustainable pace: one, they acted as the eyes and ears of the army, discovering what was out there and reporting back to the high command; second, they were out there to screen the army by preventing the enemy from discovering its location and strength.

During the military training of his youth, Max had learned that a famous Antarian general had once said that with a clear superiority in just two things - information and speed - he could win any war…and that of the two, he preferred an edge in information. Max knew his current chances for success depended in large part on his light cavalry. They needed to bring him accurate information on Khivar’s men and movements, while keeping Khivar’s people from learning about his own until it was far too late.

As the Borussian army marched, no news was good news for Max and his officers, as the light cavalry reported no contacts with any patrols from Khivar’s army. The hardest part for the officers was setting a fast pace that wouldn’t break the stamina of the army, especially the infantry.

Things were continuing to look good as Max and his senior officers held their nightly staff meeting. He was nominally in charge, but wisely deferred most judgments to the experienced captain-general who’d led these men for the last ten years or so. Still, when a major decision had to be made, the captain-general laid out the choices, Max weighed the information he’d been given, and made the decision. Foremost of those decisions was how to accomplish a river crossing with the enemy nearby. The bridge over the river was washed out, but it was shallow enough for the soldiers and horses to wade. The problem was that the river bottom was thickly muddy at that place, forcing the army’s long and vulnerable wagon train of supplies to either go up river to the next usable bridge or wait for the army‘s engineers to build a replacement bridge.

The nearest bridge was a day’s round trip away and would require splitting the army as some of the cavalry went off to escort the wagon train, while building a new bridge would take most of two days and require the army to stand in one place the whole time and hope Khivar wasn’t on the move. The lesser time spent was the key factor in Max’s decision. He chose to send his lengthy supply train upstream, away from Khivar,

It was a good thing Max chose to save a day by splitting his command, because just then, Lord General Khivar was receiving his first positive information that Crown Prince Maximilian had come out of hiding and was on the move with the bulk of his forces. Khivar’s focus, up until now, had been keeping Lord de Laney’s smaller army bottled up in this end of the kingdom. His one worry was that allowing Lord de Laney to escape might allow him to pick up small additions to his army along the way from various loyal lords.

Khivar’s problem was getting his cavalry moving to cover two likely, and one not so likely, lines of advance. His men spread out in a wide semicircle to the east, looking for any sign of the advancing Borussians. He had to find Max before he could start to move the bulk of his army to make the intercept.

Khivar’s searchers ran into Max’s cavalry, in their screening/protecting role, right about the time Max was deciding to rush ahead and get across the river as soon as possible. By the time word reached Khivar, and he got a large enough portion of his army on the road, Max’s men were already across the river and driving hard to link up with Lord de Laney.

Lord General Khivar cursed himself and anyone else nearby for his failure to learn Max had reappeared until it was far too late. Worse, now that he had made the unsuccessful gamble to try and catch Max’s Borussians crossing the river, his own army was out of position and could not prevent Lord de Laney from escaping the small pocket in which his army had been trapped.

Max saw the same things Khivar did, except he still didn’t know the exact location of Khivar’s army, so he drove his men ruthlessly, desperate to reach Lord de Laney in time to combine the two forces and make their escape.

Max’s outriders met up with Lord de Laney’s at roughly the same time that Khivar was back at the river crossing cursing himself. Lord de Laney’s men sent to headquarters for someone high ranking to ride out and meet them, even as Max’s army kept on advancing toward the spot where the outriders had met.

A small contingent of Lord de Laney’s soldiers and officers were present when the main body of Max’s army came into view. A cheer went up from Lord de Laney’s beleaguered troops when the golden eagle of Borussia came into view on the green flag at the head of the column. Seeing the column of fresh troops, which was more than three miles long, gave new hope to men who’d become discouraged with the number of lords who had seemingly decided to sit out the rebellion and see who won.

By nightfall, Max was being introduced to Lord de Laney, even as his men got a late meal and settled in for the night. “Go on then,” Max said, “make the introduction. I assume Lord General Lord de Laney has other things he needs to be doing right now, and as for me, it’s been a long day and I could use some sleep.”

“My prince,” a minor lord in Lord de Laney’s army said, “it is my pleasure to introduce to you Lord General Edward de Laney, Duke of Pannonia.” The duke stepped forward and held out his hand for a quick, formal shake, which Max gladly accepted, even as the minor lord finished the introduction.

“Lord General, it is my highest privilege to introduce to you Lord Maximilian, Crown Prince of Alemannia, and Duke of Borussia.”

“It has been a long time, Edward,” Max said warmly. “I cannot tell you how good it feels to be amongst people who are willing to fight instead of sit idly by and watch Khivar ruin all we have built here.”

“It has been awhile, my prince,” the much older man said with a chuckle, as he pointed to a couple of canvas camp chairs. Max chose one and sat, allowing the rest of the people nearby to sit also. “I have not been to court in three years. Not since your memorable sixteenth birthday.”

Max had the grace to flush with embarrassment, even as he appreciated Lord de Laney’s delicate way of phrasing that last sentence. That birthday celebration had been a lot of fun, right up until the part where he and Lord de Laney’s beautiful fourteen-year-old daughter Victoria had been caught tonguing each other in a secluded corner of the hedge maze. Max hadn’t seen the blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty since.

Until now.

“With your leave,” Lord de Laney said, “I would like to take this chance to reintroduce my daughter to you.”

Curious, Max said, “Please do,” and watched as a luminously beautiful young woman stepped into the firelight.

Max remembered Lady Victoria de Laney as being very beautiful, but as she began a low and elegant curtsey, Max realized either his memory was faulty, an absolute impossibility, or else she had grown even more beautiful in the interim. He rose, gave her a moderately-deep bow in return, and then held out a hand for her to take as he bid her to rise.

“Hi, Vicki,” Max said quietly.

“Hi, Max,” Victoria replied, her laughing eyes dancing merrily with the flickering flames, “or do I have to call you Your Highness now?”

“Only in public.” Max smiled as he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the backs of her knuckles. “Surely you remember how little I like ceremony.”

“I do,” Victoria agreed, “but it has been three years, Max. People can change a lot in three years. Take me for example. I was something of a wild, rebellious child the last time you met me. Now? Now, I have settled down quite a bit.”

“I am surprised to see you haven’t found a husband yet,” Max said cautiously. Marriage was a subject he generally tried to avoid with young women, but he was quite surprised that a woman of her age, beauty, grace, and wealth hadn’t yet been matched with someone suitable.

“I am not quite eighteen, Max. I have got a little time yet.” Victoria leaned in conspiratorily and whispered. “Just between you and me, I do not think I will have long to wait once the war is over.”

Realizing that the prince had more important matters to discuss with her father than marriages, Victoria asked Max’s permission to withdraw for the evening, which he gladly granted. Once she had gracefully made her way to her nearby and very well-guarded tent, Max turned to her father, who was watching him closely, and asked, “What in God’s name were you thinking to bring a young woman on campaign with you? Have you no sense of decency?”

Lord de Laney took in a quiet breath and then slowly released it. “My wife and son are on a grand tour of a number of neighboring kingdoms and principalities, in an effort at finding him a suitable bride. You know, something about needing heirs for the succession; a need of which I am sure you are well aware.” Max nodded in agreement. “That left Victoria alone with me when the rebellion struck. Being far from any borders, my family does not have a big, strong castle that can be easily defended with a small number of troops, so rather than leave her in a potentially precarious position, I decided to bring her along.”

Knowing this could be a delicate area for any father, and not sure if he really wanted the answer to the question he was about to ask, Max went ahead and asked anyway. “Not that it is any of my business, but why is she not married? I could try to list her qualities, but I am sure you know them better than I do. She has to have more suitors than just about any young woman in the kingdom.”

Lord de Laney eyed Max for a moment, evaluating just what to say. “My daughter has had a number of suitors, several of which were more than acceptable…but before I could accept someone for Victoria, I was requested to wait.”

Max knew he was going to regret asking, but he did it anyway. “Who asked?”

“Your lady mother, Queen Diana.”

While the lower-ranked officers were finding places for Max’s Borussian troops to sleep, Max, his captain-general, and Michael were joining Lord de Laney and his senior officers to work on the integration of the Borussian troops into the larger army.

The officers all sat down around a small table that was covered with a map of the kingdom, and had little pins to mark the approximate positions of major bodies of troops. Max could see the strategic position at a glance, supposing the pins were correctly placed anyway, and he knew a lot depended on Khivar. Had he tried to intercept Max and his reinforcing troops? Had he stayed in place? Lord de Laney had sent a full 500 light cavalry back along Max’s line of advance to scout and discover the answers.

While they waited for that vital information, Max had a brief and very private conversation with Lord de Laney outside the command tent. “I am officially the overall commander here, Edward, but the only orders I intend to give are very general ones about where we are going or what targets are our priorities. When it comes to battles and such, you will still be the one in charge. You have the knowledge and experience to make the best use of our troops. My captain-general can be your second-in-command in those instances.”

“That sounds just fine to me, Your Highness. You set the agenda and I decide how we carry that out.” Edward was surprised by the prince’s willingness to relinquish command, but seeing that kind of wisdom made him more interested than ever in having his daughter marry into the royal family.

When the two men rejoined the rest of the senior officers inside the command tent, Lord de Laney started things off. “Your Highness, just how many troops did you bring with you?”

“Roughly 13,000,” Max replied. “About 2,200 cavalry and the rest are infantry. Those are primarily pikemen and archers. Plus we brought our own supply train. Enough salted beef, salted pork, and hardtack to last us a month at least.”

“Good. That gives us close to 40,000 men. Still not enough to take on Khivar head-to-head, but enough that a battle wouldn’t be the end of us. And seeing the number of bodies in camp increase by fifty or so percent will raise the spirits of everyone here…including me.”

“How many men does Khivar have at last report?” Max’s captain-general asked.

“Mmm…between 45,000 and 50,000, though we seem to equal his number of cavalry. But if you add in the King’s Legion, his numbers could rise to as much as 70,000.” Lord de Laney eyed his prince. “Do you have any word of where your parents are? If we could get them here, we should be able to get the King’s Legion to switch sides. That would give us a serious edge in numbers, and maybe allow us to end the war.”

“We think either my parents or my sister are holed up in Salzerei’s impregnable castle.” Max gestured to Michael. “Sir Michael and I estimated 5,000 troops encircling the castle. They must be Khivar’s men since 5,000 is much less than the number of men Salzerei can put in the field, and it’s much more than is needed to defend that castle from anything less than a full-scale assault by 50,000 battle-hardened troops.”

