Chapter 141: Beginning of the End

Fin stood beside the King in a fresh tunic, and while clutching a short sword, stared at the wall of Troivackian soldiers that stood on a semi circle on Austice’s border. While the the Troivackian’s had lost the majority of their men, the hulking giants before them almost looked as though they were double the size of any Daxarian male.

The tension in the air grew as the Matthais’ dark eyes pierced Norman’s calm expression. The smell of smoke in the air from the King’s forest only added to the hellish mood of the moment.

Then, with a fierce roar from their monarch, the Troivackian men charged the gap between the two groups, barrelling up the rest of the hill as a cloud of arrows fell from the castle walls straight to them.

Many were felled, but the ones that made it through suddenly discovered the ground crumbling from beneath their feet. At least a hundred men fell into the pit Fin had bewitched.

The redhead’s complexion grew pale as even more of his magic began to drain out of himself.

The Troivackian King had been one of the ones to almost fall in, but fortunately an air witch at his back managed to cast him across the ridge, saving him from a broken leg or neck.

The noble soared through the air, his eyes burning with intensity as he landed softly, then took off like a panther towards Norman, whose sword was held at the ready.

The arrows continued to whiz down on the man, but he blocked at least three of them with his shield; somehow they failed to deter him as he charged. Behind him, more of the Knights and soldiers were being cast over with the help of the witches close behind him.

The Coven of Wittica members around Norman began casting their spells to deter the Troivackian King, but for each one they cast, the Troivackian witches managed to counter them.

Matthais was bearing down on the Daxarian King, his target unmistakable. The witches and archers then grew more concerned over accidentally striking their own people and halted their attacks. Sensing this, the Troivackian King threw his shield aside triumphantly, his pace barely slowing.

With his sword gripped expertly in his hand, he reared up to strike; Daxaria’s leader stood at the ready.

Suddenly, an arrow whistled past Norman’s ear, close enough that he could feel a small sting near the rounded top, but then again was too stunned to care as in the blink of an eye, the arrow had pierced through Matthais’ throat, stopping him literally dead in his tracks.

The oncoming soldiers didn’t stop at the sight of their King laying dead before them, nor did anyone spare a moment to glance up to see the cloaked figure standing at the top of the castle steps holding a crossbow.

As the fighting commenced, the cacophony of steel clanging, and men’s horrified shouts filled the air. Fin managed to physically duck blows and avoid being stabbed, but could feel his energy waning, and knew he didn’t have long before he’d fall unconscious.

The redhead also had zero doubts about who it was that had shot the Troivackian King dead. Despite having told Annika to stay hidden, knew she had chosen to enact her revenge for her brother.

Fin was moving slowly, but steadily towards the stairs of the castle where he was certain Annika was still waiting. Right when he was a few feet away from the bottom step however, a Troivackian soldier managed to catch him off guard and cut his side, making the redhead leap back, his movements significantly sloppier.

With a grunt Fin backed away from the soldier who was smiling, and showing off several missing teeth. Even as he stumbled, the Viscount could feel the wound beginning to heal, and so as the soldier tried several more times to finish him, Fin’s moves grew more agile, puzzling the soldier sufficiently.

Even so, despite healing, Fin was not a soldier, and he had depleted his magic.

The Troivackian soldier bested him easily. With a wide swing that tricked the redhead into believing his abdomen was the target, he instead found his feet being swept out from under him.

Rolling quickly to try and stand up, Fin felt the sting of the blade by his throat, and for a moment, his world froze.

Then, the feeling of the weapon against his skin disappeared.

Scrambling to his feet, Fin swung around with the short sword he had been given before the fighting began still clutched in his hand. Only he found himself staring at the backs of two very familiar Troivackian men who continued fighting others around him… but Fin’s former attacker lay on the ground.

“Stanley…? Bruce…? What are you…” the redhead blinked up at his former guards on his father’s ship in utter shock.

“When this is… over… make sure we eat your cooking once more before we face death’s carriage,” Bruce shouted over his shoulder as he knocked to the ground… another Troivackian soldier.

