Liege Chapter One

Prologue

The afternoon sky hung pale above the mountain keep while guardsmen moved along the walls lighting torches against the coming cold.

Lord Crowley Duskmorne sat alone at the table within his chamber, his gaze lingering beyond the narrow window overlooking the frost-covered slopes below. Nearing fifty years of age, he remained a broad-shouldered and imposing man despite the silver beginning to spread through his long black hair. A rough beard framed his scarred face, while black noble garments embroidered with faint silver threading rested neatly upon his frame.

A scar stretched from the edge of his left eyebrow down to his chin. His fingers brushed against it briefly before returning to the parchment before him.

He reached for his quill.

A knock sounded at the chamber door.

“Come in,” Crowley said.

“With your permission, my lord,” came the voice beyond the door.

A gnarly-looking man stepped inside, his dark green robe barely concealing the heavy shape beneath it. It was Sylazar, Crowley’s steward in matters of politics and his cousin on his mother’s side. Gold and silver rings crowded his thick fingers while sweat glistened faintly across his brow despite the cold.

“My lord, a raven from House Hozly,” Sylazar said unevenly.

Crowley extended his hand without looking toward him.

Sylazar quickly placed the parchment into his lord’s grasp.

The wax seal bore the sigil of a griffin’s head.

Crowley broke it open and raised the letter to eye level.

“You may leave,” he said, his attention remaining upon the parchment.

“Yes, my lord.”

Sylazar hesitated near the doorway.

“My lord…”

Crowley’s eyes remained on the letter.

“What is it?”

Sylazar swallowed.

“Lord Johana…”

The chamber fell briefly silent.

“I mean no disrespect,” Sylazar continued carefully. “What happened at Veserya cannot be forgiven. The kingdom demands justice for it. But… is there truly no other course left?”

Crowley finally looked toward him.

“The king demands his death,” he said plainly.

“Yes, my lord, but he is still your brother.”

Crowley folded the parchment once.

“And look at what his failures birthed.”

Sylazar lowered his gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“I only meant… does blood not matter? Could there not be another arrangement? Exile, perhaps. A negotiated surrender.”

A faint scoff escaped Crowley.

“Our blood, their blood — it makes little difference. Once spilled upon the earth, it all turns to mud.”

He set the letter upon the table.

“Men die so kingdoms continue. So, roads remain open. So, stores survive winter. That is the order of things.”

Sylazar said nothing.

“The king demands a head,” Crowley continued calmly. “Whether it belongs to a brigand or my own brother changes nothing.”

The steward shifted uneasily beneath the stillness in Crowley’s voice.

“My lord… Lord Johana was not always — ”

“He was incompetent,” Crowley interrupted. “And incompetent breeds ruin.”

The words settled heavily within the chamber.

Sylazar’s expression tightened.

“I understand, my lord.”

Crowley studied him quietly for a moment.

“Do you?” he asked.

Sylazar lowered his head.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Then leave me.”

Sylazar bowed and departed without another word.

Crowley turned his attention back to the parchment.

He read it once more in silence.

“So, he comes,” he murmured.

Rising from his chair, he cast the parchment into the fireplace and watched the seal of House Hozly blacken beneath the flames.

The fire crackled softly across his face.

Then:

“Guardsman.”

The chamber door opened almost immediately.

“My lord?”

“Send for Artorius. Tell him to await me at the hall gate. I will convene with him there.”

“At once, my lord.”

The guardsman bowed and departed.

Crowley remained alone beside the fire; his eyes fixed upon the burning parchment as the last traces of the griffin seal curled black beneath the flames.

Along the walls of the same mountain keep, two guardsmen stood watch against the cold.

A basket of burning coals sat between them while the mountain wind swept through the battlements. One soldier bore wheat-colored hair beneath his helm while the other kept a dark cloth wrapped loosely around the burn scars climbing his neck.

“You reckon how much longer we’ll be freezing our arses up here, Willy?” the blond one muttered, rubbing his hands together over the coals.

“As long as Artorius says.”

“That’s no bloody answer.”

Jamie exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Watching the lasses walk in and out of the keep has its charms and all, but standing guard while Johana runs rampant…” He shook his head. “My balls are freezing solid for nothing.”