“If those are Khivar’s men,” Lord de Laney replied, “then we can reduce the numbers he has in front of us by 5,000, down to a maximum of 65,000...but then we are faced with the question: where the Hell are the Duke of Salzerei’s men. He has almost 10,000 of his own, men that we desperately need.”

No one knew. No one had even heard a rumor. They figured the duke’s captain-general had to be leading those troops this way, but since Salzerei’s men started from much farther south than Max’s had, they would have had to come around Khivar from the other direction and been blocked from reaching Lord de Laney by Khivar‘s positioning. Having reached that conclusion, Max and Lord de Laney had to wait for word from the scouts before making any final plans.

Once word reached them that Khivar’s men had indeed moved north to try to intercept the Borussian army, Edward decided to have the army on the road by dawn, marching away from Khivar, so they could get out of an area they had largely picked clean of supplies. Max’s one order to Lord de Laney was that their final destination was Roswell, where he intended for them to last out the winter in relative comfort.

“Roswell? What the Hell is in Roswell? Who is the baron there? Is he loyal?”

“The Baron of Roswell is Lord Jeffrey Parker. As for his loyalty, I can vouch for it as being of the highest quality. My father thinks so also, as I was sent to hide with his family before Khivar made his move.” Hearing all that made Lord de Laney nod. If the royal family trusted the man so completely, that was good enough for him. “And as for what is there, the baron has been working since the day I left his family to gather supplies for us.
“By now he should be in Roswell building a supply a base large enough to handle our needs for the coming winter. And as Khivar’s men will be hundreds of miles from any reliable source of supplies, he will have to retreat for the winter which will allow me to spend that time going from lord to lord, drumming up support for a spring offensive to end the rebellion.”

Once on the road, Lord de Laney drove the army relentlessly onward. For the prince’s plan to work, they had to get to and through the last mountain pass on the route to Roswell before Khivar caught up with them. If they succeeded, they could easily hold the pass and force Khivar to withdraw, just as the prince envisioned. If they did not succeed, Khivar would be able to force at least one major battle before the weather caused an end to the fighting for the year.

Khivar chased Edward and Max across half the kingdom. One positive was that the Duke of Salzerei’s army joined up with Max and Lord de Laney halfway through the chase, driving their army up toward 50,000 men in size.

Another positive was that since Max was with the army, and they didn’t have Khivar in between them and the supply base at Roswell, he was able to establish a much quicker route of communications by sending all official and unofficial correspondence directly to Roswell by army courier. Once the messages reached Roswell, he figured Lord Parker would pass them onto Elizabeth – wherever she may be - and in turn, finally allow her to send replies to him.

Not long after the Duke of Salzerei’s men joined up, Max started making some private calculations. He knew roughly how fast they were traveling, but also knew how fast Khivar was moving in their wake. And when he calculated the remaining distances involved for all parties, he came to the sickening conclusion that they would not be able to clear that final pass before Khivar caught them.

With 50,000 troops available, Max liked their chances, if only they were somehow able to get the King’s Legion to realize they were fighting against the king’s forces and not fighting to defend the king from some kind of attack. They just had too much loyalty toward Khivar. With the King’s Legion on Khivar’s side, the count was 65,000 to 50,000 in favor of Khivar. If they got the Legion to switch sides to where they belonged, the count became 70,000 to 45,000 in favor of the royal forces.

Exasperated, Max thought, Even if I could just get the Legion to back off and not fight for either side in the battle, because they weren’t sure which side was right, the count would still be 50,000 to 45,000 in favor of us. That would give us a fighting chance.

Realizing there would be at least one major battle before winter, Max dug into his bag of tricks and dictated a letter to one of his aides-de-camp. In the letter, Max commanded Lord Parker to send letters to all the local nobles who were known to support the royal family. In those letters, Jeffrey was to order them to bring their individual armies with all due haste and meet at Roswell. Once those nobles reached Roswell, they would be under the overall command of the crown prince’s chosen representative for the march over the mountain pass to join up with Max’s army.

Max finally retired to his tent to finish the love letter to Elizabeth that he had been writing for the past several days during his few moments of peace. At the last moment before the courier left, the prince got another idea and had a servant dig up the backup royal standard from his baggage to send it to Lord Parker. He hoped seeing Jeffrey under the royal standard would reinforce his position as the commander of this expedition in the minds of the other lords, so they would give him as little trouble as possible.

Having done what he could, Max sent the courier on his way and then went to let Lord de Laney know what he had concluded about their march and the steps he had taken to help them. Once he began to talk with Edward, Max quickly learned the commander had been having the same worries for a few days. Even stinging Khivar’s advance troops with a couple of well-planned rearguard ambushes did little to slow the pace of their advance.

“How many troops do you think Baron Parker will be able to drum up with his letters?”

Max took in a deep breath and let it out in a rush as he thought. “I don’t know…maybe 8,000. No more than 10,000 for sure. Those small-minded skinflints will hoard more of their forces than their castles need for short-term defense.”

Beyond his duties to the army, and the kingdom it defended, Max had something else to deal with every day: Vicki. She was demure, intelligent, discreet…Max thought that if he had met this more mature version of her before he had left home, he might very well have taken a serious interest in her. But now that he had Elizabeth, Vicki had no chance. Still, he was well aware of her many political connections, especially her familial connection to his army’s commander, Lord de Laney, and he had no wish to irritate her and in the process offend a man who was doing so much for his family.

So, after the late evening staff conferences in the command tent, Max was sure to find Vicki waiting for him, and they’d take an aimless walk through the camp. Each conversation made him surer she would be an excellent match for someone…maybe he could get Kyle to come back and make a concerted effort at winning her father’s approval…but as much as he enjoyed her attentions, she would never be the right one for him. Elizabeth had set a standard no other woman could hope to match. But since it was possible he could be ordered to marry Vicki for the good of the kingdom, he kept his thoughts about her suitability for himself…or lack thereof…strictly to himself.

And as Max’s army continued to march, with Khivar’s rebels chasing them, Max’s set of couriered messages finally reached Roswell. Max was expecting Lord Parker to be there overseeing the supply base, but Lady Elizabeth was the one who received the message pouch and a soft, canvas-wrapped bundle. In the message pouch, she found three sealed letters.

The first letter was for her father. It was a rather curious delivery, as the courier said the canvas-wrapped bundle belonged with this letter. The handwriting on the address wasn’t something Elizabeth recognized either. She would have to open the letter and read it before sending it on, just in case it contained any orders for the supply base instead of specific orders for her father.

The second sealed letter was for her, this one addressed in Max’s elegant handwriting. Seeing another letter from him made Elizabeth giddy with excitement. As much as she wanted to read that letter right now, though, she knew she’d have to wait until business was done for the evening.

The last letter, curiously enough, was for Maria of all people, and was addressed in a painfully cramped writing style that seemed to indicate a self-taught writer who rarely practiced what he had learned. Wondering what could be inside, and from whom, Elizabeth set that letter aside to be sent on to Varshova.

Elizabeth lit a couple of extra candles at her desk for better reading light and examined the elegant seal on the letter for her father. Made of a white sealing wax that was shot through with flecks of gold, Elizabeth could clearly make out the eagle sigil that had been used to seal the letter closed. She then took her letter opener, heated its blade in the flame of one of her candles, and deftly worked the hot blade under the seal, to open the letter while keeping the seal intact. When the letter fell open, she began to read the letter, and quickly found the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

A major battle, Elizabeth thought as she read, likely on the other side of the mountain range…desperate for more troops. Oh, Max! Be smart. Be safe. She just knew he would be right in the midst of the fighting, determined to fight as hard as anyone else, even if he had forgiven her for her hasty accusations.

Elizabeth knew she would get little sleep tonight. This letter was intended for the commander of the supply base, who the crown prince assumed would be her father, but instead it was her. First, she wrote a letter to her father and prepared it to go out to Varshova along with Maria’ letter first thing in the morning. It would likely reach her father far too late for him to return to Roswell and take command, but she had to try.

Then, Elizabeth summoned her steward from his quarters, and the two of them worked together on deciding exactly which local nobles were loyal and were close enough to Roswell to get here in time. They then wrote several versions of a letter to the nobles, until they created one they liked. This letter was an order to those nobles to present themselves, and their armies, in Roswell by such and such a date. They were only to be allowed to leave enough troops at home to protect their castles. The rest had to come to Roswell.

After that, Elizabeth and her steward each wrote out six copies of the order. Elizabeth then signed all twelve letters with her father’s name, as she was acting as his representative, before affixing her father’s seal to each letter. Then she got an idea: since this was all being done at Prince Maximilian’s order, she used the ring he had entrusted to her to seal each letter again, this time with the royal dragon seal. Once all twelve letters were ready to be sent out at first light, Elizabeth sat back and wondered how she’d gotten caught up in all this.

The steward just stood there, appraising the calm way the young Lady Elizabeth had handled this unexpected duty. When he finally spoke, what he said surprised her even more than receiving that letter from Max. “I think, Milady, that in two to three weeks’ time, you will command a larger army than any other woman in the history of our kingdom. You are, after all, the king’s representative until such time as your father arrives from Varshova…and we both know that letter you sent will not reach him in time.”

“Me a commander…the one thing I have not trained for.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether she wanted to run screaming or just quit, but being a Parker, she knew she’d stay and face this new responsibility. “That makes me…what? Lady General Elizabeth Parker?”

“Something like that, Milady. You will have your captain-general to lean on. He will give you lots of practical advice, but the orders will have to be seen as coming from you.”

Wanting to distract herself from those thoughts, Elizabeth reached over to the canvas-wrapped package and opened it. Inside was a sheet of white silk. Asking for the steward’s help in opening the silk sheet all the way, they both saw it was a royal standard, a flag that announced the presence of royal forces.

Seeing that flag hammered home the point made by the letter from Max, that Elizabeth was now working directly under the command of the royal family, and her thoughts went back to the opening line of the prince’s letter, the same line she had used to start her letters to the other nobles: ‘In the name of the king…’

She realized that from now on, everything she did was in the name of the king. Before, she’d been able to convince herself that she was just helping her father. Not now. Now, she was part of something more, something greater, than just her father’s duty and her wish to do whatever she could to help so that Max might be able to come home safely.

‘In the name of the king.’

What an awesome responsibility.

Elizabeth didn’t know if she was up to it, but having watched her and worked with her since her return from Varshova, the steward knew she was ready.