“What are you doing exactly?!” Fin demanded, fully confused as from his guarded position he gazed over and noticed more familiar faces from the Troivackian crew, and all of them… were fighting their fellow men, and the battle was turning very favorably towards the Daxarians.

“The way our country lives is killing us. Troivackia is a great kingdom, but… it isn’t becoming greater like it should,” was all Stanley managed to say as the fighting continued.

The redhead wasn’t sure if he had hit his head and was imagining what he was seeing, but he also didn’t have long to consider this as he found himself once again being forced to dodge the earnest advances of another Troivackian soldier.

*

Within two hours, the remaining Troivackian soldiers found themselves on their knees, their weapons on the trampled grass, and their hands behind their heads.

Norman wiped the blood dribbling from his mouth and nodded to Captain Antonio who was sweating heavily, but remained unharmed.

Fin sat on the castle steps, his forearms leaning against his thighs, his hands trembling as the adrenaline soared through his body.

Annika was seated beside him, her head leaning against his shoulder as they stared across the ground littered with bodies.

“We can move some place else as soon as you can stand,” the Viscountess whispered as the King discussed how many Knights were to be sent to Rollom with Lord Fuks. The Daxarian Chief of Military apparently had lost a few fingers in an unfortunate encounter with a soldier. Though in his usual fashion, the Earl only said, “Don’t worry, I’ve still got the important one on the left hand. Besides, I hear women love men with battle injuries.”

The redhead wasn’t as capable of taking the matter so breezily. As he slowly raised his head and gazed out at the carnage, he felt a lump form in his throat. “I… I could never get used to this. I didn’t kill any of them on purpose. Only tried to knock them down.”

“You helped the best you could,” Annika soothed while giving his arm a squeeze.

Turning to face his wife, unaware that a tear or two had begun rolling down his face, Fin regarded her somberly.

“It was unacceptable the risk you took with our children’s lives today. During the rest of your pregnancy, if you think to do something like this again, I will lock you in a room if I have to. I will never tell you how you should care for yourself, but never again will I let you gamble their lives as well. Understood?”

Annika immediately grew taken aback as she pulled away from Fin, and stared into his glimmering blue eyes. She had never seen him mad at her, and she could tell he didn’t like feeling that way towards his wife one bit.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, emotion suddenly seizing her.

Fin nodded, his face still moderately stern before he then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take a nap… but when I get up… I’m making dinner for everyone here. If anyone is looking for me can you tell them that?”

Annika nodded and gave a sad smile as her husband patted her hand gently, then stood and retreated back to the castle without another glance over his shoulder.

Turning back to stare over the battlefield, the Viscountess felt herself go still as her hand then moved to her swollen abdomen unconsciously.

“I’m sorry to you two as well… I… uh… ugh. I… am sorry you aren’t getting a better mother, but I promise that… that I will protect you. I will do my absolute best, so please don’t… please don’t hate me, and forgive me if I don’t show I care as much as you need…”

Letting out a long sigh, the Viscountess wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Also… to one or both of you… if you are in fact a fire witch and turn out to be even an eighth of the pig slop your grandfather was, I am not afraid to submit you to proper Troivackian child-rearing, understood?”

“Already threatening the unborn? Goodness, motherhood really is every woman’s calling isn’t it.”  Clara appeared behind Annika from within the castle carrying a flask of water.

Annika rolled her eyes in response and took a drink. “Glad to see you finally picked the lock of that wardrobe.”

Clara shot a sidelong glare at her mistress before deciding to ignore how she had spent the battle imprisoned thanks to the Viscountess’ insistence that she not leave until killing the King of Troivackia. Instead, the maid seated herself and addressed the previous topic.

“You know... it isn’t like you didn’t have arsehat family members too. In fact, I think aside from Lord Ashowan’s mother, the number of horrible people far outnumber the good. The odds of your children being proper beasts are quite-”

“Clara?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

*

As Norman stared out over the rows and rows of the dead, he felt the expected sense of loss and failure settle in his chest. No one truly came out victorious in wars…

With a long sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to fight off the aching in his bones from countless hours awake and physical combat.

