As the leaders slowly walked towards each other, Varre could get a proper look at his enemy for the first time. Duke Charles was an older man, with long, grey hair falling from underneath his helmet. He had a mustache, matching the latest fashion, but it was clearly unkempt. The pretender didn’t care too much for good looks, at least not while out on campaign. His armor was freshly cleaned and waxed, a necessity to prevent rust, but it showed some signs of combat damage. He could clearly afford to replace it, so this was likely an intentional part of his image.

  “Varre the first, huh?” Charles finally said, breaking the former earthling out of his musings, “it’s always interesting to be the first isn’t it? No prior expectations, no big shoes to fill. Just freedom to lay down your own path as you wish.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t my great grandfather named Charles as well?” the king still had many gaps in his knowledge regarding Logres’ history, but he was pretty sure of that fact at least.

  “Indeed,” the duke smiled, taking that question as a joke, “if the crown had fallen on my head after that tragedy, I’d be Charles the fifth by now.”

  “Tragedy… it sounds like you don’t believe I was involved with uncle’s assassination after all.”

  The pretender chuckled. “I was fully convinced you know? You must admit that fool Mikkel’s death was mighty convenient for you, wasn’t it?”

  Varre shrugged. “I can’t really do anything about that. It’s not like the assassins cared about my alibi. I’m just lucky I managed to avoid that unfortunate business in the first place. But, I’m curious. What changed your mind?”

  Charles spat on the ground. “That damned Clement. I took him at his word. And half the kingdom did too! But then the snake went and allied himself with those bastards.”

  “Langogne?”

  “Yeah, those scum,” he stepped on his spit, grinding it into the ground, “anyone who works with that filth cannot be trusted. Their word is less than worthless,” he looked back up and smiled, “but enough about that. I wanted to congratulate you on your victory. From what I hear, it was magnificent.”

  “Thank you,” Varre stared back with an awkward expression, “it wasn’t easy, but we managed to stop them before they did too much damage. And we took out Clement at the same time.”

  “So I hear. He died like a dog. Fitting.”

  The king stared at the pretender, but his face showed a carefree smile. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand why we’re doing this exactly. If you know that I was innocent and you’re happy that I defeated Langogne, there’s no reason for us to fight. Are you going to lay down your arms now?”

  The duke laughed. “You know, I’ve done a lot of thinking these last few days. Of course, I couldn’t take your heralds at their word, but rumors travel quickly. You’ve beaten Langogne, and Clement. You’ve proven you’re a great commander already. And I can tell you’re not a bad person either, Varre. Maybe you’ll even be a great king someday.”

  The former earthling rubbed his hand through his hair. “That’s unexpected. But I am glad to hear you say that. Now then, are you willing to negotiate your surrender?”

  Charles shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for me, young man.”

  “What do you mean? We haven’t started yet. You don’t even know what terms I can offer!”

  “You’re a good man, Varre,” the duke repeated, “but honor will not allow me to surrender. I’ve crossed a line that should never be crossed. Now, the only path forward is to win, or die trying.”

  “There is no need for this,” the king insisted, “are you really going to throw your life away over something like this?! What about the lives of your own people?!”

  “They knew the risks when they joined me,” Charles replied, “and so did I. The penalty for treason is death, and for good reason too. My own conscience won’t allow me to serve you as a vassal after starting a civil war against your throne.”

  Varre refused to give in. “There are other ways! Maybe I could demote you, or hold you under house arrest! You won’t be a threat again, but you will get to keep living. In luxury even!”

  “When you get to my age, you’ll understand that there are some things in life more important than luxury, young man.”

  “So what then? We fight? The loser dies and the winner takes the throne?” the king lowered his hands in exasperation.

  “It’s the only way forward. Now chin up, Varre. I want to have a proper fight between us. The winner takes it all. Agreed?”

  Varre didn’t reply, he just stared back at Charles in confusion.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” the duke chuckled, “good luck. If you do end up winning today, then don’t let this kingdom turn to shit, you hear? Whoever wins, the House of Logres must continue.”

  “Don’t do this,” the king shook his head, but the pretender was already turning around.

  “May we meet again in the next life!” Charles said, raising his arm as he walked back to his guards.

  As Varre returned to his companions, he kept staring back, hoping that this was some elaborate joke, or misunderstanding. But no. Charles mounted his horse and started riding back to his lines, undeterred.

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  “He’s insane,” the king complained to his officers, “he knows I’m innocent, but still refuses to lay down his arms.”

  “I told you,” Jan smirked, “Charles was always crazy about honor and duty. That’s why he never got along with Mikkel. He wanted to continue the war with Langogne, no matter how ruined the country got in the process. He never forgave his cousin for signing that peace treaty.”

  Varre raised an eyebrow. “Really? From what I recall, we got to keep all of our lands and Langogne had to pay war reparations.”

  “You’ve said it yourself,” the count shrugged, “insane. If he wasn’t your relative, he’d be run out of town a thousand times over by now. Madmen should be exiled, not left to lead duchies, spreading their contagion around. Who knows how many people have already caught his insanity.”

  Varre made a strange face at this poor attempt at a joke. Just like back in Elstercross, with the battle drawing closer, Jan was slowly losing his serious fa?ade and turning to humor. Though he didn’t have a very good knack for it.

  It was enough to appeal to some though.

  “Quite a few I’d say,” Gregory continued Jan’s train of thought, ignoring this unusual change of character, “everyone standing on that rampart is just as mad as he is! Not only did they break their oaths of fealty, but they’re willing to fight and die against a tactical genius like his majesty! I mean really!”