“You can do this, Milady, you can.”

Elizabeth smiled uncertainly, wishing she was as confident as the steward was, as she took her letter from Max and headed to bed. She knew that when the morning came, she would have to go back to all the duties that had been placed upon her by her father, and now by Max, but for the next hour or more, she just wanted to be a normal girl, read how much her beloved loved her, and dream of their life together.

Elizabeth’s various messengers were long gone by the time she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and called her maids in to get her ready for another day out in the cold. She’d read Max’s letter over and over last night before drifting off to sleep, which dug even further into the precious few hours she had allotted for sleep, but quite frankly, she didn’t care. This letter had included another of those Cipangan haikus, and she had already committed every word to heart.


The haiku was such a simple form of poetry, and yet difficult due to the limited number of syllables allowed in each line. She knew he had to be as busy as she was, so even receiving a poem like this was very precious to her.

By the time the maids had Elizabeth ready to go downstairs and eat breakfast with her steward and castellan, she had gone over the contents of her letter from Max several more times, and had a huge grin plastered from ear to ear. No one who saw Lady Elizabeth that morning had to be told if she had received a missive from Sir Zan the night before. The spring in her step and the brightness of her smile were all anyone needed to see to know. Even some of the villagers were starting to learn that their lady had a beau.

Over the next couple of weeks, Elizabeth kept busy with her work with the seemingly never-ending flow of supplies, but in her mind she was listening for the tramp of an approaching army. She had no way of knowing how many of the lords she had written to would honor the royal order to mobilize their armies, but once the date set forth in the letters came, she was leading whatever troops were on hand over that mountain pass, whether it was just her father’s small army or a much larger force.

She still had time though; that date was nearly a week away.

The next day, the first lord and his army came marching up to Roswell. Elizabeth’s captain-general sent officers to direct the new men to their pre-selected campsite and to bring the lord to the supply base for a preliminary meeting with Lady Elizabeth. Just in case this lord was a hard case, the captain-general also sent for the steward and castellan to come down to the base, but stay out of the way unless Elizabeth needed them.

The lord in question was the Count of Albemarle. The good news was that he was the contacted lord who’d had the farthest to come and yet he had shown up first. That indicated an eagerness on his part and a readiness amongst his troops that boded well for the force Elizabeth planned on leading east at the end of the week.

The problem was, the Count of Albemarle was expected to be the most difficult lord on the list to convince. First off, as a count, he outranked Elizabeth’s father and most likely wouldn’t be happy about being placed under Jeffrey’s command. Secondly, he was even less likely to approve of being placed under the command of a woman.

Now that Elizabeth had been given a direct royal order by the prince, she chose to wear his signet ring as a sign of her authority. She couldn’t wear it on any of her fingers,though, even her thumb was too slender, so she had it around her neck on a very thick gold chain…the biggest one she owned. Still, she didn’t want to hammer anyone with her symbol of authority; she hoped to convince them with logic. She planned to show them the letter she had received from the prince authorizing her father to gather and command the forces coming to Roswell, and then she’d give them personal tours of the huge operation she had built from the ground up. When they wondered where the money had come from for such a base, she would point out the obvious: that her family couldn’t hope to pay for something like this, so their money must have come from the crown. If they still wobbled, she would produce the letters her father had sent to the castellan, the steward, and the captain-general placing them under her command until such time as he rescinded the order or replaced her himself.

The idea was that the lords would come to the conclusion that this little woman was indeed the king’s representative. Only if the lords then failed to acknowledge her would Elizabeth pull the heavy gold signet ring from its hiding place between her breasts as the final proof of her authority.

As the count entered Elizabeth’s small office just inside the main entrance to the supply base, she stood and curtseyed for the man who outranked her and waited for his brief bow in reply before straightening back up.

“Which one of Roswell’s daughters are you, Girl?” the count asked. His manner was as brusque as the snow white handlebar mustache on his otherwise immaculately shaven face. Elizabeth had expected the count to be difficult, and set about converting him to her side.

“I am Elizabeth Claudia, his second, your Lordship.”

The count was dressed in his field dress uniform consisting of a sky blue jacket with royal blue trim, royal blue knee breeches with a wide red stripe down the outside seam on each leg, and black knee boots. Over the coat, the old man wore a white leather sword belt from which hung a leather-wrapped wooden scabbard that held a sword with an ornate but well-worn handle.

To Elizabeth’s eyes, the count was sixty-five years old at the very least, and rumor had it he was thrice-widowed and on the lookout for wife number four. The very thought made her shudder.

“Your captain-general has my army setting up its camp right now,” the count said, “but he directed me to this building to meet my commander for this operation, and yet, when I get here, all I find is you.” Looking around the room, the count smacked his leather gauntlets against his thigh, and asked, “Where the Hell is Jeffrey? If I have to obey the boy, the least he could do is not keep me waiting all day.”

“As your commander, Lord Howland, my father is not obliged to bend his schedule to yours.” Elizabeth was a bit frostier in her manner of speech than she had intended. “As his subordinate, you are here to wait upon his leisure.”

Taken aback by the cold words and colder glare coming from this rather tiny young woman, Lord Howland looked at Elizabeth more closely, and asked, “Just how old are you, my dear?”

“My age is not the subject at hand. What is up for discussion is you and your willingness to follow the chain of command as established by the crown prince and his designated commanders, such as my father.”

Feeling that his loyalty had been called into question, the old count drew himself up to full attention and replied, “I have never, ever, refused or disobeyed an order from a lawful superior. To suggest otherwise is an affront to the honor of my house.”

“Then you will not have any difficulty obeying my commands, I am quite sure.”

“Your commands?” The count was flabbergasted and beginning to get angry. “I take it you have deluded yourself into believing that the crown prince, who has never once in his life come within a hundred miles of this backwater shithole, has chosen the second daughter of one of the most obscure noble families in the kingdom to take command of this operation. Tell me why I should believe any of that horseshit.”

“He did not choose me,” Elizabeth admitted. “He chose my father. We had left the kingdom and were living in a manor just outside of Varshova when my father received a communication that both ordered him to begin assembling the supply base you are standing in and gave him access to the financial resources to build the base and to purchase the needed supplies. If you paid any attention to the base as you rode up here today, you would have to know my family could never afford such a construction project.

“Father decided to stay in Varshova with my sisters so he could purchase the supplies and organize the wagon trains. He sent me here to take charge of the operations on this end, including building the base, and now, gathering this army and getting it to the crown prince.”

Since the count had already accepted Lord Parker’s position as his commander for this operation, Elizabeth left the letter from the prince in her belt pouch. But seeing as her explanation centered on her contention that her father had delegated his authority to her until he said otherwise, she chose this moment to pull from her belt pouch the letters he’d sent to his chief subordinates in Roswell that put them under her command, and showed them to the count.

Lord Howland read each of the letters twice before handing them back to Elizabeth. “I seem to be in error here,” the crusty old man admitted. “I’ll not pretend to be happy with this arrangement, not by a long shot, but nowhere in my training was my happiness required when it came to commands…just my obedience.”

Lord Howland, the Count of Albemarle, knelt on one knee and bowed low in a courtly, sweeping gesture from days gone by. Still on that on one knee before Elizabeth, he said, “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Lady Elizabeth. I and my 3,000 troops are at your disposal for however long the crown prince requires them to be so.”

Now that the count had capitulated, Elizabeth used a smidgen of her considerable charm to try and ease the old man’s ego. “Thank you, my Lord. Please rise. You are forgiven.” Elizabeth took the letters, refolded them, and placed them back into her belt pouch. As she took the seat behind her somewhat cluttered work desk, she gestured for the count to take one of the chairs opposite her. “I am the one in charge here, at least nominally, but most of the decisions regarding the army itself will be made by professional soldiers. I will just decide when and where, and they will decide how. For now I am leaning heavily on my father’s captain-general, but well-considered advice from any of my senior officers will always be welcome.”

“Thank you, Milady.”

Elizabeth drummed the fingertips of one hand on the top of her teak desk. “Three thousand, eh? That puts us up to more than four thousand already.”

“How many more do you plan on arriving before we march?” Lord Howland asked.

“Mmm…we expect at least 10,000, especially now that you’re here.” She shrugged her shoulders, as if what she had to say next was unimportant. “If everyone I wrote to comes with his maximum force, then we may get as many as 17,000. But our plans are for the smaller number, with adjustments possible if more arrive.”

Lord Howland was somewhat mollified by Elizabeth’s stated willingness to listen to advice; to him, that meant she knew her weaknesses and was more than willing to get help with the things she did not know. He was also pleased when he heard how practical she was being about the size of the force she expected to raise. That indicated to him that someone levelheaded was in charge of this operation, another major plus. This feisty little girl might work out after all, he mused.

Over the next four days, other nobles and their small armies poured into Roswell. During that time, Elizabeth found that crusty old Lord Howland was her best ally when it came to getting the rest of the nobles to accept her as their commander. If they raised any objections, the old count always seemed to be on hand to glare at them for challenging her authority.

Finally, it was departure day. Elizabeth had only expected 10,000 men and had hoped for as many as 17,000, but was more than happy to have ended up with almost 15,000 under her command. Eight different nobles had shown up, and while some maybe hadn’t brought as many men as they could have, some of them had neighbors who were fairly well-known as rebel sympathizers, which was something the loyalists had to guard against.

Elizabeth’s captain-general had sent her light cavalry up the pass the day before to make sure the way was clear, and to make contact with the prince’s forces which, according to schedule, should be marching down the wide valley on the other side of the mountain range right now. The rest of the army started marching early, with the leading elements well into the pass by the time the first streaks of light lit the eastern sky.

The good thing about this particular pass, for this operation anyway, was that on the far side of the mountains, the pass opened up very wide just before making its final descent to the valley floor. That would allow Elizabeth’s hastily thrown together army a chance to gather itself as a unit, and if they kept to her timetable, allow them at least one day to rest before being called on by Max.

The height of the wide spot in the pass should also prevent Khivar’s forces from seeing Elizabeth’s reinforcements until they started the descent to the valley floor. To protect that surprise advantage for her prince’s use, Elizabeth strictly forbid any campfires of any sort once they reached the gathering spot. Even though there likely wasn’t much firewood in the pass, she didn’t want to risk giving away their position with the smoke from their fires.

Once Elizabeth’s army reached its designated spot, all she had to do was sit and wait. Her light cavalry should have made contact with the prince by now, so she was waiting to receive his orders for the battle, which could start as soon as the next day.

