Ch - 23 Oh good, more cannon fodder for my blade to snack on.

A week later, an ominous stillness hung over the fortress grounds as Lewis strode out past the brooding ramparts for parley beneath the walls. Twin armies encamped outside in a sprawling, formidable mass glinting with spear tips and armored destriers.

Lewis took a deep, steadying breath before striding out to parley beneath Witton's brooding ramparts. He emerged alone before a sprawling sea of armored men and snorting destriers stretching miles in orderly rows - a daunting force big enough to trample Witton ten times over. Blood-red Alyn banners mixed ominously with the king's own golden standards fluttering overhead.

Lewis could feel enemies and allies alike sizing up his nervous frame as he approached the commanders. He felt every bit the anxious boy playing lord in front of these ruthless veterans who could order a thousand arrows to erase him where he stood.

From his higher vantage Lewis estimated nearly five thousand professional troops arrayed in precise columns - two thousand soldiers to the north wearing the king's purple and gold emblem, and southward three thousand militia of House Alyn, blood red banners with a black viper flapping ominously.

Nearly a thousand mages were interspersed throughout wearing light blue overrobes bearing wand insignia. As Lewis knew, each mage was worth two average soldiers in the field. And leading this host were twin knights - one bearing distinctive green hair, and a golden armor marking a member of the exalted Royal Guard. The other knight looked young but canny, clearly the Alyn family knight.

As Lewis approached under truce banner, he kept one hand poised to draw steel, eyeing elite bowmen tracking his movement atop siege towers. Any misstep could mean a black arrow greeting him before he returned through the gates. Heart pounding, he halted twenty paces from the allied commanders. "I am Lewis of House Sawbridge, here to accept terms of my seizure," he announced with bitter sarcasm...

Halting before them he announced in his firmest tone, "Witton remains loyal to our rightful liege, Lord john Sawbridge. We shall never surrender or abandon our bonds."

The mounted Royal Guard glared down imperiously. "You yapping pups blinded by old loyalties! The King himself decreed your father traitor and this fortress forfeit! Beg for mercy at dawn or my mages will incinerate you stone by stone."

The Alyn champion sneered as well, gloved hand ominously tapping his swordpommel. "The King showed remarkable restraint...thus far. But if you continue denying him right of conquest your people's blood will soak the soil, come tomorrow."

Ears ringing as he struggled to not tremble openly, Lewis replied "Witton will stand defiant forever against any who attempt to sever our sworn oaths. Tread here at your peril - thousands of your men shall fertilize our walls first!" Then he swiftly retreated behind groaning gates, sealing the ominous standoff as battle lines were drawn taut and blood was promised.

Lewis knew Witton's forces were outnumbered 5 to 1 - a thousand defenders manning the walls against the invading army of five thousand professional troops. The enemy had assembled a balanced professional army - 1,000 mages spacing dangerous magical volleys, 3,000 stalwart infantry to grind them down once walls were breached, 500 archers to rain death unseen, and 500 heavy cavalry.

In opposition, Witton's 1,000 soldiers had no mages, 700 longbowmen lining the parapets. Just 300 steadfast foot soldiers would grapple enemies once they pierced gates and bulwarks. Lewis' 500 hidden cavalry had covertly taken the field two nights prior...

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The ships slipped silently out of the harbor as the first light of dawn crept over the city's ransacked walls. Their holds were stuffed to bursting with the spoils of conquest - rare silks, spices, and glittering treasures destined for distant shores.

Their vessels cut swift and true through the placid waves, bound for the lawless 'Great Pirate Isle' - haven of thieves, privateers, and smugglers alike. It rose gradually out of the sea mists by afternoon - a great mountainous land ringed about by scores of ships at anchor.

The harbor itself sat cradled upon a vast wooden platform, built out atop the waters ages ago when Pirate Isle's natural anchorage proved too confined for the ever-growing number of visiting ships. Reinforced with immense pylons and buttressed with countless planks and beams, the gigantic wharf now covered leagues of open sea.

Up the slopes of the Isle, buildings and structures clung tenaciously along sloping alleys and winding lanes. And crowning the highest peak, ringed by high cannon-studded walls, sprawled the baroque mansion of the previous Pirate King himself - the notorious Captain Bell.

As the bandaged figure stood silently at the gunwale, the sailor approached once more. "Behold Pirate Isle in all its infamy," he declared. "Before the moon rises again, fortunes shall be won and lost here. Mind you choose your risks - and allies - well."

With a smile both grim and eager, the sailor turned to help bring their vessel gliding smoothly into its weathered berth along the massive water-borne platform, as cries of greeting and temptation echoed from the riotous streets ashore.

The fleet landed with barely a sound against the weathered planks of the massive harbor platform on the southern end of the infamous 'Great Pirate Isle'. This was the domain of the Pirate King Samuel - he who had stormed the island citadel and overthrown the feared Captain Bell years before.

As soon as the ships were secured, the bearded sailor from the wreckage began selecting crews to take the spoils of their recent pillaging to the labyrinthine markets and bazaars ashore. The captain, a burly man with a braided black beard, started barking orders. "Heno, Karsus - take some lads and get that cargo sold. We've good steel, rare silk, and spices that'll fetch pretty coin even here." Two hardened looking pirates gathered a group and headed off into the chaos of the waterfront, loaded with chests and casks. With that, the motley crews of loaded pirates headed off into the chaotic streets, greedy to transform their silks, spices and stolen coin into more tangible rewards.

The captain turned to the rest. "The Ship and Sail first, mates. We'll have a bit of drink while we wait for our gold." Another ragged cheer rang out as the crew headed eagerly down the dock towards the ramshackle tavern perched near shore.

The commander scanned the deck, his eyes settling at last on the silent bandaged figure standing amidships. "As for you," he muttered, "stay close and keep out of trouble. The winds of fate blow capriciously here..."

With a dismissive glance, he turned to attend to other duties, leaving the sightless figure alone as raucous shouts echoed up from a nearby tavern already overflowing with during buccaneers.

The commander grabs the bandaged figure roughly by the shoulders. "Come along blind one. I'll stand you a drink or two, eh?" The blinded man hesitates, wary of leaving the ship, but the din from the crowded waterside tavern makes his decision easier. At least off the vessel he may glean signs of what fate awaits. 

They make their way along weathered planks worn smooth by countless scuffling feet over the years. The commander leads the sightless figure through the tavern's threshold into its dimly lit interior, thick with the smells of tobacco, rum, and unwashed scoundrels. He guides the bandaged man toward an empty table before bellowing out drink orders to a harried barmaid.

Soon tankards of grog are slammed down sloshing before the two, the tavern erupting into another discordant sea shanty. The commander hoists his drink brusquely. "To our promising fortunes ahead m'boy! However long they may last us..." He chortles before downing half his mug in one noisy gulp.

The figure lifts his tankard cautiously, the slightest tilt allowing the bitter liquid to trickle between the wrappings veiling his face. The raucous crowd carries on with their off-key singing as the commander continues drinking thirstily. 

Some time passes in this manner before the figure notices an abrupt lull in the room's clamor. He hears the screeching of bench wood along the floorboards followed swiftly by the heavy thud of a body hitting ground. Angry voices rise to shouts amidst crashing tableware.

"You dare call me a cheat?! I'll carve out yer tongue for it!" The commander is on his feet as well in an instant as the tavern erupts into a full-fledged brawl. Fists, bottles, even blades are swiftly brought to bear whilst patrons bellow and overturn furniture. The blind man sits frozen amidst the escalating chaos, wary of impending disaster but powerless to intervene...