Paul stood at the doorway, watching the firelight from his hearth stretch thin across the snow. He had crossed this threshold every day without a thought.
Yet now he couldn’t bring himself to take the step.
“Is everything alright?” Paul’s mother murmured, shuffling from her stool by the hearth towards him.
“Mm… yes, I am alright,” Paul answered as her stiff fingers worked over the ties of his gambeson. She had made it herself from scraps of the linen sheets Lord Karl had commissioned. He knew it was the most she could do to protect him. “It’s just… I am scared.”
Paul took a deep breath as he voiced the uneasy feeling twisting his stomach.
Everything so far had been training. Controlled. Kurt and the others were always nearby to save them. Even when they ambushed those knights, everything was in their favour: a narrow pass, snow drifts for cover, time to set traps.
And now, they were facing what was likely a far larger army of seasoned knights in open battle. They couldn’t hide. They couldn’t set up the battlefield. There was no chance of a last-minute rescue if things didn’t go well. Lord Karl no doubt had tricks up his sleeve—he always did—but would they be enough?
Despite Lord Karl’s cheer, Paul was certain there would be casualties.
His mother said nothing. Instead, she wrapped him in a hug, one hand caressing his hair.
She hadn’t held him like this since that day.
“It’ll all be alright, son,” She whispered in his ear. “You trained hard with everyone. Now give it your best, and it will all go well. I believe in you.”
“But what if—“
She didn’t let him finish the thought.
“Then your name will be remembered as a hero’s. And don’t you worry about me. I trust Lord Karl will take care of me if it comes to that.” She released him. “Now, go. You have your orders, soldier.”
She clumsily imitated the salute Paul had grown so accustomed to, and winked at him with a warm smile.
He returned the salute before he could stop himself.
Then, with a deep breath, Paul stepped out of the house and into the night.
***
The column marched in a loose formation, picking its way through thawing snow. Behind it, a team of captured warhorses pulled a crude cart stacked with wooden beams. Another pulled something that looked like an oversized crossbow on two wheels.
Paul had expected it to feel different. Grander. But everything looked the same as it did during training.
Except for the silence.
Shortly before leaving, Lord Karl had told them that Major Dietrich and the others had a separate mission, one critical to their success. Usually, when the officers were away during training, they would all banter and tell stories to pass the time. But now, the only things Paul could hear were muttered prayers and the sound of snow crunching under their shoes.
Paul told himself it didn’t matter that they weren’t here. They had trained without the four plenty of times. But still, their presence was always a reassuring sight for everyone. Now, their absence hung over the column like a held breath.
“Chin up, young man.” Old August reassured him as he fell into step beside him. “You’re making the recruits nervous.”
“But, I am a recruit.”
“Are you, Corporal Paul?” August lightheartedly reminded him of the ranks Lord Karl had handed out soon after the Eclipse Feast. “You and I are the closest thing to officers they have now. We have to show a brave face. Look, like His Highness is doing…”
Lord Karl was marching ahead of the column. He had chosen to walk with the soldiers rather than ride one of the horses. Paul didn’t know if it was genuine humility or an intentional act, but it steadied his nerves that Lord Karl’s boots sank in the same slush as everyone else as he intently discussed something with Lotti and the rest of the healers.
He didn’t seem to be worried. Or at least he hid it well.
Paul wished he had as much confidence as Lord Karl. He also wished he were the one speaking to Lotti right now.
He shifted the weight of his spear to the other shoulder and kept walking.
***
The quiet march through the forest and narrow river canyons continued until dawn.
Then they rounded a bend between mountains—and saw it.
A pale shape emerged from between the trees, on a hill beyond the river.
Castle Hohengrenzberg.
Paul had imagined something like Ugo’s manor, only bigger. But the castle was built into the rock itself. The walls rose from the forested bluff as though the hill had simply decided to become a fortress. The towers loomed against the paling sky, their outlines hard and clean. And below them, a town huddled along the riverbank, quiet and small against the fortress.
“Suns save us.”
“That looks massive…”
“What can spears and crossbows do against such high walls?”
Paul could hear several gasps and hushed murmurs around him.
It was one thing to talk about taking a castle while living in a village. Or to hear stories from the old guard about them storming castles back in the War.
It was quite another to be faced with one and told to conquer it.
Lord Karl, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any hesitation.
Several men and women were quickly directed to unpack the cart on a nearby hill. Half a dozen other ran toward the mill on the near side of the river, the healers right behind them. Everyone else was sent to the only bridge across the river, the castle straight ahead of them.
Lines quickly formed around Paul as he stepped onto the stone bridge. Four ranks of spearmen, each six men wide, followed by two ranks of five crossbowmen. Paul stood in the second row, nervously fiddling with the clay sphere that weighed down his bag.
A grenade, Lord Karl had called it.
He’d demonstrated one during training. The flash, the thunder, the way it turned a wooden target into splinters.
Paul had tried not to think about what it would do to a man.
***
They didn’t need to wait long for the response from the castle.
In the distance, Paul could see the castle gate opening. Several figures emerged in a neat file. They slowly descended the winding path down the hill. At the head of the line, under a bright banner, rode a burly figure clad in a gilded enclosed helmet, finely-made armour, and a flowing crimson cloak. Even his horse was outfitted in a similarly coloured caparison.