While Elizabeth was dealing with recalcitrant nobles, Max and Lord de Laney had been shepherding their army down the length of that valley in a desperate attempt at staying ahead of Khivar’s hard-charging army. They knew a battle was inevitable at this point, but they wanted to get to the southern end of the valley so Lord Parker’s reinforcements would be available to even things up as much as possible.

Max’s major goal for this battle, at present, was to survive it with his army intact, and wound Khivar’s army enough that the loyalists would be able to retreat over the mountain pass while Khivar’s forces reorganized.

Khivar’s hope was to press his present advantage, in both quantity and quality of troops, and turn it into an overwhelming advantage in a battle that could see the end of the loyalist army and quite possibly the death of the crown prince. He, too, knew that winter was fast approaching and so he pushed his forces to close up on Max’s army and force it to turn and fight, but every time he pushed his cavalry ahead, Max’s rearguard sent it back bloodied.

Khivar was getting frustrated, but he could read a map as well as anyone, and knew, just like Max and Lord de Laney knew, they would have to turn and face him before they could hope to go through the one pass at the end of the valley.

Every morning, Lord de Laney had scouts out well in front of the army, looking for any sign of Lord Parker and his reinforcements. The earlier they learned of his approach, the earlier Edward and Max could finalize their plans for the upcoming battle. Their army made it half way down the valley before they finally made contact with the first of Elizabeth’s light cavalry scouts. As soon as the four-man patrol was identified as being from the Baron of Roswell’s army, they were taken to meet the prince and the duke on the march.

Max and Lord de Laney rode close to the front of the main body. With 50,000 men now, after the addition of the Duke of Salzerei’s 10,000 not too long ago, the length of the army on the march, not counting their wagons of supplies, was nearly twenty miles, so they had placed the newly arrived duke in charge of the all-important rear guard. When Elizabeth’s men reached Max and Lord de Laney, all four saluted and held their salutes until the prince and the duke returned them.

“What news do you have for us?” Lord de Laney asked. He easily masked the urgency that he was feeling from the men facing him, but Max knew it was there.

In an effort at avoiding miscommunication, Elizabeth had written out multiple copies of what she wanted to tell to the prince. So the leader of this four-man patrol pulled a set of papers out of one of his saddlebags and handed the lot over to an aide, who took it to the duke.

“The top sheet, your grace, lists the composition of Lady Elizabeth’s forces, and the rest…” Max had been listening, but not paying close attention to Lord Parker’s scout, until he heard the magic words: ‘Lady Elizabeth.’ He then looked sharply at the man, who was not much older than himself, and focused intensely on each word said.

When the brief explanation was over, and Lord de Laney was quietly reading the documents as he rode, Max pulled the man out of the line of march and said in a low but very sharp voice, “What did you mean about the army belonging to Lady Elizabeth? Is her lord father not in charge?”

“No, Your Highness, he is not.” With a dangerous look in his eyes, Max ordered the man to explain. “Lord Parker stayed behind in Krakovia to make the contracts for supplies and to arrange the seemingly endless wagon trains that were needed to deliver the supplies to the forward supply base.

“Since he couldn’t be two places at once, Lord Parker chose Lady Elizabeth to come home and head up the organization, construction, and stocking of the base. And when your letter arrived ordering the marshaling of the local loyal nobles, she took that job for herself as well, as there was not enough time for Lord Parker to receive a message and then return from Varshova.”

Wincing at the thought of just how few troops had answered her call, and stayed with her once they realized a woman was in charge, Max asked the man what the report said.

“Nearly 15,000 men in all, Your Highness.”

Max nearly choked as he remembered his prediction of Lord Parker not being able to get more than 10,000, and then wondered at Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion. How she had managed to overcome the sexist predilections of the Alemanni nobility, he couldn’t possibly imagine. That she had done it though, was an indisputable fact.

What a woman! Max thought. And to think that she wants to marry me! Her father, on the other hand, is likely to feel the rough side of my tongue for putting her in such a spot in the first place.

“So who is in command now that the army is on the move?” Max asked. The answer he received floored him.

“Lady Elizabeth retains the overall command, Your Highness, though she seems to lean on the advice of select commanders. She is encamped with the main body, which is hidden in the pass.”

That stupid…Max suddenly wanted to tug his hair out. I swear before God my first act upon seeing her face-to-face will be to kiss her like she’s never dreamed of being kissed before and then my second will be to let her know, in no uncertain terms, she has no business being within ten miles of a battlefield.

Max was shaken out of his ruminations when the hesitant young man spoke up. “Your Highness? Lady Elizabeth also sent out a personal letter with each scouting party. It was to be hand-delivered to a young knight in your personal army. A man by the name of Sir Zan.”

Looking up from his dark thoughts, Max asked, “She did?”

“Yes, Sire. If you would be so kind as to direct me to him once you are done with me…” Max just held out his hand and ordered the man to hand him the letter intended for Sir Zan.

“But…but Sire…” the man spluttered. He intended to say Lady Elizabeth’s orders had been very exact to his commander, and from his commander to him, on the subject of delivering the letter. Those thoughts died a painless death when he realized just how far above Lady Elizabeth the prince was. He instantly fished into his saddlebag, came out with the letter, and handed it over to Max.

Once Max had the letter in his hand, he dismissed the soldier to return to his patrol, but told him not to return to Lady Elizabeth’s forces until Lord General Lord de Laney had preliminary orders for him to carry back to her.

Just before the young soldier rode off, Max stopped him, and added, “Tell no one what I asked you about. Lie to them if necessary, but make sure the lie is a simple one that can be repeated over and over.” Max turned in his saddle to more fully face the soldier, and narrowed his eyes. “Should I ever learn you have been so careless as to disregard this direct order, you should better hope you are already dead, for it will be the only way for you to escape my wrath.”

Max was a bit worried now. He realized he should never have stopped the messenger just to ask about Elizabeth, as it indicated a familiarity with her, and worse, an interest in her. Anyone learning that the prince had made intense inquiries about Lady Elizabeth might try to use that information. Still, her letter was addressed to Sir Zan, which was the same way he had named himself in his letters to her. It had been his only way to hide their connection should anyone else see his letters to her, and he was pleased to find she was following his example.

Once the scout left Max’s presence, he had to fight for control to keep from riding off and reading that letter instantly. Having the letter in his hand was like having her hand in his, pressing against his flesh lightly in a way that let him know they belonged together.

Quietly turning and placing the letter securely in one of his own saddlebags, Max then rode off to catch up with Lord de Laney. When he found the duke, he had pulled out of the line of march and was dictating a letter to an aide-de-camp who was sitting on the ground and using a portable camp desk to write on.

“…and under no circumstances are your forces to leave their hidden position in the pass until the crown prince, or I, signal you to you to…”

Max listened with one ear as Lord de Laney completed his missive. The rest of his attention was on Sir Michael and Lady Victoria, who were riding up at this very moment. Michael had taken it upon himself, at Max’s pre-dawn insistence, to entertain the lady for the day while the two commanders rode together. Max liked her well enough, but her near-continuous presence had finally begun getting on his nerves.

When Lady Victoria decided to turn and wait for her father and Max to finish what they were doing, so she could ride along with them, Max half smiled when he saw how Michael positioned himself so he was between Victoria and his prince.

The march continued that day until nightfall, and then people were scurrying around to set up camp and post guards all around it. After a hurried meal, Max and Lord de Laney gathered with their senior officers to plan a strategy that made use of the presence of Elizabeth’s 15,000 troops.

“Lady Parker’s remarkable troop recruitment has given us a rough numerical equality with Khivar,” Lord de Laney said. “While some may want us to have the reinforcements join us so we can line up and go toe to toe with Khivar, Prince Maximilian and I have another idea. It is somewhat riskier, but if successful, we may win the war before winter.”

“What happens if it fails?” asked a very sober-minded Duke of Salzerei. He was tired, having just ridden in from his position at the rear of the army, and not in the mood for crackbrained ideas.

“If it fails, and fails badly, we could end the war in Khivar’s favor before winter. If we suffer a garden variety failure or a stalemate, we will likely have wounded them enough to retire over the mountain pass and take up winter quarters right next to what sounds like a bountiful supply base.”

The first plan, the one where they lined up and went toe-to-toe with Khivar involved bringing Elizabeth’s troops down to the valley floor and then forming the combined army into a semi-circular line that covered their line of retreat up the pass. In this instance, the battle would be a slugfest, and if they survived it bloodied but in one piece, the remaining troops on the loyalist side would retreat up the pass to safety while Khivar’s men licked their wounds and regrouped.

The second plan, the risky one that could win or lose the war in one fell swoop, involved leaving Elizabeth’s troops where they were and lining the rest of the army straight across the valley floor along a low rise. This would put their escape route behind the left end of the line and provide them with supplying them with slightly better defensive terrain.

This plan would be a trap for Khivar and his commanders. It counted on three things to be successful: one, that Elizabeth’s troops would remain undetected by Khivar until it was time for them to attack; two, that choosing to use a traditional linear formation along slightly better ground, while forgoing the need to protect their line of retreat would make Khivar believe that the inexperienced Max was in full command and had overruled the likely advice from his more experienced advisors; three, that Khivar would attack with his best troops on the far left of Max’s defensive line, as he tried to make use of his perceived edge in numbers (not knowing Elizabeth’s 15,000 were waiting just above them in the pass) to drive Max’s men back and cut the loyalist army off from their only way out of the valley.

Once that was accomplished, Khivar would drive Max’s troops south, leaving the pass unguarded and behind them. At that point, a signal would be given, and Elizabeth’s troops would come out of hiding and storm down onto the unprotected right rear of Khivar’s formation.

Done right, this should lead to a rapid collapse of the right wing of Khivar’s army, followed in quick succession by either a piecemeal collapse of the entire line as Elizabeth’s troops work their way from west to east, or a general retreat as soon as Khivar’s men saw they had been outflanked and were minutes from destruction.

Done wrong, especially with respect to timing, and Elizabeth’s troops could move too early, keeping them from having full effect, or could move too late and find themselves facing a tired but victorious detachment from Khivar’s army, as the rest of them finished off the rest of Max’s army.

The final orders to Lady Elizabeth were dictated by Max to one of his aides. In them, she was cautioned against watching the battle, as she would feel the need to send in her troops too early, since it would look like things were going poorly no matter how well things were actually going due to the way things were planned.

Her army’s role in the next day’s happenings were explained to her, and at the last, she herself was strictly ordered to come no farther than the top of the last ridge that led down to the valley floor. Any closer than that and her commanders were ordered to arrest her and send her to the rear until the end of the battle for her own safety.