“A bath has been drawn, Your Majesty,” Mr. Howard announced to him quietly.

“Thank you. The soldiers have been locked up?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“You said that Mr. Helmer is alive, but not a threat?” Norman opened his eyes again and turned to face his assistant squarely with a frown on his face.

“That is correct… the Coven is discussing how it was even possible, but somehow… they think the Viscount made a binding magical rule that his father cannot use magic in his son’s home which logistically makes things… tricky.”

Norman nodded. It would mean Aidan Helmer had to be kept nearby until his execution. A deeply unpleasant fact. Not that the man would be living long regardless…

“Is Fin also the one responsible for slaying the dragon?”

Mr. Howard suddenly grew stiff, and uncharacteristically awkward as he became very interested in a pile of abandoned weapons several feet away.

The King frowned. “What happened?”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the assistant shuffled his feet slightly. “Well… er… that is where… the eye witness’ accounts and the… reports from the Troivackian side grow… strange.”

Norman waited, though his patience was wearing thin.

“It was actually… the er… his uh… It was Kraken.”

The monarch straightened, too confused and taken aback to immediately understand. “What was Kraken?”

“The… the cat. The one you refer to as… ‘the greatest menace in Daxaria’? Yes, that one… he somehow… struck a deal with the city rats, had about fifty of them stuff themselves with coffee grounds and tobacco, only then to be voluntarily eaten by the dragon. It poisoned the beast and well… yes. We now have a giant dead ancient dragon on the castle lawn.”

Norman stared at his assistant blankly. He was so motionless, that he didn’t even blink, and Mr. Howard was growing increasingly worried that the news had rendered the noble catatonic.

The King suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed until his face was bright red and his sides ached, drawing several confused glances from Knights and soldiers around him.

“Wait until you hear about him poisoning most of their men…” the assistant added on while daring to give a small smile.

The King’s baffled expression returned, and then he proceeded to listen to the incredibly outlandish, and yet… somehow believable recounting of how a single cat brought about the downfall to the Troivackian army.

*
An hour later, Norman entered his chamber, rubbing his right shoulder carefully to try and ease some of the pain, when he stopped in his tracks.

There, on the velvet cushion where his crown rested, sat the very cat that he had been hearing about.

Kraken’s fluffy chest fur was puffed up magnanimously, and his green eyes were bright and keen as he regarded the monarch interestedly.

With a long sigh, followed by a small chuckle, Norman slowly stepped over to the feline.

“I hear I have you to thank for helping us win today.”

The cat continued to stare at him.

“Well… thank you. I know we don’t get along, and that you did everything for Fin, but… you helped my people, and for that I will always be indebted to you.” Bowing to the familiar, Norman then straightened and smiled.

“Perhaps we got started on the wrong paw so to say…” Reaching out, the King allowed Kraken to sniff his hand, then began to tentatively pet the beast's silky head.

“See? This isn’t so bad. Perhaps from now on we can-OUCH!”

The familiar had bit the King’s hand hard enough to draw blood, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the explosion of movement from the noble, making Kraken leap clumsily off his pillow, which consequently made him slip.

“YOU RUDDY FLEA BAG, I WILL SEE YOUR WHISKERS PLUCKED FROM YOUR HEAD YOU-SON OF A MAGE!”

Kraken hadn’t recovered from his bunder, as he had tried to jump again to save himself, only to instead launch himself crookedly and… land directly in the King’s bath.

With a great roar from the cat, he bolted from the tub, sopping wet, and fled from the room just as a maid and two guards were arriving.

“Is everything alright, Your Highness?!”

Norman glared at the puddles across his castle floor and grit his teeth. “Everything is fine, thank you. I’m going to have my bath now.”

Clutching his still bleeding hand, the King turned to face the servants more squarely. “Also, if any of you happen to let a cat into this chamber ever again, I will have you mucking stalls until the day you die.”

The servants glanced at each other in worry and confusion, but decided that the battle had taken its toll on their usually calm and compassionate ruler, and so slowly closed his door to give him privacy without another word.