The Legend Of Black Eyes 252 United We Stand. Divided We Fall.

The next day, news of King Boris leaving the capital reached Stalwart. It was time for him to make his move. With seventy five hundred men at his disposal, his chances of winning, even against Nicholas's twenty thousand, were slim. 

King Boris's alliance was a low blow to Stalwart's plans. He was an experienced commander-in-chief, an excellent tactician to boot. Stalwart's war against Biarkh would have lasted longer than he expected. Thankfully, Cicero had worked his magic and got the careful king to leave. 

During his search for his grandson, Stalwart had found out about his accomplishments with the Children Of The Forest, the Sebyan as most people called them. He extended a helping hand toward them, crafted talismans that protected them against human illnesses. By doing that, he had gained an army ready to follow his every command. 

He'd sent Eli, who he had made marshal, to recruit more Sebyan in their hidden underground cities or remote forests. Apart from the ten thousand men he had at his disposal in Biarkh, he had gained five thousand Sebyan. 

He ordered them to ambush King Boris by the border between Biarkh and Kasmuk in the north. While Stalwart made his approach toward Rolar, he had already sent Hartwell southwest toward the border between Biarkh and Aslanor. 

Hartwell's greatest power was his crippling weakness as well. He could transform the dead into gruesome death agents. The cost, however, was one year of his lifespan. Stalwart knew about this crippling weakness. It wasn't until his first fight against Sullivan that he'd found a solution. 

The Phoenix that saved Sullivan from certain death back then had died. Stalwart immediately collected its ashes, screaming victory in his mind. He'd used the ashes to concoct a rare potion. Hartwell would drink it every time he'd grown old. All he had to do then was absorb someone else's lifespan, as it happened back when he killed Sullivan. 

The hit with which he killed the Pontiff was Hartwell's second, and strongest skill. It was a one hit kill that would consume the caster's remaining lifespan. If he hadn't had Horst at his disposal at the time, he would have instantly died. 

All of this was possible because of Stalwart's genius and wisdom. Hartwell had turned from a lowly servant of Qil'Al to his most esteemed champion. The Lord Of Death had even gifted him twenty five of his h.o.r.es.e.m.e.n to fight at his side. 

With the help of the Hors.e.m.e.n, Stalwart's highly trained regiment raided every village on their way. They'd keep the youngest as prisoners and kill the rest. Hartwell would then transform them all into an army of blood thirsty killing machines. Then he'd absorb the young ones' life spans. That way, he kept his youth while raising Stalwart's forces. 

By the time they reached Aslanor's army, which exceeded the thirty thousand, General Hartwell had forty thousand to command. They ambushed them in a village north of the border, and the fight lasted more than one week. 

News of the ambush reached Rolar. The king and his generals, greatly alarmed, sent a troop of ten thousand to back them up. The king was left with an army of ten thousand and a city with high walls to protect them. Reinforcements from different corners of the kingdom were due in one week. The king hoped they'd reach him before Stalwart did.

The king was greatly dismayed to learn of his troops being ambushed by a small regiment. The troops, ten thousand, that he sent to help Aslanor, had lost three thousand men and were forced to retreat. 

The bad news didn't stop just there. The king learned that very night that King Boris had been ambushed by the border. He suffered a lethal injury. His eldest son had taken command, and renewed his desire to join the coalition. 

It was too late, however, as King Boris's forces were greatly depleted. Fifty thousand strong became thirty thousand dead and ten thousand injured. Just when King Nicholas thought he'd heard the worst, Pontiff Nari had announced that Stalwart was marching toward the capital. 

The Bishop organized a secret meeting with his people that night. Sam, Utar and Nari sat in the guest room the Bishop had been granted. They awaited their leader, who was still stuck in the war council chambers. 

"How did he do it?" Utar hissed. "My count was right, I'm certain of it." 

The king had blamed him for his flawed reconnaissance. Utar reported that Stalwart had only ten thousand men at his disposal. The continuous attacks on each border, not to mention the recent ambush, had proved them all wrong. By their estimates, Stalwart must have had at least seventy thousand men. 

"Stalwart already knows each member of the church," Nari said in a reproachful tone. "He knows our weaknesses, and our strength. He played you, like he played all of us." She shot a quick glance at Sam. "He rarely makes mistakes too..."

She never bought Sam's story. Stalwart would have never let him escape. Either Sam was lying to them, or Stalwart had let him go on purpose, but to what end? She couldn't tell. 

"The Bishop has a plan, doesn't he?" Utar asked. "Next week, Stalwart will be standing at the city gates." 

"Trust in Him, not the Bishop," Pontiff Nari said. "The Lord never abandons his most faithful subjects." 

The door sprung open and all three turned around. The Bishop strode in. A heavy frown added to his heavily wrinkled face. He shot a sharp glance at Utar, then turned to speak to Sam. "You said you know the ghost captain," the Bishop dryly said.

Sam nodded. "The men I killed were escorting him to the docks in Moira, a fis.h.i.+ng hamlet north of Merinsk." 

"And you're certain he'll be there?" the Bishop asked.

"Positive," Sam replied. "He said he couldn't depart before the new moon." 

The Bishop nodded. He inhaled sharply then looked at Nari. "You'll escort him and the boy Wojtek to Moira. They have to be on that s.h.i.+p." 

Nari opened her mouth to protest, but the Bishop cut her off. "Stalwart will not breach the city walls while I breathe," he a.s.sured her. "You'll have ample time to come back to us and have your revenge, but the mission comes first. Take the boys and deliver them to Moira."

The Bishop had begged King Boris to give him the boy. He even threatened to deactivate the portals that would take him back home. King Boris had spat in his face, and dragged his army away, to their doom. The Bishop still managed to steal the boy and return him to the palace. 

If the Church could have two champions... 

Perhaps that was the reason Dhobor sent him here...

He turned to look at Utar then. His cold eyes sent s.h.i.+vers down the priest's spine. "I could never presume to understand the Lord's will, but I don't understand why keeps you alive..." The Bishop said in a defeated tone. "I've conferred with our Lord. He wants you back in The Citadel. You will not take part in this war." 

Sam's heart sank. He suppressed the urge to scream with all his might. His arms trembled as he squeezed his hands into tight fists. His nails dug into his palms and blood dripped down on the floor.