William remained staring out beyond the mountains.

“I’m not pleased about it either,” he said quietly.

His fingers drifted beneath the cloth around his neck, brushing unconsciously against the burn scars beneath it.

“If anyone here has reason to want him dead, it’s me.”

Jamie glanced toward him briefly before looking away.

“Aye,” he muttered. “Fair enough.”

William lowered his hand again.

“But Artorius knows what he’s doing.”

Jamie leaned against the stone battlement.

“You really reckon Lord Crowley’s going to do it?” he asked after a moment. “I mean… it’s his own brother.”

William gave a faint scoff.

“With men like them, blood matters less than honor.”

His eyes remained fixed ahead.

“And after Veserya…” his jaw tightened slightly, “Johana became a stain upon their house. I’d wager Lord Crowley despises the man himself.”

Jamie frowned faintly at that.

“Cold bastard.”

William said nothing.

Jamie suddenly glanced downward toward the courtyard below.

“Well. Speaking of the devil.”

William followed his gaze.

Crossing the courtyard below was General Artorius Veserya, clad in worn silver armor dulled by years of battle. His pale hair matched the steel resting upon his shoulders almost perfectly, and though age had begun settling into his features, he still carried himself with the rigid discipline expected from every soldier beneath his command.

The name Veserya would die with him.

No wife. No child. No surviving kin.

Years ago, Artorius had abandoned all claim and entitlement tied to his bloodline and sworn his sword entirely to Crowley Duskmorne.

“You reckon we’re finally moving?” Jamie muttered.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” William replied.

Moments later, the doors of the keep opened.

Lord Crowley stepped into the courtyard below.

Artorius bowed his head slightly.

The surrounding guardsmen quickly followed suit.

A short exchange passed between the two men before Artorius turned and motioned toward the wall.

Jamie grinned.

“Well,” he said, nudging William lightly, “looks like we’re moving after all.”

William adjusted the grip around his spear.

“About damn time.”

Together, the two descended from the battlements and crossed the courtyard toward their commanders.

“My lord,” they said in unison upon approaching.

Artorius gave a short nod.

“Mount your horses and gather your men. You’ll accompany Lord Crowley.”

“Yes, sir.”

Crowley’s eyes passed briefly over the two soldiers.

“We ride for Ramberose.”

“At once, my lord.”

Soon after, thirteen riders departed through the gates of the mountain keep and disappeared into the cold afternoon beyond.

As they passed beneath the gates, William caught sight of a familiar face among the gathered servants.

A young girl stood quietly among them, no older than seventeen, dressed plainly against the cold. Golden hair rested loosely upon her shoulders, pale beneath the fading afternoon light.

Their eyes met only briefly before the gates closed between them.

The girl lingered there a moment longer until a stern voice called out behind her.

“Julia. Stop lingering and get inside before the cold takes you.”

Mother Serana.

“Yes, Mother.”

Julia lowered her gaze and disappeared back into the keep.

The maidens had already begun gathering around the long wooden table by the time she entered the dining chamber. Warm firelight flickered softly across the stone walls while servants carried in bowls of stew and dark bread from the kitchens nearby.

Julia took her seat last beside her elder sister, Maria, another of the keep’s maidens.

Mother Serana stood quietly at the head of the table.

The older woman raised her hands silently in prayer.

The others quickly followed.

Julia closed her eyes with them, though only halfway.

Through lowered lashes, she watched the room instead.

Mother Serana. Maria. The younger girls seated nearby.

The fire crackled softly while torchlight stretched long shadows across the chamber walls. No one spoke until Mother Serana finally lowered her hands.

Only then did the maidens begin eating.

Wooden bowls scraped softly against the table.

The sound lasted only a moment.

The chamber door creaked open.

Silence followed immediately.

Sylazar stepped inside.

His eyes drifted slowly across the gathered women before settling upon Mother Serana.

“Ah… Mother Serana,” he said faintly. “Always welcoming.”

Mother Serana bowed her head politely.

“My lord Sylazar. To what do we owe the visit?”

“One of your girls stole from me.”

