Tales of the Three Kingdoms: Silver Falcon Falls

As I emerged from my tent into the cold mist of the morning, hanging low and obscuring all but the nearest row of tents, I saw that my bodyguard was already dressed and armored.

"You're up early." I said to Windstopper.

"It Is My Duty To Protect My Lord."

"And which one of these mongrels is lucky enough to have you as his bondsman?" I asked, as he rose and fell in behind me.

"I Do Not Understand, Sparrow. You Are My Lord."

"I know, I know. A joke, Windstopper. Just a joke."

Windstopper beamed dutifully.

I patted him on the shoulder again and continued down the row of mist-wreathed tents.

Windstopper's own armor, the Scorched Breastplate of Elai, was made of a single thick sheet of shaped bronze and covered only his chest, leaving his arms and neck free for movement. Unlike my saber, gifted to me by whatever system of Mandated men judged my virtue and vice, the Breastplate of Elai could never be cleansed of the events that had left it scorched and melted in places. It was a constant reminder of my responsibility to the simple man who had bound himself to me.

The many tents were a reminder of the many others who were smart enough or dumb enough to bind themselves to my cause. Time would tell which.

My force was small in comparison to the others within the Coalition. Two-thousand-and-change, compared to Lion's thirty thousand, the largest contingent. Still, by virtue of being mostly light cavalry and archers – with a few trappers thrown in – my forces had fared better than most. I was proud of that fact, and I must say a little relieved, even if it meant that someone else had to bear the brunt of the killing and the dying – specifically our Grand General's own men.

The camp began to stir around me as the morning meditation chants began, soft and low at first, like a rumbling of earth and then swelling as more voices joined in. There was a different pitch in the chanting of a war-camp versus a town or village. With so many men, it was more somber, lower, even slower as many shook sleep from their lungs. It wasn't until the hammers of the smiths and armorers, and the whinny of waking stables joined in, that the song of the camp really began to take shape.

Looking back on the story of my life, I realized this is where my rise truly began, walking among the first small army truly under my command, all the major players of the next generation arrayed on one side of the pass or another, fighting for the land and the resources that could build a kingdom atop the tomb of an Empire. This is where my own kingdom, my own clan, truly took flight.

Everything else had been prologue in the tales of the three kingdoms. Or at least in my version of that tale.

I passed by the tents of Flashammer on one side and Tongs on the other. Knowing my routine, they emerged just in time to greet me.

"Orders for today?" asked Flashammer. He was as tall and lean as a wolfhound in his armor, and, once his light cavalry began to harry the enemy, he was just as dogged.

I nodded, giving him a copy and one to his brother. Tongs was a bit more… robust than most soldiers and at least twice as hairy, I could see as he toweled himself off from his morning bath.

"And… if you see Castellan."

I handed the last copy to Tongs to give to the head of my trappers, the cousin I could never seem to pin down. He'd turn up when he was needed. Or at least his traps would.

Tongs nodded.

I made to continue on but paused.

"Something else?" asked Flashammer.

"Yes," I said, having considered the Tiger's advice over the wineskin last night. "See if you two can rustle up some extra timber and bronze. Maybe some iron as well. I know it's hard to come by in the camp, but… see what you can do."

"How much do you need?" asked Tongs.

"Ideally two hundred jin of each. Three hundred of iron, if I had my way, but I'll take what I can get."

"What are you thinking?" asked Tongs, not writing any of it down. For a former-bandit he had a good head for numbers and resources… probably something to do with the fact that he often plopped his archers down in the middle of the battlefield and he had to gauge – in a moment's notice – if his volleys could break the enemy before they could reach him. That involved weighing his rate of fire and his number of men against the enemy's distance, speed, and level of armor. None of it was an exact science, he had told me one day over dinner, but he was still alive wasn't he? And he never seemed to run out of arrows while we were out on campaign.

"I'm thinking Windstopper's oxcart needs an upgrade. And after that, we need our own standard."

I directed the latter toward Flashammer, who smirked.

"You agree?" I was surprised to see no reluctance from a man I always considered the spirit of my forces, just as the Tiger was the spirit of the Coalition as a whole. I guess it was difficult to stop thinking of this as my father's army, even though neither of the men before me had served under my father.

But if Flashammer had felt a need for our own standard, I could bet that the thousand or so maniacs who followed him into battle atop lightly armored horse would feel the same. And it took almost as much trust in one's commander to stand there with nothing but a bow when the enemy was bearing down on you, so I could also trust that Tongs would know the mind of his own thousand troops.

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The brothers looked at each other and nodded in unison.

"We'll see what we can do," said the portly archer.

I clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward his brother as I moved on.

"Do I Get a Battle Plan." asked Windstopper once we were well away, down the main thoroughfare of tents in my slice of the war camps.

I blinked, but didn't stop. "Did you want one?"

"Everyone Else Got One."

"You know your battle plan. Protect me and River when we're on foot, but when we ride out, you find that oxcart and make sure little Ang and his nursemaids stay safe."

"But Everyone Else Got One."

I laughed at that. "Ok. Next battle, I'll write one up for you."

Windstopper beamed again.

Our conversation had carried us out past the corrals, the pickets, and then, with the fog, it seemed as if there was nothing before us but the wide valley of scree and stone that made up the pass. Cleared of bodies in the night and washed by the dew, it was the only possible field of battle, given the arrangement of our forces and the terrain. When this battle was joined, nothing would exist outside of it.