  “That’s enough of that,” the king interrupted, “don’t underestimate the enemy. They are competent and dangerous. And even if they weren’t, we’ll only win harder if we act like they were.”

  “Well said your majesty!” the baron bowed, still seated in his saddle, “I spoke out of turn. I will make sure to crush them thoroughly. They may be traitorous bastards, but they are still knights of Logres! And every god know there is no force more formidable than us beneath the heavens!”

  Varre was about to roll his eyes, but held it in. If the baron wanted to raise morale with bombastic speeches, then he had every right to it.

  The commanders soon separated as they returned to their individual units. The sun was high in the sky and noon was approaching quickly. That only left about six, seven hours before nightfall. Perhaps a little longer, depending on how desperate the situation got. At least with the city this close, it would be easy to arrange torches if it came to it. The fighting couldn’t continue in the dark, but at least the troops could manage to return safely to well-lit gates.

  The king rode past the lines of infantry resting in these final moments before the battle. The men stared at him with awe in their eyes, cheering their leader on. Though the last weeks were difficult, his treatment of the common soldiers was commendable and earned him great respect. Most drafted peasants worked for free, in service to their lord. Even if they did receive some money, it would never be as high as what they received here. The men were eager to risk their lives for him.

  The knights, dressed in magnificent armor, stood behind the footmen. From this position their own allies blocked them. Preventing charges into massed enemy formations. This wasn’t a major concern however, as the ramparts and stakes prepared in front of the enemy made charges too dangerous anyway. Instead, the horsemen would serve as backup, ready to be easily redeployed to support locations where the soldiers struggled too much, or to react to sudden enemy moves.

  Varre and his closest entourage settled right in the middle of the cavalry line. Surrounded by friendly troops from all sides, it was the safest position on the entire battlefield. It also allowed good vision of fighting on every front.

  The center of the army consisted of one and a half thousand infantry. Two hundred and fifty knights, along with eighty mounted Royal Guards served as the backline. Their job was to advance straight at Charles’ ramparts. Charging head on would be suicide, but they had to pretend anyway. Without that, the rebels would be free to redeploy their forces to other locations, countering any move that the loyalists tried.

  The attack had to look real enough, so the infantry would approach all the way into firing range. Then, the wizards could begin bombarding the enemy lines with spells. Ideally, that would cause panic and a desperate charge against Varre. Without his fortifications, Charles could be beaten. But this was just a part of the plan.

  Baron Khoman held the right flank. He led nine hundred infantry, along with one hundred forty heavy cavalry. Many of these were fresh recruits brought in straight from the city, here to support their monarch.

  Just as he had done at Elstercross, Khoman’s main task was to distract the enemy by the riverbank. The Miroti hedgehog posed too much of a threat to assault it directly. However, the horsemen hidden inside it couldn’t be allowed to run freely around the battlefield either. The right flank was to fake an advance and occupy his opponent’s attention, locking them in place.

  The real attack was led by Baron Gregory on the left flank. His numbers were only slightly higher than the distraction’s force, to make discerning the real threat difficult. He led eleven hundred infantry, along with a hundred sixty knights.

  Gregory’s goal was to somehow break through the enemy’s position at the edge of the ramparts. Varre’s knights were ready to quickly redeploy and assist at the first sign of success. If the loyalists could somehow break through to Charles’ backline and hit him from both sides, the fortifications could be bypassed.

  The king went over the plan for the final time with his closest commanders and waited for the signal that everyone was in place. Once the messages arrived, he gave the command and his heralds blew into their trumpets. The battle had officially began.

  The army started slowly inching forward. The fields were large and it would take over twenty minutes of marching before the infantry finally met.

  The center and the right both moved at a glacial pace. From a layman’s perspective, it didn’t look that odd. Charles’ could have simply assumed that the left flank’s commander was some overzealous fool, leading inexperienced men and moving faster than intended. He refused to react, even as the gap between each formation grew.

  The ruse was working. At least so far. The rebels did not redeploy, expecting the columns to adjust their speeds and meet up again before the fighting began.

  Gregory, as befit his persona, decided to act first. He sent out a small force, consisting of several dozen light cavalry, largely squires and scouts. They were meant to harass and distract the enemy, further muddying the waters and masking the real target of the attack.

  Varre grimaced as he watched them leave friendly lines. “Is this really necessary?”

  “We gotta play it up for ol’ Charlie,” Jan replied, “like any cranky senior, he thinks everyone younger than him is a moron. We need him to believe that Greggy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Which isn’t far from the truth!”

  “I don’t know. He seemed impressed with our victories against Langogne,” the king argued.

  “He was impressed with you!” the count corrected, “don’t forget, he’s spent the last months negotiating with spry youngsters and complaining at their laziness. I guarantee he’s sick and tired of them already and wants all this to finally be over and done with. He’ll just think they’re being led by some foolhardy commander and concentrate on the real threat. You,” he pointed to his monarch.

  The king turned away and focused back on the upcoming clash. Within just a couple of minutes, the horsemen reached the enemy lines. They charged against the huddled infantry, but without the armor and mass of heavy knights, they couldn’t pierce through lines of massed spearmen. They moved along the sides of the formation, picking off a few unfortunate enemies and taking costly casualties in the process. The first blood had been spilled. But it was only a taste of things to come.

  Varre couldn't do anything to stop him. And the battle must commence.