The chamber went still.

“A ring,” Sylazar continued. “Gold.”

His gaze moved deliberately across the maidens one by one.

“I expect it returned.”

Mother Serana remained composed.

“I am certain there has been some misunderstanding, my lord. These girls are innocent souls. Perhaps the ring was simply misplaced.”

“Misplaced?” Sylazar repeated.

A faint look of disgust crossed his face.

Before another word could be spoken, he struck her across the face.

Several of the younger girls startled upright immediately, bowls scraping loudly against the table.

Mother Serana steadied herself against the edge of the bench, one hand pressed lightly against her cheek.

Sylazar struck her again.

Julia lowered her eyes at once.

No one spoke.

“I will ask once more,” Sylazar said calmly. “Where is my ring?”

Silence.

Another strike.

Mother Serana staggered slightly this time but remained standing.

The chamber stayed deathly quiet apart from the crackling fire nearby.

At last, Sylazar adjusted the sleeve of his robe.

“Very well,” he muttered. “I shall search the chambers myself.”

His eyes passed slowly across the maidens.

“And if none of you speak before I find it myself, I will have every girl in this room lashed.”

No one moved.

No one answered.

Sylazar turned and strode from the chamber.

Only after the door shut behind him did the room breathe again.

The younger girls quickly rushed toward Mother Serana.

“Snake bastard,” Maria hissed beneath her breath while dabbing blood carefully from the older woman’s lip.

“Say nothing, girl,” Mother Serana whispered.

“Look what he’s done to you, Mother — ”

“Enough.”

Her voice sharpened instantly.

Maria fell silent.

“You wish him to hear you?” Mother Serana asked quietly.

Maria lowered her gaze but trembled visibly with anger.

Mother Serana rested a hand gently against her cheek.

“Do not share my fate.”

Maria swallowed her anger and nodded.

Then Mother Serana turned slightly toward Julia.

“Fetch warm water and clean cloth from the chambers, child. Quickly.”

Julia nodded and rose from the table at once before quietly leaving the chamber.

Maria watched her disappear down the corridor before sighing softly.

“Poor girl has walked through hell and returned from it,” she murmured. “She was never made for men like him.”

Despite the blood upon her lip, Mother Serana managed a faint smile.

“She is young still,” the older woman said softly. “Be kind to her. Be kind to one another.”

Maria shook her head.

“You are the one needing kindness now, Mother.”

Shaken by everything that had transpired, Julia obeyed silently and left the chamber.

The corridors of the keep felt colder now.

She hurried toward the maidens’ quarters clutching the empty bucket tightly against her chest, her breathing still uneven from the scene below.

As she neared the chamber door, she froze.

The door stood slightly ajar.

Inside, Sylazar was violently rummaging through the maidens’ belongings.

Cloth and blankets lay scattered across the floor while opened chests sat overturned beside the beds. Drawers had been ripped apart entirely. One of the younger girls’ dresses hung half-torn from Sylazar’s hand before he discarded it aside with visible irritation.

Julia instinctively stepped back behind the doorway.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She watched him silently through the narrow opening, terrified even to breathe too loudly.

Then suddenly —

Sylazar turned.

Their eyes met.

“There you are.”

The rotund nobleman crossed the distance toward her with startling speed.

“You little rat,” he snarled, seizing her wrist violently enough to force a cry from her lips. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I-I do not know what you mean, my lord — ”

“Do not lie to me.”

His grip tightened harder.

“You returned for it. Where did you hide it?”

“I swear I do not know — please — ”

“Answer me!”

His voice erupted through the chamber.

Julia recoiled instinctively as Sylazar’s eyes darted across the room.

Near the doorway rested a wooden rod used for hanging cloth by the hearth.

He snatched it up immediately.

“Speak now,” he hissed, pointing it toward her trembling face, “or I’ll beat the answer from you myself.”

Tears welled in Julia’s eyes almost instantly.

“My lord!”

A sudden voice interrupted the chamber.

A guardsman stumbled breathlessly into the doorway as though he had sprinted through the entire keep.

Sylazar turned sharply.

“What?”

“General Artorius demands your presence immediately, my lord,” the guard said between breaths. “It’s urgent.”

