The trumpets sounded again, over and over, that dreaded ringing in Delger’s ears. The Isnumurti had walked onto the fields again. However, there were two things different this time: on one hand this time New Hearth would not be caught off guard, but on the other hand instead of dozens of foreign soldiers in black armor at the edge of the forest, there were probably ten thousand of them. This would not be a test, Delger realized. This was the beginning of the invasion.

Delger was almost running to the stables while a thin, short man in loose robes was tailing him, shouting over the noise.

“You said you’re Gerhart’s what, come again?” Delger asked, slowing down for the man.

“Lord Gerhart’s oldest son-in-law to his second daughter, Maibel,” the smarmy thin mustachioed said, breathing heavily as he set his hands to his side. “I am your Lord Rollund, the new castellan.”

“My Lord Rollund, you say?”

“That’s right,” the young Lord Rollund said. “And I’m here to see to it that the New Hearth treasury is not compromised. If needed, the soldiers will help me empty the vaults before the enemy gets here.”

“The enemy is already here, my Lord Rollund,” Delger said, emphasizing the title and name. “There isn’t a man to spare away from the battlefield. We set to defend New Hearth.”

“Well I set to abandon it right now.”

“Abandon it right now? New Hearth is not lost yet, sir.”

“We have less than a thousand men, many of them new transfers,” Lord Rollund said. “And earlier I heard the enemy number into ten thousand.”

“We have nine hundred and twelve, not quite a thousand so don’t get your hopes up,” Delger replied. “Every man counts, my Lord Rollund.”

“Well as your lord, I have decided this conflict to be folly.”

Delger stopped and cocked his head to one side. “There are fifty thousand people who live in this city. Every one of them deserves a chance for survival. If the Isnumurti storm these gates, the people won’t stand a chance. They will be bugs trampled beneath the ten thousand war boots. You and I cannot give them salvation from the trampling. But we can give them time. We’ll hold the line as long as we can for the city to empty and make their way to Caddock.”

“These are not your men you’re risking, they are now mine.”

“Your men?” Delger grinned. “Aye, your men. When the city empties, the coin keepers will make sure the coin is not left behind. The coin keepers and accountants can keep watch. But your men, Lord Rollund, your men need watching over too. The last time I was with your father-in-law, he rode into battle in full plate. A castellan stays with the castle.”

Delger grabbed the lord by the collar and nearly dragged him to where several soldiers were buckling in their armor. He recognized one of them.

“What are you doing?” Lord Rollund asked.

“It’s time to acquaint yourself with your men,” Delger said. “Galbrey, good to see you. Take your Lord Rollund and fit him with what armor you can find. No plate. And then bring him to the center of the line.”

“Immediately, Captain,” Galbrey responded as he tugged at the young lord’s arm.

Delger marched toward the stables. He knew it was a foolish thing to count on anyone else. On the senate, on the governors, on the Kiennese king, on Edmon, on this new Lord Rollund. Only yesterday he had received a post that Edmon had failed to rally the governors, and that he was again on his own. He had became castellan of the Gildemanse at only twenty-seven by himself. In five years he would lead Padrig the Black's cavalry as head of the Winged Spears, the most feared riders in all the realm. He felt most at ease in the spearhead, commanding over a thousand horses.

There she was standing alone in the stables, the Red Mare. She stood taller than the other horses, her black mane brushed, oiled, and shimmered on the side of her neck. Fifteen years ago he helped deliver her when he was Head of Stables at the Gildemanse. Her mother was a red thoroughbred destrier with a lineage that traced back hundreds of years when the king of Neredun gifted a red destrier to Aredun upon the founding of the republic. When she was born, she had the same red coat as her mother, and so he chose to give her the same name as her mother.

When he became castellan of the Gildemanse several years later, he continued his attention to the horses he once tended, but especially to the Red Mare. No one rode her besides her trainers, as decreed by Padrig the Black, for she would be reserved for rearing. He was one of the few who had ridden her, as she was temperamental with others but bonded with Delger. When he became the Captain of the Winged Spears at thirty-two years old, the Black asked him what gift he wanted to celebrate his appointment to one of the most hallowed titles in all of Aredunian military history. Delger did not hesitate. He wanted the Red Mare. The Black had his misgivings about gifting such a prize, but when Delger mounted her and showed the king what he could do at the tip of the Spearhead, with hundreds of cavalry behind him, the king clasped his hands in untempered laughter and granted the wish.

Today there was no Spearhead as they were leagues away. The Red Mare saw Delger approach and stomped the ground in anticipation. She knew a fight was coming but she looked around for the other members of the Spearhead, but finding none, she looked back at Delger in confusion. "I know, girl," he said. "It doesn't feel right to me either."

Delger mounted the Red Mare and rode to the center of the line. The fog had gotten worse since the ten thousand Isnumurti took the field. Perhaps it was for the best, for the nine hundred and twelve men that Delger mustered would surely have been disheartened to see a force that stood the length of the Purged Forest's edge. The Aredunians had hastened the gathering of their army while the Isnumurti remained well rested since early in the morning.