Once the orders to Elizabeth were on their way and Max’s official duties were done for the day, he retired to the expansive tent he shared with Michael, which was made of alternating green and gold silk panels and floored with numerous rugs and thickly furred animal skins, and settled in to read his first letter from Elizabeth. Oh how he hoped she was well and had received his letters to her.

He spent some time examining the elegant script of the address, imagining her hand holding a gold-nibbed pen as she poured out her heart to him, one letter at a time. He could already detect a faint whiff of her favorite scent, but was busy imagining her tears staining the thick paper as she wrote. Only when he couldn’t wait any longer did Max give in and pop open the wax seal with a gold and ivory letter opener.


My love,

I love you with a passion that is as fierce as it is unending. I know your army is drawing close to my home, and if things go well, we will have the winter together in Roswell. Oh how I long for that! How I long to be by your side once more, to revel in the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, and the sweet taste of your lips.

I have received many missives from you during the course of our seemingly eternal separation. You cannot know how those letters and the love they contain have sustained me through the long, cold nights when I felt most alone. They were like having the smallest portion of you at my side, something I could reach out and touch whenever I needed you. Which, I do not mind admitting, was very nearly every single day.

I love you, Zan. I feel our love more strongly with each passing day. Sometimes it affects me so much that I just want to find your parents and shake them by the neck while I scream at them as I try to explain how much being away from you hurts and how much you and I are meant to be together. I know that sounds silly, but it is true. I do not know what I will do if your parents refuse to allow us to marry.

I have to close the letter now, as ink is at somewhat of a premium in the castle these days, since all of the merchants who come through Roswell seem to have all of their goods purchased by various lords from the vast army encampment before merchants can even make it up to the castle. It seems I have to do without, to keep the lords of this army happy.


Your one true love,

Elizabeth


The inside address had been simple, as if there could be no possible doubt about who was meant by those two simple words. The rest of the letter had been short, but packed with love, and Max read it twice more, each time imagining Elizabeth’s voice speaking each word.

Michael had lain in his camp bed and looked anywhere other than at Max while the man was reading the letter from his girlfriend. It wasn’t until Max refolded the letter and put it away in the rosewood box that contained his writing implements that Michael finally rolled over on his bed and spoke.

“Is she well?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Max said, as he clicked closed the lock on his portable writing desk. “And if she is anything other than well after tomorrow’s battle, the person who was supposedly in charge of her safety, namely her father, will have some uncomfortable questions to answer.”

As dawn came peeking over the mountains to the east of the valley, Max and Elizabeth had been up and dressed for some time. Both were nervous, and for the same reason: each was facing his or her very first battle. The difference, of course, was Elizabeth had never expected to see a battle in her lifetime, while Max had been training for this moment almost his entire life.

With today being the big day, Max was in his field dress uniform, a slightly less fancy version of the full dress green and gold uniform he had worn to the Harvest Ball. But as he was now dressed as the Duke of Borussia instead of as a simple lieutenant, his uniform more than made up for a lack of spit and polish with a crushing tidal wave of gold brocade

Instead of a little gold brocade on the cuffs, he had looping curls of the stuff running up past his elbows, and as for his chest, it was so thickly covered with the gold brocade, that the green of his coat was only occasionally visible. His short, stiff jacket collar was a solid green field marred only by twin gold-plated enamel pins, one per side, that showed an eagle stooping to the attack. It was a pin that only the duke got to wear. His knee breeches were a spotless white, and his valet had his black boots gleaming in the subdued candlelight of the tent.

After strapping on his white leather sword belt, and thick white leather gauntlets, the only thing he had left to put on was a steel breastplate and backplate. He laughed silently as his valet placed the heavy steel on him, both because it completely covered up the ridiculous gold brocade on his chest, and because the fluted and gilded breastplate was every bit as ornate as the coat beneath it. Once both breastplate and backplate were in place, they were fastened together with thick leather straps at the shoulder, under the arms, and at the waist.

Max didn’t really need the armor, not unless he screwed up and got within arrow range of the enemy anyway, but he wore it just in case. He thought he really should be dressed in the white and gold of the royal family for this battle, but he didn’t have access to any of his things from the palace, which included his uniforms and specially-fitted armor.

Just before he left his tent in search of his horse, which should be saddled and ready by now, Max pulled on a steel helmet that had a green horsehair crest. Once he had the chinstrap buckled firmly in place, he headed outside to find his horse waiting for him, along with Michael and the rest of his bodyguard.

A few miles away in the mountain pass, Elizabeth’s dressing was quite a bit different. Her maids had her in a sober gray dress with divided skirts, and she was headed for her horse, when a small delegation of her lords came to visit just before dawn.

“To what do I owe this signal honor, gentlemen?” Elizabeth asked.

“Some of us spent last night discussing your unique situation as relates to today’s mmm…festivities,” one lord said mildly.

Elizabeth stopped just short of her mounting block and turned to face the men. “Unique in what way?” She could think of any number of ways she was unique in this company, but she wanted to see what they had in mind.

Lord Howland, as the most senior man present, both in rank and in age, stepped forward. “The problem, Lady Elizabeth, is that we are completely armored, but you have nothing on but a dress. This presents a problem.”

“But I do not intend to go anywhere near the battlefield, and the crown prince himself has forbidden me from moving any closer than the last ridge that leads down to the valley floor.”

“That’s all true, Milady, but we have come to the conclusion that you need to wear some armor of your own anyway.” Elizabeth started to protest. “Just in case,” Lord Howland finished.

She found their concern to be touching and knew she couldn’t refuse to honor their request. She made one last stab at getting out of it though. “I am kind of small to wear anything you gentleman can use. Do you not think?”

Elizabeth saw Lord Howland smile indulgently, and knew she’d been outfoxed. One of the younger lords stepped forward and held up a set of light armor that Elizabeth admitted might be her size. She signaled to her maids and headed back into her tent. The men went away to allow their lady to change in peace, while Elizabeth found herself facing an all-new set of garments.

“I sure wish Maria was here,” he mumbled to herself, as her maids sorted everything the lords had turned over to them, “she knows all about wearing this kind of stuff.”

The maids then set about stripping Elizabeth down to her skin and then getting her into what they had been told was a set of armor, and other clothing, that belonged to one lord’s son. Since the boy wasn’t being allowed even as close to the battle as Elizabeth was, he wouldn’t miss it.

She soon found herself wearing a loose, flowing shirt, with a padded leather shirt on top of that, a shirt of fine chain mail covering the padded leather and hanging halfway down her thighs, and a tabard over the top of that to keep the elements off of the iron links of the chain mail. The armor might be from a lord’s son, Elizabeth thought, as she eyed the purple tabard with the golden tiger head in the middle, but they got this tabard from one of my own people. After all, they couldn’t expect me to wear anything other than Parker colors. Not on a day like today.

As for her legs, they were covered with close-fitting leather pants and knee boots, with stiff, iron-banded leather greaves over the top of the pants but under the boots, to protect her legs from knee to ankle. To complete the martial look of their lady, the maids pulled her gleaming brown hair back and then braided it. The braid was then bent back on itself at the halfway point and the end was fastened to the beginning.

Elizabeth felt like her weight had just doubled. And while that was overstating things just a bit, she was moving more slowly, and left her tent completely sure she would be as sore as Hell tomorrow from wearing all of this stuff. The one thing she had insisted on was not wearing a helmet of any kind. She knew from experience with the stuff Maria liked to wear that a helmet made her feel somewhat claustrophobic. When Elizabeth left her tent all accoutered for battle, she found one small boy waiting for her.

“What is your name?” Elizabeth asked.

“Lord Duncan Howland, Milady,” the boy said as he bowed low. Elizabeth instinctively dipped a curtsey in reply and Duncan straightened.

“Your relation to the Count of Albemarle is…?”

“He’s my grandfather.”

Elizabeth spied the finely tooled leather belt in the boy’s hands. “Is that for me?”

Duncan nodded his head yes and held it out. One of Elizabeth’s maids took the offering and deftly fastened it around her lady’s slender waist. It cinched the tabard and chain mail quite nicely and helped keep them from sliding around as she walked. Then, looking both ways to make sure no one was looking, Duncan pulled his two sheathed daggers off of his own belt and handed them over also.

“You are not supposed to be giving me these daggers…are you, Duncan?” Elizabeth said it more as a statement than as a question.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because. They’re all dressing you up just in case something bad happens, and then not giving you anything to fight with.” Duncan paused and marshaled his courage. “You and I both know you don’t know beans about how to fight with a blade…but the other side doesn’t know that, and if they see you with two serious daggers on your belt, they just might stop a second or two before charging in to get you. That extra second or two might save your life.” Having said what he came to say, Duncan bowed once more and walked off.

Elizabeth looked at the daggers seriously and made sure she could get them out of their sheaths before she clipped them onto her belt, one at each hip. Finally ready to mount her horse, Elizabeth stepped out of her campsite to step on her mounting block so she could get on her horse, only to find she had been assigned a bodyguard of twenty armored horsemen as a final precaution. That made her mad, but she didn’t see any way around it without making light of the very real concerns her lords possessed, so she withheld her annoyance and got on her horse.

“Who wants to be my bannerman?” Elizabeth asked. All twenty of her guard vied for the honor, except one lone knight who stayed in the back and kept quiet. Elizabeth spotted him and called the young man forward. To her eye, he didn’t look much older than she was, and she figured he was the most junior member of her bodyguard this day.

“You don’t want Sir Carl, Milady,” one knight bellowed, “it’s his first battle.”

That decided things for Elizabeth on the spot. “Sir Carl? Please take up my banner.” The young knight’s face blossomed when he realized he was being given the honor to carry the lady’s banner and ride at her side in the coming battle. When the other knights turned to form up, she leaned in close to Sir Carl and said quietly, “This is my first battle, too. Us beginners will just have to keep each other company.”

Sir Carl took Elizabeth’s white and gold royal standard, her banner as the commander of this part of the army, and placed the heel of the flagstaff in the dangling lance cup that usually held the butt end of his war lance. His other hand found a firm grip halfway up the shaft to hold the banner in place. When the two of them joined Elizabeth’s bodyguard, the group of twenty-one rode off to the prearranged meeting spot a couple of hundred yards short of the last ridgeline.

Now, all Elizabeth and her 15,000 had to do was wait.

