The Alliance

Chapter 35: Blood and swords

The march to battle is long, the air thick with the weight of war. King Maises rides at the front, his golden armor catching the dull light of the overcast sky. His sword, the blade that has seen countless victories, rests at his side. Princess Astrid rides beside him, clad in her battle gear, her eyes burning with determination. Behind them, a sea of soldiers stretches across the rolling hills—Eldermere’s finest warriors, bolstered by the formidable Mercian army.

A messenger gallops toward them, his horse lathered in sweat. He dismounts hastily, bowing before the king and handing him a sealed letter. The wax bears the sigil of Vynra’s ruling house. Maises tears it open and scans its contents, his jaw tightening with each passing word.

King Erdling’s response is not what he expected.

“Eldermere, call your bluff. We do not have your princess, nor would we need such deceit to defeat you. You march toward your death. We will crush you before the sun sets.”

Maises exhales sharply, crumpling the parchment in his fist. The audacity. The lie. Erdling dares to provoke him, denying what is clear as day. Bianca is gone, and Vynra is the only kingdom cruel and bold enough to take her.

He looks up, his gaze sweeping over his warriors.

“Let them think we are walking into their trap,” he growls. “They will not see our strength until it is too late.”

And so, the army marches on.

The battlefield is a vast expanse of open land, flanked by dense forests. The Riverlanders and the Vynran army await them, their banners fluttering like the wings of a thousand crows.

At first, the fight is brutal and evenly matched. The Riverlanders, with their knowledge of the terrain, strike with speed and deadly precision. Vynra’s knights, clad in blackened steel, push forward like an unrelenting tide. But Eldermere’s warriors hold firm. Astrid rides into the fray, cutting down her enemies with relentless fury. She is like a tempest—unstoppable, deadly, a force of nature.

Maises himself carves through the enemy lines. His sword is an extension of his will, striking with calculated precision. He finds the Riverland king amidst the chaos—a towering brute of a man, his beard thick with blood and sweat. Their battle is vicious, but it does not last long.

With a roar, Maises swings his blade and severs the Riverland king’s head from his shoulders. The body slumps to the ground, lifeless, and for a moment, the battlefield seems to hold its breath. Then, like a breaking dam, the Riverlanders falter. Their spirit shattered, they begin to retreat, fleeing into the woods.

And then the Mercian army arrives.

A hundred thousand strong, they descend upon Vynra’s forces like a storm. The tide of battle turns in an instant. Erdling’s soldiers are slaughtered by the thousands. The field is painted red, bodies piling atop one another. The clash of steel and the screams of the dying echo across the land.

Erdling himself is dragged from his horse, kicking and cursing, but alive. His men are gone, his allies fallen. Vynra, once a looming threat, is now a kingdom on its knees.

The battle is won.

The walls of Eldermere’s dungeon drip with moisture. The air is thick with the scent of blood and rot. King Erdling is shackled to the stone wall, his once-proud armor now torn and bloodied. His body bears the evidence of hours of torment—cuts, bruises, burns from hot iron. But still, he does not break.

Maises stands before him, his eyes dark with fury.

“Where is my daughter?” he demands.

Erdling laughs, the sound hoarse and cruel. “I told you, Maises. We did not take her.”

Maises steps closer, gripping Erdling’s throat with iron fingers. The king of Vynra wheezes but does not yield.

“Do not lie to me,” Maises hisses. “I found your crest in her chambers. If not you, then who?”

Erdling’s bloody lips curl into a smirk. “It is a clever deception, I’ll give them that.”

Maises stills. His grip loosens, just slightly.

Erdling coughs, spitting blood onto the stone floor. “You have been chasing a ghost, Maises. Bianca is not in Vynra.”

The king’s hands curl into fists. If Erdling is telling the truth, then…

Who took Bianca?

And why?

The war is over, but a darker mystery is unfolding before him. And he is running out of time.

Maises knows he must return to Mercia, with the rest of their army.

He knows he must face Jasmine.

If she was the last person that saw Bianca, then she might just have the answer he so desperately seeks.