So I hesitated at the edge of my pickets.

The mist as thick as it was, leaving the edges of my camp behind would feel a bit like going out to sea. Or so I imagined. Nothing before; and if you went too far, nothing behind. Just you and the shroud of the unknown…

And Windstopper's heavy breathing.

Standing at the absolute edge of the Coalition camp, I could just barely make out a row of dark shapes arrayed at the limits of my vision. In the disorienting fog, I thought for a moment that the Demon had arrayed his forces in the night and now a battle line stood before us in stoic silence. But no, the shapes were too low.

And it wasn't the Demon's style. He would not allow our armies to clash until he at least got a taste of the challengers we could offer. After hearing of the fall of the Frost Giant, no doubt, the Demon would not be satisfied until he got a taste of the man called Carver.

I strode out to investigate the shapes, my stalwart bodyguard behind me, and found them to be little more than waist high, save for one. That one moved and my hand instantly fell to my sword.

"Ah, Sparrow." I recognized the doddering old voice, though I could not yet make out its source. "Join me please."

I stepped forward, hand still on my hilt, only to realize that the long row of low shapes were a series of camp chairs. I counted them, and they numbered the same as our warlords East of the Pass, myself included. No doubt this had something to do with the orders White Stallion had alluded to, whenever Noble Lion got around to issuing them. The only warlord currently occupying a seat was none other than Swaying Willow.

I grunted a greeting, hoping to move along without truly engaging.

"Please, please." Swaying Willow motioned to the chair beside him.

I sighed. No good could come of engaging Swaying Willow here and now, but nor was I prepared to give insult just yet. Not that it would be the first insult between us. I took the seat.

"I was just trying to figure out who called this accursed mist," Swaying Willow said conversationally, looking up toward the sky.

"Mm?" I said, noncommittally.

Swaying Willow looked over at me, weighing, but I kept my gaze on the mist. It could have been a Mandate. It also could have just been mist. If it was unnaturally thick… well, there was a big block of ice behind us, where none was supposed to be.

"I was also wondering when I would get to talk to you, you know."

I did look at him then.

"Why?"

"To explain, of course."

"What's there to explain? You were pledged to my father's service but you took his land the moment he was distracted."

My voice was matter-of-fact, but I had moved my sword out of the way when I sat and I found that my hand lingered upon it. Windstopper stood behind me, a pair of dagger-axes dangling from his waist. Mentally, my bodyguard was as innocent as warriors came, but it was not a leap to call his mere presence intimidating. Windstopper's eyes flicked between me and the old man, perhaps wondering where the supposed threat was. I let my hand drop from my sword. Unless I was about to murder the old man here and now, clutching it only made me look frightened and weak.

Swaying Willow for his part had looked down and sighed, shaking his head sadly. "I was never interested in Windmarsh or ruling it. You have to understand, I was there on administrative duties when we were cut off from Iron Tower. When word came to us that armies had swept in from all sides, most of the fighting men deserted. Or perhaps they tried to get back to your father. In any case, it was all I could do to organize what was left and keep the gates of Four Currents barred against attack." He sounded like he was grasping at straws.

"You should have come to my father's aid the moment you heard he was holed up in Iron Tower."

Willow's face contorted in rank disagreement. "When? How? When you look at me, do you see a great cavalry captain like your Uncle?"

Swaying Willow had been old even before my father and Uncle had begun showing their own age. I always remembered the pair of sworn brothers with iron-shot hair, even when I was a small boy. But now, my Uncle was dead, killed by my own hand in a horrible misunderstanding, and my father had grown frail in the hard season that followed. And Swaying Willow had gone from an old whitehead to a downright fossil.

"We held the gates against bandits." The ancient man went on when it was clear I had no response. "We organized what little food we could for the winter and by the time your summons came, the people of Windmarsh would not let me step down."

"Conquerors always say such things. 'I claimed power for the good of the people.'" I snorted. "'The will of Heaven was undeniable.' 'I refused over a dozen times before my ministers finally prevailed upon me.' It's all horseshit. You saw an opportunity for wealth and power and you took it."

Swaying Willow sighed again, his slight shoulder caving in on themselves. "What can I say to prove to you that I truly only had the good of the people of Windmarsh at heart?"

"I would say swear fealty to me here and now, but we both know the weight of your word. It sways in the wind like the willow does it not?"

"There's no need to be rude, Sparrow. I will give you Windmarsh if you can promise me one thing."

"It is my father's, by right. He didn't make me his heir, I earned the position. On the battlefield and in the snakepit they called a court. Thus, I would inherit it, by right." I ground out this last through clenched teeth.

"No man has any right to lord over another," said Swaying Willow, with more vigor than I gave him credit for. "Promise to earn their love, not their fear, as if they were your own wife… Swear to feed them and protect them as if they were your own child, and I will go back to my tent this very moment to write-"

My hand had fallen to my blade again and I realized I was on my feet. "Do not speak of my family. If you ever…"

A man cleared his throat behind us. And we both turned to find Noble Lion at the head of a dozen other lords followed by their greatest generals and champions. They were all clad for battle. Some of them gripped their swords, even as I gripped mine.