While Elizabeth was waiting for the signal that would order her troops to advance, Max was riding closely behind his battle line. The tactics for this battle had been decided on mostly by Lord de Laney, who was a seasoned commander. Max saw his job in the coming fight as one of morale. He would expend his energy riding here and there, helping where he could. Michael had insisted, however, that he reserve his powers for use in an emergency. Max had unwillingly agreed, as they had a number of other Antarians who could blast flame.

It was well after sunrise before Lord General Khivar’s army drew itself up in full array to face the loyalists, who were a good quarter mile away. Just as Lord de Laney and Max had hoped the night before, Khivar appeared to be planning to crush the left end of their line and force their army away from their one escape route. Not only were Khivar’s own troops lined up on that end, but behind them were the white uniforms of the King’s Legion.

Just seeing those men on the other side made Max’s blood boil. Those men belong over here. Once this war is over, there will be some changes made, so that no commander can build up that kind of loyalty ever again.

Once his troops were in place, Khivar gave the order to attack, and his battle line rolled forward toward the waiting foe. The tramp of booted feet, the clangor of armor, and the shout of officers was all that could be heard as Khivar’s army approached. When the two armies were in range, arrows arced across the sky by the thousands and then dove into the opposing lines. Some arrows were deflected by armor, but some found soft flesh instead of hardened steel. And as men were wounded and began to fall, others closed up the holes in the formations and prepared for the physical and mental shock of first contact.

When the two lines moved even closer, sheets of flame shot out, as the Antarians made their presence known. Wherever opposing sheets of flame met, they stalled, burning themselves out in a dazzling pyrotechnic display, but every time the flames lanced into the other line unhindered, hundreds died a horrible death.

Max and Michael watched impassively as the two forces came together. Now pikes clanged into breastplates and knights on horseback drove lances into each other, and all over, men were shouting, screaming, crying, and dying. Elizabeth was suddenly glad she couldn’t see the battle and wondered what she’d do when her own people, some of which she’d come to know slightly in the past few days, marched into battle and began to fall themselves.

Max rode back and forth behind the lines, bellowing words of encouragement, only a few feet behind the row upon row of soldiers. Just like Elizabeth, Max had a bannerman. His bannerman rode behind him, holding aloft the prince’s white and gold royal standard, fringed with black, so everyone would know who he was.

Just as planned, the left end of the loyalist army was being forced back rather quickly, while the right end was giving ground much more slowly. Lord de Laney and Max figured it would be close to midday before Khivar’s men had advanced far enough on the left for them to signal Elizabeth’s forces to start their attack.

While Max was riding back and forth to bolster morale, Lord de Laney was back at his centra command post. He needed to remain in one easy to find spot so that messengers from various commanders could find him. As he watched from his hill, one thing began to bother him: and that was that everything was going according to plan.

He’d been a soldier long enough to know that battle plans rarely lasted beyond the first clash of opposing armies, and he’d spent a lot of time since waking in deciding just how to use Lady Elizabeth’s troops if things went other than he hoped for. He thought he was ready for nearly anything, but seeing everything go according to plan had him feeling extremely suspicious. He found himself checking on Khivar’s advance on the left more and more closely, wondering if there was something hidden going on he just wasn’t seeing.

As the morning wore on, Max began directing the hard-pressed troops on the left, instead of just boosting their morale. His job was to help keep them in a cohesive line as they moved backward in the face of the enemy. Knowing what was about to happen, it was hard for him to not look up at the mountain pass every few minutes, but he forced himself to focus on what was in front of him at the moment.

Finally, Khivar’s forces had bent the loyalist line back far enough that Lord de Laney judged it was time to bring Elizabeth’s troops into play. He took a burlap sack filled with tar-soaked rags, and lit one end of it with a torch. Waiting until the sack was engulfed with flames, he then hurled the bag high into the air with a stiff blast of air, where even Elizabeth’s forces in the pass could see it.

In the pass, all the assembled lords mounted their horses at the front of their respective armies and then turned to face their lady.

“What are they waiting for?” Elizabeth asked her bannerman.

“I believe, Milady, that they are waiting for you to give them the formal order to advance.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth sat there for a second in bewildered silence. “Well, how do I do that?”

“Umm…I believe you should hold one arm straight up, as high as the arm can reach.”

Elizabeth did as her banner man suggested. “Like this?”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Then what?”

“Well…then swing that arm forward and down, until your hand is pointed in the general direction of the enemy.”

Once again, Elizabeth followed her nervous bannerman’s direction, and was gratified to see her commanders lead their own troops forward. She started forward at the same time, riding under the royal standard, but proudly bearing the purple and gold Parker tiger upon her chest.

Elizabeth and her bodyguard reached the last ridge, and looked down on the carnage of a battle fought by strong men using heavy steel weapons. Thousands of men lay dead or dying, with more to come before the day was out. She felt a sudden urge to make her men run down the pass to end the battle sooner and save more lives, but she stayed outwardly calm and hoped they knew what they were doing.

Down on the valley floor, things were going exactly as planned…for Khivar anyway.

As the first of Elizabeth’s 15,000 troops appeared over the last ridge in the pass and started the downhill march toward the seemingly undefended rear of Khivar’s right wing, a member of Khivar’s command staff drew his lord’s attention to what was happening in the pass.

“They are right on time, Sire,” Nicholas said. “Just as you predicted.”

Not even bothering to look up from his map table, Khivar replied, “Give the order to the Legion, Nicholas.”

“Yes, Sire. At once.” Nicholas turned on his heel and left the tent. Within a few minutes his horse had carried him the mile and a half to the acting commander of the King’s Legion. Nicholas then gave him the formal order to execute Lord General Khivar’s plan. At that order, the commander gave his own order and the Legion began to turn as one. The left side of the formation marched forward and to the right, while the right side marched backward and to the left, giving their formation the appearance of turning ninety degrees to the right like a pinwheel.

Elizabeth saw this happening from her perch up on the top of the ridge, as the sight of 20,000 men in white uniforms and shiny armor was hard for even a neophyte like her to miss. “Is that supposed to be happening?” she asked her bannerman.

“Umm…no, Milady. I think not.” Elizabeth looked over and saw the young man swallow hard, so much so that she fancied she could nearly hear him do it. “I think your men may be in for a rough time.”

Elizabeth unconsciously leaned forward in her saddle and watched in mute horror as her troops marched down the hill toward the best troops in the entire kingdom. Lord de Laney had much the same reaction from his command post. He knew there was nothing he could do to help those soldiers except pray.

Max wasn’t in position to see what the King’s Legion was doing. What he could do was look up the mountain pass to look for the white banner he’d sent to Roswell. While the banner was huge, it was a long way off, and he couldn’t quite be sure he was actually seeing it. He did, however, see the small knot of knights that was waiting on that final ridgeline. Assuming Elizabeth was in their midst, he thought, Looks like someone besides me is taking her security seriously. She had better stay right where she is, too! He was worried, as any man would be to find his love this close to a major battle, but as much as he loved her, he had to push thoughts of her from his mind and concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. So, taking one last glimpse of his angel, he turned back to work.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s sense of horror was mounting. By the time her troops reached the valley floor and headed for Khivar’s men, the King’s Legion was already in place. They had more men, were more experienced, and were in a better position than Elizabeth’s men. All she could do was pray for a miracle, that somehow, her men would win.

It was not to be.

The King’s Legion tore into Elizabeth’s troops, cutting down men in great swaths. Her troops were doing well, but not well enough. After an hour of tough fighting, many of her troops broke and began a hasty retreat back up the pass. When she saw the broken bodies on the battlefield, all those dead or wounded men that had followed her here, she turned to one side and became violently ill.

And then she got angry and began to slowly ride her horse forward, down the ridge toward her retreating troops.

“Milady!” her bannerman said in alarm. “If you go forward, you will be arrested, by the prince’s order.”

Elizabeth turned her head, but not her horse, and said, “We have to win the battle for him to have me arrested. I am not giving up until there is nothing left to do. If we win, I will turn myself in and the prince can do with me whatever he wishes.” She then ordered her twenty-man bodyguard to spread out in a long, thin line. Their job was to stop the retreating soldiers, get them facing the other way, and begin to get them going down the pass once more.

While Elizabeth was attempting to stop and reorganize her retreating troops, Khivar was redirecting the Legion to rejoin the main body. His plan was to finish off the enemy’s main body before returning to the pass to deal with Elizabeth’s troops once and for all.

To Lord de Laney, the retreat of Elizabeth’s troops was the worst news possible. He knew that without their continued participation, he and his army were likely doomed. Pushing those defeatist thoughts from his mind, he set about his defense.

Max was still working with the left wing of the army. Try as he might, though, he was unable to keep Elizabeth out of his mind, and thus he kept sneaking peeks back into the pass to where she was stationed. Each look filled his heart near to bursting with love, right up until the time he looked and saw that the small knot of knights – and the white and gold royal standard - was making its way down the slope and toward the battle.

Raw fear filled his heart then. What in seven Hells is that stupid woman doing? He was as scared as he’d ever been in his life. And as she kept riding down toward the battle, his anger began to grow strong enough to match his fear. If she survives this… Max stopped himself then, because he didn’t want to make a promise in the heat of battle, but what he’d been about to say was that he was going to blister her butt.

As Elizabeth and her line of bodyguards neared the first retreating troops, she started to become more and more angry as she saw how few of them were injured in any way. The heavily armored knights of her bodyguard were yelling at the men, striking them with the flat of their swords if they tried to sneak by, and trying to get them to rally behind Elizabeth as she continued her implacable advance. Some of the retreaters stopped because of the beatings and the steadfast presence of the knights, but most stopped and turned because a little slip of a woman was showing them up. While they were retreating, she was moving forward, shaming them back into line. She didn’t need to say a word; her example said it all: Follow me! We are not done yet! The battle is not over until the last soldier stops fighting!

Up ahead, maybe half of her remaining troops were retreating in good order, still under the direct command of their officers. Elizabeth headed for what looked like a knot of senior officers having a hasty conference. To a man they blanched when they saw her approach…and then they took another look and were amazed to see she had brought back most of their wayward men.

Most of the commanders started to ride off to begin the lengthy process of reintegrating the returning men into their old units, but Elizabeth stopped them cold and said, “We do not have a moment to spare. Throw them into formation, without regard for who belongs to whom, and get moving.”

In as little as fifteen minutes, her commanders had their troops in decent order and were marching forward once more. Elizabeth herself took position on a hill that provided her a commanding view of the action, while keeping her out of the fighting itself. The breeze had picked up, and Elizabeth heard the royal standard snapping in the wind over her head.