Three short blasts signaled a parlay. Delger looked around at riders to accompany him. As he glanced the line for capable riders, he caught a clumsy rider approaching with an oversized set of armor, being led by Galbrey who was holding onto the horse’s reigns.

“My Lord Rollund,” Delger said. “This is fortuitous timing. The enemy wishes to parlay. Please come and ride with me to meet with them.”

“That…that won’t be necessary, Captain,” he replied, adjusting his visor. “You have the field.”

“Nonsense,” Delger said, approaching the young lord. The Red Mare towered over the much smaller horse. “That is a nice rouncey you are riding. Could we not spare a palfrey for our lord? It matters little, you are the lord of New Hearth and you will come with me to parlay. Galbrey, mount a horse. You’re coming too.”

Delger trotted toward the center of the field with Lord Rollund and Galbrey. The familiar smell of morning mud and horse manure lifted his spirits as it prepared his spirit for war. In the fog he saw a rider approach, and soon another appeared behind him. The second figure was taller and rode on a massive black horse, as large as a draught. In the fog the larger figure seemed to have the horns of a beast.

"Hold steady," Delger told his two companions. “My Lord, don’t do anything unexpected. Like fall off your horse.”

The smaller Isnumurti rider wore full steel helm that was forged into the shape of a skull with fangs; his body was covered with black scale leather armor. He had two swords strapped to his back and in his hand he held a crossbow.

“Is that a devil?” Galbrey asked as he saw the larger rider had a large headdress of a skull with red horns, and he wore armor with painted red and white bones. A massive black scabbard hung from his side that carried his falchion.

“Good blessings to you on this morning,” the smaller man started, his accented voice almost hissing.

“Blessings?” Rollund scoffed. “What is it that you want?”

Delger held out his hand toward the young lord, to quiet him.

"My lord will not tell you what you already know," the smaller figure said. "Instead he gives you something you do not expect. My lord offers you peace in place of blooshed."

"You rode all this way to offer peace?" Delger asked.

The large figure spoke in a deep rounded voice in a language that Delger did not recognize.

"Most cities my lord has conquered through peace," the smaller, skull helmed man said. "This servant's name is Onesimos, Pleader of Peace for my General Gnonobod of Erehar's Sword. My lord Gnonobod has already taken nine cities. He intends to take yours as his tenth."

"I thought you wanted peace."

"Peace," Gnonobod said, his voice like gravel coming from atop the horse.

"The easiest action is to bend the knee," Onesimos said. "My lord will leave your city, its people, its granaries intact. You will continue to live as you have, perform your work and pray to your gods as you always have. My lord wants your city whole and unspoiled. Accept these terms and he will invite you to our camp to break bread for the agreement. Do not accept his terms of peace and your city will be burned. He will kill all those who serve him no purpose and enslave those you least want enslaved."

"Why do you do this?" Delger asked.

Onesimos translated the question to the general. Gnonobod began to rear his horse and barked back at the pleader.

"When you are his slave, my lord will take your tongue and eat it if you ask him such a question," Onesimos said.

“Your general have taken nine cities, you say,” Delger scratched his chin. “I warrant none of them are Aredunian cities. Weak cities, perhaps. Poorly defended barbarian cities in the Sea of Ruin. Is that his claim to glory?”

“A thousand heartbeats shall this one count,” Onesimos said. “That is the time you shall have to consider my lord's gracious gift of peace. The Spring God has fixed his eye upon your land. There can be no victory for you here.”

The two turned and retreated back into the fog.

“That was it then?” Rollund asked. “We didn’t get to speak our terms.”

“A man does not show up in horns to listen to terms,” Delger said. He turned the Red Mare and rode back to the line. As he stood at the line he looked up and down. Most of the faces were scared. He looked across the field and saw the reason. The fog had beginning to lift and the size of the Isnumurti army was now plain to see.

“That’s a lot of them,” Galbrey gasped.

“They’re going to kill us all,” Rollund said. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Delger grabbed Rollund by the shoulder. “You are lord of New Hearth. Not lord of the lands and castle, but of the people. You’ve heard enough to know what they plan to do. Now take your place as lord and lead your people to Caddock. The refugees are the only ones that matter.”

"And how many of them are there?" one of the men asked.

"Ten thousand, as of the count at first light," Delger could not lie. "Nine hundred and twelve is enough for us to serve as the distraction as our folk make haste to Caddock. I will not lie to you. New Hearth is all but lost. Keeping safe the city will be folly, but at least we can keep our people safe. Make sure the horsemen have their bows at the ready."

Lord Rollund’s eyes were wide with fear until Delger thumped him on his breastplate. The lord nodded and rode back toward the castle.

Delger read the expressions on the men. "Do not despair. If our lives are already lost, then there is nothing more to lose. We fight for those whose lives are not yet lost."

He banged his sword against his armor and the sound of metal on metal resounded back.

“I am with you,” Galbrey said, banging his sword on his shield. “And I am with those who are not yet lost.”