It was no doubt the Count.
Lord Karl took to the bridge to meet him.
Paul could feel the formation shift as the two nobles stopped in the middle of the bridge.
“I am Count Gottfried von Hohengrenzberg, the lord of this land.” The Count introduced himself, raising the visor of his helmet to reveal a rugged face framed by a well-kept brown beard.
“And I am Prince Karl Ludw—“
“I know who you are.” The Count cut him off. “What business have you bringing this rabble to my doorstep, princeling? Is this another of Duke Albrecht's power plays?”
“Gods, no.” Lord Karl laughed softly. “I am here to take this fortress and liberate the surrounding villages. You are, of course, welcome to surrender should you wish to avoid embarrassment.”
“…”
“You can’t be serious.” The Count deadpanned after a brief moment of silence. “This is a border fort that has been held by my family for four generations. It has never been taken. Not even by those damned Karlamangians in the Heldisch Wars, and certainly won’t be by a mob of peasants! I know you are a fickle prince, but you take your whims too far. Turn back before you get your subjects needlessly killed. I will overlook the fact you killed my bailiff and—”
“Don’t forget your knights, too.” Lord Karl added smugly. “Killed to the last by a mob of peasants.”
Paul knew Lord Karl was often confident to a fault, but he had never seen him acting like this.
Was he trying to provoke the Count on purpose?
If so, it was working.
“Y—you…!” Even from this distance, Paul could hear the rising fury in the Count’s voice. “Have you no manners? No noble honour?! Your abuse of wine and women is already a stain on your family’s name. Do you intend to have the Duke remembered as a father to a dishonourable varlet on top of that?”
“The only honour is in victory.” Karl shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “History is written by the victors, after all.”
“Fine. Be it as you wish.” The Count hissed through his teeth, then lowered his visor. “We shall do battle. But know the lives lost will be on your name.”
Paul swallowed as the Count turned back to his side of the river, followed closely by his retinue.
“Gerhard, assemble the garrison.” The Count barked orders. “We shall sally and make quick work of them before they can complete those siege engines. Try to avoid excessive bloodshed, but if you—”
A loud crack echoed through the air.
Paul saw a blur shoot towards the Count.
But before it could reach him, he raised his arm.
The air tightened. Paul felt it in his chest. A sudden wrongness, like a moment before a thunderstorm.
Then a mound of earth tore itself from the riverbank and slammed into place in front of the Count. The bolt buried itself in the earth with a dull, meaty thud.
The Count lowered his arm. A faint brown glow faded from his gauntlet, and the earth wall shuddered and fell apart.
Tracing the bolt’s path, Paul could see the five men on the hill quickly reloading the giant crossbow.
“Ahem.” Judging by Lord Karl’s disappointed tone, the firing was not an accident.
Was this his cunning plan?
Paul hoped it was not the only one.
Because the feeling in his chest was replaced by cold dread.
This was the first time he had seen something like it. A wall of earth erupting from nothing!
What if the Count tore pieces of the mountain and hurled them at the army? Or raised countless rocks from the bottom of the river and rained them down upon the ranks? Could their crude wooden shields survive that?
Maybe there was a good reason Paul had never heard of a successful uprising against the nobles.
His uneasy feeling was only strengthened as he saw dozens of armoured men pouring out of the fortress.
Paul could feel the first row pressing against him as they took a step back.
They no doubt shared similar thoughts.
Maybe he had been too lost in—
“Hold your ground! Hold your ground!” Lord Karl shouted as he stopped in front of the shaken men. “Sons and daughters of Rand. Free people.”
Paul held his breath.
“I see in your eyes a fear that any man would have.”
Unlike when he talked to the Count, Lord Karl’s voice was much softer. It was also more… measured than usual. It reminded Paul of the time Lord Karl gave a speech in the village square. Back when Paul first decided to join all this.
“But know this! History shows that there are no invincible armies and never have been.”
Paul felt a cold prick in his heart as he recalled staring down the giant wolf. At the time, it did seem invincible… but was it the same for the nobles? A beast didn’t have magic.
“And now in your hands is placed a power greater than their noble blood,” Lord Karl continued. “A power greater than the might of magic, magnified a thousandfold.”
The cold melted slightly as Paul traced the outline of the grenade in his bag.
“And with that power—and with belief in each other—”
Paul let his eyes wander. Erich to his left. Helmuth in the front. Old August’s grey beard at the edge of his vision…
“—You can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old!”
Lord Karl then drew the sword they’d taken from Sir Wulfric and held it high.
Paul tightened the grip on his spear.
“Together, we have drawn a sword that nobles wished had been kept all these years in the scabbard. We have drawn the sword, which without victory, we cannot sheathe again.”
Lord Karl then turned to face the Count’s ranks directly.
"Up and at the foes! Down with the enemies of freedom! Three uraahs for Rand!”
Paul could feel it all around him. The same resolve that was bubbling up in his chest.
“Uraah!”
He couldn’t help but bang the butt of his spear with the rest of the army as they all shouted.
“Uraaah!”
Maybe there was a chance after all.
“Uraaaaahh!”
As the final shout echoed through the ravines, Paul felt a little more at ease.
His fingers gripped the rough surface of the grenade as he looked ahead at the Count and his men preparing their horses for a charge.