Khivar’s commander of the King’s Legion saw Elizabeth’s troops coming once more and hurried to get his veterans turned about to face them. He was confident of victory, even as Elizabeth’s men bore down on him shouting a new war cry: “For God, the king, and Lady Elizabeth!”

Several things then began to happen all at once. First, Elizabeth was now close enough to the front line that the men of the King’s Legion could see the royal standard she rode under. Everyone recognized that banner on sight, and all of them knew it was a capital offense to use a royal standard unless you were a member of the royal family or had their permission, as it was tantamount to declaring yourself to be the king.

The King’s Legion had been led to believe they were fighting to protect the crown, but seeing that banner on the other side of the battle gave them pause, and roughly a third of the remaining legionnaires deserted the Legion on the spot for fear of fighting against the king. The rest of the Legion stood firm, as they thought the royal standard was just a dirty trick, but the legionnaires who backed out left gaping holes in the Legion’s formation, holes they didn’t have time to close, just as Elizabeth’s men charged into them at full force, chanting their war cry: “Lady Elizabeth! Lady Elizabeth!”

The defections gave the two sides nearly equal numbers, but Elizabeth’s side had sky-high morale they had picked up from their tiny but fierce commander, and the Legion’s Swiss cheese formation made them highly susceptible to the loyalist charge.

In a matter of a mere fifteen minutes it was over, and the shattered King’s Legion was on the run. Elizabeth’s captain-general sent all of the fast-moving light cavalry after them to insure they kept running, and to cut down as many of them as possible. Meanwhile, the infantry and the heavy cavalry - which was comprised mainly of knights - continued on toward their main goal: the completely undefended rear of the right wing of Khivar’s army.

From that point on, the final outcome of the battle was not in doubt, as Khivar’s remaining troops were not able to disengage from Lord de Laney’s army to face Elizabeth’s. Even attempting to turn half of a unit around to face Elizabeth’s victorious troops would just have meant being crushed from two directions at once.

When Elizabeth’s army hit the rear of Khivar’s right wing, it buckled and collapsed in short order. Nearby units saw the writing on the wall. They didn’t want to wait for Elizabeth’s troops and the newly unencumbered left wing of Lord de Laney’s army to curl in behind them and cut them down, too, so they tried to begin a fighting retreat, with Khivar sending over all his remaining cavalry to help screen the right flank of his remaining forces from the combined might of Elizabeth’s troops and Lord de Laney’s left wing.

Though he was still in active command of his army, Khivar was stunned by this sudden reversal of fortune. Not long ago, he had seen the loyalist forces from the pass get thrashed by the King’s Legion. By the time he found out someone had managed to rally those troops in record time and lead them back onto the battlefield, they had already taken their revenge and utterly crushed his most prized troops. Almost all of his reserves had already been committed, and with the Legion and his right wing decimated, he knew he was in very deep trouble.

His men were now seriously outnumbered by an army that had edges in confidence and morale, and even if he managed a miracle and extricated his army from this nightmare, they still had a long retreat back up a valley that had just been denuded of supplies by the two armies as they marched south earlier in the week. And that retreat would not be made without company from the loyalists. He knew they’d be nipping at his heels the whole way. Not only that, but he fully expected word of his crushing defeat to embolden those lords who had decided to sit out the war because they were uncertain which way to go.

Realizing that his long-held dream of being king was coming to an ignominious end here on this battlefield, Khivar rode up and down his lines and announced to his senior commanders that all was lost and that they should surrender at once so they could receive the best terms possible. It was the only thing he could do to honor their sacrifice and loyalty.

Turning bloodshot eyes toward the battle lines, Khivar himself had only one thing left to do: kill the prince. If he had to give up his dreams, he would make damn sure that that pompous ass Phillip had to forfeit his dreams, also.

Khivar loosened his sword in its scabbard, and looked for the black-fringed royal standard, as he knew Maximilian had to be somewhere near it. If he remembered correctly, the useless spawn of Phillip and Diana fancied himself a swordsman. Khivar was determined to give the boy a short and very painful lesson on what a true swordsman looked like.

As improvised white flags began to be raised all along the remainder of Khivar’s line, he spotted the banner. Up until now Khivar had saved his power, waiting for some emergency, but now he loosed it, throwing a huge sheet of flame that ran through his own troops and the loyalists, making a path of burning bodies a full one-hundred yards wide. With his way now clear, Khivar spurred his warhorse through the gap and spied his target almost instantly.

Prince Maximilian was there, along with a bannerman, and what looked to be a small, personal bodyguard of ten men. Every one of those ten were pulling their swords from their scabbards as they turned to face the threat to their prince.

“Coward!” Khivar called out, bellowing to be heard above the roar of battle. “Hiding like a woman! Come out and face me like a man!”

Then, charging in from Khivar’s side, came a black blur clad in Cipangan armor. The rebel leader barely had the time to raise his sword to deflect the blow from a slightly curved, single-edged blade…a blade that was attached to the arm of Sir Michael Guerin. “Fuck that shit!” Michael snarled, as he struck again. “If you want a fight, fight me.”

valentinebaby wrote:

nibbles2 wrote: The other problem I have with it, is obviously the legion was still loyal to the king. The only reason they could've thought they were protecting their crown is because the King was gone, and even then, why are they fighting with Khivar who's actively hunting down the royal family to slaughter them?

The Legion is comprised of a few soldiers - who are loyal to their long-time commander - and soldiers who just follow orders. Those soldiers aren't trained to think; they're trained to blind obedience. When they're given an order, they obey. And these soldiers have been told they are fighting to put down a rebellion.


This update is short. I really had to change a LOT of stuff in this one.



“Out of my way!” Khivar roared.

“Not gonna happen,” Michael replied, a smirk readily in evidence on his face. Their swords clanged again, and Max’s other bodyguards circled Michael and Khivar before moving in.

“I will incinerate you!” The two men circled clockwise, their right arms flashing as they dueled from horseback.

“No you won’t,” Michael replied. “You’re sweating like a pig on a cold day. That tells me your little stunt with the fire cost you dearly.” Michael’s katana whistled through the air in a high cut that was barely deflected by Khivar. “If you had any juice left, you would’ve fried me already.”

“I hope this will be just between us,” Khivar said, as he saw the other bodyguards closing in. “It is the fair and honorable thing to do.”

Michael chose that moment to drop the horse’s reins and lift his left hand, pointing his palm toward Khivar’s face. As he loosed a power blast, he said, “Fair? This is war.”

The unexpected blast caught Khivar square in the middle of his face, knocking him out of the saddle and onto the ground. Michael leapt from his horse and quickly closed on the fallen rebel. He placed the tip of his katana across Khivar’s neck as a precaution, but it wasn’t needed; Khivar had been dead before his body left his saddle.

Max and his bodyguards rushed in, with the bodyguards keeping the prince away from Khivar until they could be sure he was dead. But Max wasn’t looking at Khivar, he was giving Michael a goggle-eyed stare. When Michael finally confirmed Khivar was dead, he straightened up, popped his back, and finally turned to look at Max, dreading the look that would be on his face. What he saw was a mix of surprise, confusion, hurt, and admiration. This was not a talk to which he was looking forward.

Other soldiers were closing in around them now, as they finished crossing the distance from the edge of the burnt-out ground to their prince. When they realized it was Khivar who was dead, they erupted in wild celebration. Max turned to look at the crowd, took in a deep breath, and shouted them to silence. “Celebrate the end of the war if you must,” he said, “but do not celebrate the death of this man. He was a hero of two wars, and not six months ago, most of you wanted to be just like him.

“So remember this day. Remember Khivar’s end. But also remember the man he once was, a man my father used to be proud to call ‘friend.’”

Max then picked a random officer out of the crowd, and said, “What is your name?”

The officer bowed low. “Lord Ian Silverman, Your Highness.”

“Stand up. This is a battlefield, not court.” When the young officer stood, Max said, “I am placing you and your men in charge of making sure, absolutely sure, that no one defiles Duke Khivar’s body. Use any means necessary to ensure it, or when I come back, I will make you wish you had.”

Having taken care of Khivar’s body for the moment, Max marched off, with Michael and his ten man bodyguard close behind him, intent on finding out how the rest of the battle was progressing. By the time they found Lord de Laney, the surrenders of the individual units of the rebel army were complete.

As they all watched from Lord de Laney’s headquarters, the various units of Khivar’s army were stacking their weapons in somewhat neat piles before marching to where they were being directed. Seeing that it was over, really over, allowed Max to turn his thoughts to Elizabeth.

She’s out there. Somewhere out there Elizabeth is waiting. Max refused to admit the possibility that she could be injured or dead.

“Do you have any word on Lady Elizabeth’s location?” Max asked.

“She is still up in the pass, isn’t she?” Lord de Laney asked.

“Hell no. I saw her and her bodyguard ride down the ridge during the battle.”

Dry washing his face with a hand, Lord de Laney said, “I will send out a patrol to arrest her, as per your order, Milord.”

“No. I will find her. Just let me have a squadron of heavy cavalry for an additional escort and I will be fine.” So it was that a unit of Max’s own Borussian knights were sent for to follow along behind the prince and his eleven man escort. Their presence brought the size of his escort up to fifty, which was more than enough for his purpose. Max was going out onto the battlefield and didn’t want to take any risks now.

Leaving the command post and the army behind, Max set off to find the one thing that mattered to him most: his love, his life, his Elizabeth.

As they rode along, Max had his bodyguard drop back a few paces so he and Michael could have a little privacy. Knowing what was coming, Michael held his tongue and waited. Max didn’t speak until they were well beyond the final battle line and were threading their way through the dead and wounded.

“Nice job back there, Michael,” Max said.

“Thank you,” Michael replied cautiously.

More silence.

Then Max asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything you wanted to tell me, would you? You know, any little secrets that I might need to know at some point?”

Michael remained silent.

“I wonder if Mother or Father knew when they assigned you to protect me.”

Max kept prodding Michael until the older man finally exploded. “What the Hell did you expect me to say, Your Highness?” Michael nearly spat out the honorific title. “That I have some Antarian abilities, but don’t have a fucking clue who my father is?” As Max paled, Michael stormed on. “Because we all know just how much the nobility likes bastards. Especially their own.”

Max eyed Michael, and said, “Bastard or not, you had a duty to disclose your abilities to me. We will talk more about this later.”