Sylazar’s expression twisted with irritation.

Without warning, he shoved Julia aside carelessly.

She struck the floor hard against her shoulder.

The wooden rod clattered nearby.

Julia lowered her head immediately, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I am not finished with you, little thief,” Sylazar spat. “You simply got fortunate.”

He turned back toward the guardsman.

As the two men spoke, Julia quietly gathered the scattered cloth from the floor with trembling hands, keeping her back turned while straining to listen.

“What news?” Sylazar demanded.

“My lord, scouts report armed men approaching the keep.”

“How many?”

“Three hundred, perhaps more.”

Sylazar frowned.

“What banner do they fly?”

“None, my lord. The scouts believe them mercenaries.”

“And Artorius?”

“In the barracks preparing defenses.”

Sylazar tossed the wooden rod aside.

“Very well. Move.”

The two men quickly departed down the corridor.

Their footsteps echoed sharply through the stone halls before fading into the distance.

Julia remained kneeling for a moment longer, clutching the cloth tightly in her hands.

Then, shaken by the news and desperate to leave the chamber behind, she hurried back toward the dining hall.

Sylazar’s footsteps thundered through the corridors as he made his way toward the barracks with several guardsmen close behind.

The courtyard beyond had already begun shifting into motion.

Soldiers crossed between torchlit walls while stable boys hurried nervously through the cold evening air carrying supplies toward the armory.

As Sylazar approached, the barracks door swung open immediately.

Inside, General Artorius stood beside a sprawling war table alongside three officers.

Maps and wooden markers covered its surface.

The men straightened at once upon Sylazar’s entrance.

“My lord,” Artorius greeted with a slight bow.

“My lord, forgive the sudden summons.”

Sylazar waved the apology aside impatiently.

“Spare me the formalities. What is happening?”

Artorius stepped toward the table.

“Scouts report roughly three to four hundred armed men advancing from the western pass. Their movement suggests they are heading directly toward the keep.”

“And this concerns us because?”

Sylazar spread his hands slightly.

“We command over a thousand men behind fortified walls while winter itself guards the mountains.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Artorius replied steadily. “The walls are secured. Archers have already taken position, and additional supplies are being moved inside the inner keep.”

His pale eyes briefly shifted toward the map.

“I merely considered it wise to inform you before the men arrived within sight of the gates.”

Sylazar grunted faintly.

“See that it remains handled, then.”

Julia hurried back toward the dining chamber clutching the folded cloth tightly against her chest.

Her breathing remained ragged and uneven by the time she reached the doorway.

Maria immediately rose from beside Mother Serana upon seeing her.

“What took you so long, girl?” she demanded sharply.

“Sylazar… Sylazar, he was — ” Julia gasped, struggling to steady her breathing. “He was in the chambers… searching for his ring.”

Maria’s eyes widened immediately with concern.

“Oh, blessed Lord above…” she whispered softly, quickly taking hold of Julia’s trembling hands. “Are you alright, poor girl? Did he harm you?”

“No — listen to me, Maria.” Julia shook her head frantically, still struggling for breath. “Soldiers… they’re coming. I overheard him speaking with one of the guardsmen. Men are marching on the keep.”

Maria stared at her for a brief moment, the color slowly draining from her face.

“Oh, holy Lord of Justice…” she breathed beneath her lips.

She tightened her grip around Julia’s shaking hand.

“Come. Quickly.”

Without wasting another moment, Maria hurried Julia back inside.

The chamber had grown quieter now. Several of the younger maidens still surrounded Mother Serana while she sat calmly near the fire despite the swelling bruise darkening her cheek.

Maria approached her quickly.

“Mother, we need to speak with you privately.”

Mother Serana looked up at once, immediately noticing the fear written across both girls’ faces.

“What is it, child?” she asked, her expression narrowing slightly.

“Please, Mother,” Maria urged quietly. “It is important.”

The older woman studied her for only a moment before slowly dismissing the surrounding girls with a gentle motion of her hand.

The maidens obeyed without question, quietly retreating toward the far end of the chamber.

Only then did Mother Serana rise from her chair.

