Chapter XII : Fort Wingbearer

Micura

"The situation is dire, my lord. The Dupark have betrayed us. Our rebellion has foundered," Micura said with a laugh. Orwen smirked and played along, "You are a poor informant, Micura. You disappoint me. You do not know at all that Napemol has been won to our side with all its might and that the Dupark are feigning treachery. You also did not at all give me the idea to orchestrate Taperend betraying us to only stab Arthur in the back." They both laughed at it.

Micura struggled a bit as he asked, "But what will you do about Arthur's two sons– Margh and Hapem?" Orwen replied grimly, "I am no child killer like Roger. I will let them live and I will let them rule too. Though, they will be prisoned, lavishly, till the rebellion ends and then I will let Margh rule Lopelanzec." Orwen paused for a moment and then said chokingly, tears near falling, "I am broken in two. Arthur has been my friend since forever and now I kill him? Though we were taught that an enemy is only an enemy and nothing more, nothing less, but Arthur is more than an enemy to me! Yet, I know that Arthur faces this dilemma too. Though I can tell with certainty that he is planning my assassination at this very moment. Still … he is a near brother to me. What do I do?" Micura voiced a single phrase, "A bargain." "Yes. So too I thought. Hence, I kill Arthur yet let his sons live." Micura spoke the unspoken, "And maybe win Lopelanzec's loyalty even after killing its Lord." "That too," Orwen accepted with a shrug.

Orwen spoke, his voice suddenly softening, "I had not called you hear to discuss my moral dualities though. I have some news to give. Siapa has left the estate and now journeys out of the river Bronkher." Micura's face paled. He was out of words. In that convicted silence, Orwen broke it due to the building restlessness. He muttered with guilt, "I know this because I have an assassin-spy in your estate." Micura flapped his hands in the air and replied, "Me and Siapa both know that since an eternity. Your assassin isn't the best at hiding that. Though, I want one more detail." Orwen looked at Micura expectantly as Micura asked, still hazed, "Why did she depart?" Orwen jumped to answer, "I only have suspicions. I believe my sister is going to the north to convince Sabrina to join my cause." Micura nodded, soaking in the information as Orwen said, "Benz may know more." Micura looked up at that moment and whispered, "Yes I will ask for more from Benz and you. Both. But later."

"Well then," Orwen lead with a preamble, his face lighting up slightly with excitement, and asked a question he already knew the answer to, "Tell me something about the Eye." Micura knew what was coming yet answered the question, "You can see everything from its top. Its height is only topped by the Tower in Barren Lands and conquering it is like sailing in a sea of fire or so is said about it." Orwen announced, "It's true, the arrows rain like water from a thunderstorm ... and now the Eye and the largest navy in Cobardon is on our side. If Siapa succeeds then our victory is sealed. Lopelanzec is a loyal pig in a butcher's house, we will slay it. I hear Roger is marching down with a strength near half a hundred thousand. Well, let the 50,000 soldiers come, only to be massacred as they stand against every army in Cobardon combined. We shall crush Roger and then … you ever wondered if I became king who will become the Lord of Wingbearer." The answer was obvious – Micura. Micura said with barely concealed joy, "Let's not count the chicken before the eggs hatch."

Aaaahhooo! Aaaahhooo! "2 horns! We have been infiltrated. By who?" Micura muttered with utter perplexity. Orwen unsheathed his Sword of Darkness while rushing towards the hall door. The castle clamoured with chaos. He didn't know what to do, what you think, who to blame? He knew nothing. It was total mayhem. Orwen flung the heavy door to his chambers shut and bolted it with lightning speed, while cursing, "Bloody Oskcopa! Arthur is not planning, he has planned and acted on it". Orwen slumped on the timber door and sighed, inexplicably exhausted.

Micura's ears caught the noise of wood rupturing and splinters succumbing to steel. Orwen moaned and then glanced down. Micura's eyes widened and he screamed, aghast. The sight was menacing - a vermilion spearhead jutted out of Orwen's gut and scarlet red blood dripped and splashed on the flooring from the spear's tip. Orwen hissed like a serpent and swung his sword around to offer it to Micura, hilt-first. Orwen's moans punctuated his every pained word yet he finished his phrase, "Take it. Take it. Quick!" Micura jumped towards the Sword of Darkness when Orwen's hands shot out and pulled him in an embrace. Orwen whispered in Micura's ear, "Avenge Alicia's death and even mi…" Orwen's eyes shut and his grasp loosened on Micura and the sword drooped towards the floor. Micura leapt forward and gripped the sword before it touched the ground and consecrated the death of Orwen.

Lord of Wingbearer, Micura's new title, unwished yet not undeserved!

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Trevan

They had crossed the gorge, crawling on taut ropes slung end to end, rock climbed the escarpment and breached Wingbearer. He himself had driven the spearhead through the elegant fretwork of the hall ingress and had heard Orwen make a sibilant sound as shrapnels had blown all over his torso. At that moment he had realised the mocking irony – he killed who he had once saved!

He was correctly speeding for the rendezvous point. He sounded his clarion and looked about to realise that he and his men had turned the whole castle into a butcher house when they had caught the sentinels unaware. The Wingbearer were not likely to forgive or forget this gift bestowed upon them by the Lopelanzec.

He reached the rendezvous point and saw 50 men already reforming lines over there. They cloistered themselves in wet cloaks for protection from the ablaze fire arrows. He heard a clunk as one of his comrades crumpled to the ground, an arrow sticking out of a chink in his armour. "Dispatch", he commanded, and a dozen men started sliding along the rope that stretched over the abyss.

Next, he knew, he was halfway across the length of the rope, his hands' gripping tightly and legs hanging on top of the ravine's devouring mouth. All his men were on the ropes (literally) and were crawling towards the other end at a laggard, leaden pace. His stomach cramped and he had a bad gut feeling.

He heard something whistle through the air and he pulled with his arms to swing his legs and wrap them against the ropes. An arrow passed through where his left leg had been half a heartbeat ago. The arrowhead was a blazing inferno, a sphere of wreckage, which dipped into the unlit, pitch-black basin beneath. He knew something was amiss.

He heard a jarring, fiery roar and then what he described put his eyes and the whole valley on fire. Jade green and flaxen yellow waves of flame lapped beneath him, eager to burn him up. The conflagration leapt and danced in heartbeats, graceful and slick like a snake poised to strike. He was mesmerised and enchanted, as well as aghast by this man-made atrocity. "Raguela, save me!" he managed to scream.

He opened his mouth and managed to squeal like a wingless bird. He was naked without his wings and wanted nothing but to fly. It was his last wish. Last! His heart was in his mouth and his life - desperate and ablaze like a matchstick burning on its last cinders.