The men rode in silence for some time, spending more time looking at the ground to avoid bodies than they were spending looking up to spot Elizabeth’s royal standard. But they made steady progress toward their the mountain pass, and eventually Max spotted the gold-on-white banner rippling in the steady breeze. He stood in his stirrups to get a better angle and imagined he could see the object of his desire sitting underneath the banner, astride her strawberry roan horse.

“Found her?” Michael asked politely, even though the answer was plainly written on Max’s face; for not only was the prince smiling, but he was inadvertently licking his lips.

“Without a doubt. Let us get moving.” A pace that had been slow before spotting Elizabeth turned into a trot once the carpet of bodies thinned out a bit.

Immediately after the battle, she had stayed on the hill where she had stopped to watch her troops sweep the King’s Legion from the field. As her men had come in contact with Lord de Laney’s army, they had become his to command, and then she had become nothing more than a highly interested spectator.

Once Khivar’s army collapsed, her father’s captain-general made sure to send a suitably large force to form a defensive circle around his lady’s hill. There was no way he was going to allow something to happen to her now.

Thinking ahead, Elizabeth wondered where her former troops would camp for the evening. They’d either have to march back up into the pass, or else go up there, break camp, and return to the valley floor. Then, they’d have to march to the far side of Lord General de Laney’s camp, because the ground around her current position was littered with bloody bodies that were fouling the valley’s one small river with their blood.

Thoughts of where she’d and her men would sleep became secondary as soon as wounded troops started making their way back toward her position. She knew then that camp would have to be down here, and sent word back up the pass to make ready. Elizabeth was busy making preliminary plans when one of her commanders returned briefly to her well-defended hill. He was exultant over the crushing victory that had been won, but her first words set him back. “As soon as I am finished here, you will need to arrest me and take me to the prince, for I defied his direct order.”

“What? It was thanks to you that the battle was won at all.”

“That may be the truth, or not. Neither matters. The prince gave me a direct order, which I promptly defied. My punishment, or lack thereof, is up to him.” Elizabeth eyed the commander, who didn’t seem to believe what he was hearing. “The other reason you need to arrest me is that the prince specifically ordered my commanders, a group to which you belong, to make that arrest. If you fail to arrest me, you will be just as guilty as I am.”

“No, Milady…no. If the prince wants you arrested, he will have to come here and do it himself.” The commander brought his closed fist across his chest to thump against his heart in a salute, a rare gesture for soldier to make to anyone other than another soldier. “I know I speak for all my fellow nobles when I say we stand with you.”

“Thank you, that’s very touching,” Elizabeth said, and she meant it. “But if you will not arrest me, I will just have to ride into their camp and turn myself in.” She meant that, too. And once she had started the process of moving the camp down to the valley floor, she found someone else to oversee the process and then mounted her horse to turn herself in.

Elizabeth didn’t tell anyone else - especially the knights of her bodyguard - where she was going or what she intended to do once she got there, for fear of them trying to talk her out of it. So she left her protected hill with her twenty knights, including her bannerman, and headed for Max’s camp. She didn’t really believe she would be punished when she turned herself in, not once Max learned about her role in the battle, but she felt she had to go through with the arrest to make sure he knew she took his commands and his authority seriously.

At that moment, Max was approaching Elizabeth’s hill after spotting her a minute earlier. She had just left the hill when she saw a large mounted party flying Max’s black-fringed standard heading directly toward her. He’s alive! she thought, as she reined in her horse to wait. He’s alive! He’s alive! He’s alive!”

She very nearly squealed aloud.

Max’s welfare had been ruthlessly pushed from Elizabeth’s mind once she had ridden down toward the battle, and now, her worries were laid to rest by the sight of his banner. As she waited, she tried picking him out from the seeming cloud of men who were riding with him, but it wasn’t until those men drew close and slowed to a walk that she could figure out who he was in all of that armor…especially the gaudy helmet.

Max had picked out Elizabeth moments earlier, as her small, slender figure and her lack of a helmet made his task easier. And to his eyes, she was dirty, sweaty, completely grubby in appearance, and yet…she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did at that moment. Just seeing her alive and unhurt was a thrill, but her face seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun, and her braided hair, purple and gold tabard, chain mail shirt and brown leather pants gave her a wild appearance that made the blood boil in his veins. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her, but he needed to do something first to honor the reinforcements that had saved the day.

At a word from him, his bannerman dipped the royal standard while Max and every man in his escort drew their swords and saluted. Seeing the prince and his escort honor their lady brought a cheer from the men guarding Elizabeth’s hill. And as soon as the salute was over, Max handed his helmet to Michael and leapt from his horse to run the last few yards to her side. Her eyes grew larger the closer he came. He was grimy and had the makings of a thin beard, but his smile was as wide as the one she knew was threatening to swallow her own face.

In her haste to get off her horse, Elizabeth caught her toe in a stirrup and fell off her saddle, only to feel two huge hands on her waist helping straighten her up and then lower her…but not quite to the ground. Instead, she found herself dangling in midair, with her lips at a point exactly across from his. She was fairly sure the rest of his face was there also, but she could only testify to the presence of his delicious, oh so soft lips.

Their lips brushed once, twice, and then came crashing together as Max whirled Elizabeth around him in a tight circle. Kisses fell like rain then, and were interspersed with single-word endearments like ‘beloved,’ ‘honey,’ and ‘dearest.’ The soldiers of both sides looked on bemusedly as their respective commanders tore into each other without restraint.

Max might have gone on spinning Elizabeth ‘round and ‘round, if she hadn’t started getting dizzy. A quick request was all it took for him to bring her body to a stop, but her feet were still almost a foot off the ground, and their lips were still hungrily searching for the heart-filling sustenance that could only be given to them by the other. They kissed and whispered sweet nothings, riding a raging flood of unleashed emotions, until she finally had to pull back and take a few deep breaths. As she gulped in a new supply of air, they took their first long, close-up looks at each other, with their eyes devouring the sight as intensely as their lips had been kissing seconds before.

“Elizabeth…” Max managed to choke out, before he became too emotional to continue. It was only one word, only her first name, but Elizabeth knew at that moment she’d never be able to explain the welter of emotions she felt when he said her name in the way that only he could.

“Oh, Maximilian! It’s been so long.”

Elizabeth relished finally being able to speak his name, after so long of only being allowed to think it for fear of someone discovering her connection to him.

“Too long,” Max replied.

“Should I curtsey to you now, Your Highness?” Elizabeth asked playfully.

“Please, do not do that to me,” Max pled. “While most barons’ daughters would make obeisance to a prince of the realm, this baronial daughter will marry the prince.”

“How?” Elizabeth asked seriously. “The gulf that exists between royal and baron is, in many ways, wider than the one between baron and commoner. The king and queen must have dozens of eligible, high-ranking prospective brides with all sorts of powerful political connections just waiting to meet you…and what do I have to offer them?” Her impassioned voice became lower, softer, and sadder. “How can my love for you match that in their eyes? I am just the second daughter of a relatively poor baron, whose best connections are with our neighboring barons, none of whom have been to the capital in years.”

Max instinctively pulled Elizabeth back into his arms. Nuzzling the hair at the top of her head as she nestled in close against him, he said quietly, “Your love for me is more than a match for all the connections in the world, Elizabeth. It inspires me to fight for you, to insist that no one but you will do.” He bent his neck to place a warm kiss on her forehead. “Now…our relationship and its future difficulties can be gone over at our leisure some other time when no one else is around to hear us, but right now, we have some work to do to help our wounded, and after that, I expect we will join in the celebrations that will last long into the night.”

“My people are already in the process of moving our camp, including our hospital tents, down here to be closer to the men.”

“Good. They can set up your camp on the far side of our camps. That way, your people will get the first chance at clean water, which is only fitting since they were responsible for turning the tide of battle today.”

When Max and Elizabeth went to where the wounded were being treated, he spent a long time making judicious use of his healing talent to keep a number of men away from a surgeon’s bone saw. And as he worked, she was right there by his side, comforting and encouraging the men she met, sometimes with sweetness, sometimes with irreverent cheek. They spent so much time together in the makeshift field hospital that their dinner was very late, and they ate it sitting side by side on little camp seats outside of his small complex of tents while they waited for her new camp to go up. The sun had long since gone down, and the only light was provided by a number of flickering torches set at regular intervals in front of Max’s tents.

“What now?” Elizabeth asked, as she brushed the last crumbs of her meal from her hands.

“For us? Or for the army we have here?”

“For us, Maximilian. The army can wait until morning.”

Max reached across the small space between them, took Elizabeth’s hands into his, and began lightly rubbing the pads of his thumbs across the backs of her knuckles. “Now that the war is over and we each know the other is safe, the next step is a big one: finding my parents and convincing them to allow us to marry.”

“Where are they?”

“I think either they or my sister are holed up in the Duke of Salzerei’s castle. It may not sound like much, but just by staying there, they tied up several thousand of Khivar’s troops in a fruitless siege.”

Elizabeth thought about how much of a difference just a few thousand more troops might have made. “I would say they made an important contribution.”

“But not,” Max began, “anything like the contributions made by Lady Parker.” Elizabeth politely raised her brows, pretending ignorance of what he was talking about. “While you were taking care of some personal business, Elizabeth, I received a rather full report from Lord de Laney. In it, he told me that your troops had to face the King’s Legion all by themselves. He told me how your troops fought, but eventually broke and ran. Then, despite a command from her prince to stay where she was, Lady Parker rode down to the valley floor. Full of fire and determination, she rallied her troops with her courageous example, saving the day and winning the battle.” Max leaned in close. “What do you think a contribution like that is worth, Elizabeth? I have already cancelled the order to arrest Lady Parker for leaving her assigned spot on the ridge, but what else should I give this mysterious woman for saving my life and my father’s throne?”

Max was so close that Elizabeth could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, so close that she could feel the pull of his body as they sat there only inches apart.

“Anything she wants,” Elizabeth whispered, “and right now, what she wants most is for your lips to come just a little bit closer. She has been away from you far too long for those few kisses out on the battlefield to last her through the night.”

Max stood, and used his hold on her hands to pull her to her feet. Elizabeth grunted in pain, as her legs were sore from being on her horse all day long. He released her hands, but only because he wanted to cup her face. His fingertips brushed against her earlobes and his thumbs traced the line of her cheekbones, as she placed her hands on his shoulders and rose up on her toes. And then they paused, just for the smallest instant, before their lips came together and disproved the mathematical axiom that 1+1=2.

Because whenever Maximilian Evans and Elizabeth Parker come together, the sum of him plus her is far more than two: it’s a result called the synergy of love.