“What is it, girl?” she asked again, her tone far more serious now.

Maria glanced briefly toward Julia before answering.

“Julia overheard Sylazar speaking with one of the guardsmen. There is going to be an attack tonight.”

The words had barely left her mouth before the deep sound of bells thundered across the keep.

War horns followed immediately after.

The chamber fell deathly silent.

Mother Serana slowly lifted her gaze toward the narrow window above as the distant bells continued echoing through the stone halls.

“Oh Lord…” she murmured softly.

“Have mercy upon us tonight.”

Upon the western wall of the keep, General Artorius ascended the stone steps with measured strides, his pale eyes fixed upon the dark horizon beyond the mountains.

The cold wind swept heavily across the battlements as he approached the night watch stationed along the wall.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“Torchlight, sir,” one of the guardsmen answered, his voice steady despite the unease spreading among the men.

Artorius narrowed his gaze toward the western pass.

At first, only a handful of distant lights flickered against the darkness.

Then more appeared.

And more.

Like embers slowly spreading across the mountainside.

Artorius turned toward the soldiers assembled below within the courtyard.

“Men,” he called firmly, his voice carrying through the night air. “Ready yourselves. The enemy approaches.”

The thousand soldiers below immediately stirred into motion.

Spears tightened. Shields lifted. Commands echoed across the courtyard.

“Tonight,” Artorius continued, “this keep shall stand as testament to what becomes of those who dare challenge us.”

“Aye!” the soldiers roared in unison, their voices thundering through the mountain pass.

Artorius turned his eyes back toward the darkness just as footsteps sounded behind him.

Sylazar emerged onto the battlements clad in lavish custom-forged armor polished almost bright enough to mirror the torchlight itself.

“General,” Sylazar greeted.

“My lord,” Artorius replied with a respectful nod.

“Where are they?” Sylazar asked, his tone carrying an eagerness that bordered dangerously close to excitement.

Artorius gestured toward the western slope between the mountains.

“They’ll emerge through the pass shortly.”

As if summoned by the words themselves, more torchlights began appearing across the darkness.

One hundred.

Then two.

Then five.

The lights multiplied steadily across the mountain slope while silence slowly overtook the battlements.

Three hundred.

Four hundred.

Five hundred.

Even Sylazar’s expression began tightening now.

Then the numbers doubled again.

A thousand torches became two.

The mountains themselves seemed aflame beneath the endless sea of marching fire.

Cold wind swept heavily across the keep as ten thousand men slowly emerged from the darkness below.

No banners flew above them.

Only steel. Shields. Torchlight.

Fear quietly spread among the defenders upon the wall.

Artorius saw it immediately.

“Men,” he shouted, his voice suddenly cutting through the silence like steel. “Do not tell me you are frightened already.”

Several soldiers straightened instinctively.

“Come now!” Artorius roared. “Give the lasses below a proper show before you die freezing upon my walls.”

A ripple of laughter spread nervously through the battlements.

“For every one they kill,” Artorius continued, his eyes fixed upon the advancing army, “we shall take a hundred in return. Understood?”

“Aye!” the soldiers roared once more.

Yet beneath the noise, Artorius quietly murmured beneath his breath:

“And then still a hundred will remain.”

The army continued advancing steadily until at last it halted before the western wall.

Rows of shields locked together beneath the torchlight while the distant clang of armor echoed faintly through the mountain air.

No man upon the battlements spoke.

Then from the front ranks of the army, two riders slowly emerged.

As they approached the wall, both Artorius and Sylazar recognized them immediately.

“Well now,” the rider called from beneath the wall, his voice carrying easily through the cold mountain air. “If it isn’t my brother’s loyal hound, Artorius Veserya… and our dear cousin.”

Lord Johana Duskmorne sat loosely atop his horse, one hand resting lazily against the saddle while torchlight flickered across the dark curls falling around his face. A crooked grin lingered upon his lips, though his restless eyes betrayed something far less calm beneath it.

Beside him rode Sir Goodwin of Lars.

Silent. Motionless. Watching.

“Lord Johana,” Artorius answered evenly. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“You’ve chosen the wrong keep to threaten, cousin,” Sylazar added sharply.

Johana’s grin widened slightly.

“Threaten?” he echoed. “Gods, cousin, listen to yourself.”

Sylazar’s jaw tightened.

Johana slowly lifted his gaze toward the battlements above.

“But where is Crowley?” he asked. “Surely my dear brother did not send others to greet me in his place.”

“I’m afraid not,” Artorius replied calmly. “Lord Duskmorne departed before evening.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered across Johana’s expression.

Gone almost immediately beneath another smile.

“What a pity,” he murmured, exhaling a short laugh through his nose. “And here I rode all this way hoping for a family reunion.”

“And where might Lord Duskmorne have gone?” he asked casually.

“It is unfortunate,” Sylazar answered coldly, “but such information remains beyond your reach, cousin.”

The rider beside Johana leaned slightly toward him then, whispering something inaudible beneath the wind.

Johana listened silently for a moment before chuckling softly beneath his breath.

“Yes,” he muttered quietly. “You’re probably right.”

He looked back toward the wall.

“My apologies, cousin,” Johana announced, the sarcasm returning easily to his voice, “but my companion here grows impatient. Sir Goodwin suggested we acquire the information through less civil means.”

A faint laugh escaped him.

“And honestly? I found the idea difficult to refuse.”

“And to think,” Sylazar muttered bitterly beneath his breath, “I once pleaded for you with your brother.”

That earned a quieter laugh from Johana.

One that sounded almost tired.

“Did you?” he asked softly. “Then perhaps I should have thanked you before tonight.”

Cold wind swept hard across the battlements.

Johana spread his arms slightly.

“So tell me, cousin… do you intend to surrender this keep?” His grin returned once more. “Or shall we continue pretending this ends well for any of you?”

Sylazar’s expression betrayed the slightest flicker of unease, though pride quickly buried it again.

“Such a notion is absurd,” he spat back. “I question your sanity for even suggesting it.”

“Oh, spare me the insults,” Johana replied with another breath of laughter. “You always did mistake arrogance for courage.”

His eyes drifted once more toward the battlements above.

Still searching.

Still expecting.

“Still…” he murmured quieter this time, “I truly expected Crowley to come himself.”

Silence settled briefly between both sides.

Then —

Goodwin moved.

The arrow loosed so suddenly few men even saw it leave the bowstring.

It struck Sylazar directly between the eyes.

The nobleman staggered backward without a sound before toppling from the wall into the courtyard below.

Shock seized the battlements.

“Loose!” Artorius roared instantly.

A storm of arrows rained downward toward the retreating riders.

One struck Goodwin through the shoulder armor with a heavy crack.

The man barely reacted.

Johana burst into laughter as they rode back toward the waiting army.

Not joyous laughter.

Something sharper. Breathless. Uneven.

“Gods above,” he exhaled between laughs, “you truly frightened them for a moment there.”

Goodwin said nothing.

By the time they reached the command tents, the laughter had already begun fading from Johana’s face.

The two men dismounted and entered the torchlit interior prepared for them.

Goodwin attempted to sit before the arrow obstructed the movement. With a sharp breath, he snapped the shaft cleanly and lowered himself heavily into the chair afterward, pouring wine into a silver cup one-handed.

Blood slowly darkened the armor beneath his shoulder.

His face remained emotionless.

Johana dropped into the seat opposite him.

For a while, neither man spoke.

Only silver cups and ragged breathing filled the silence between them while war drums echoed faintly beyond the tent walls.

The adrenaline slowly drained from Johana’s features until the grin resting there began looking more exhausted than amused.

“So,” Goodwin finally said in his gravelly voice, “what now?”

Johana stared silently into the wine within his cup.

Then a faint smile returned.

“Now?” he murmured quietly.

A soft chuckle escaped him once more.

“Now my brother is bound to show up.”

He leaned back slowly in the chair.

“We’ve given them quite the spectacle tonight.” His smile lingered faintly. “The rats are already scuttling inside those walls.”

He lifted the silver cup to his lips.

“The keep will fall before dawn.”

The wine disappeared behind the rim.

When the cup lowered once more, the smile still remained.

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