-:-

Cardaigh Forest, Northern Albion

Captain Garsed sat atop his horse, back straight, and his left hand arrogantly placed on his hip. He was a young man, a promising officer of twenty-five summers. He was handsome, his face well-proportioned, and his hair cropped short in an impeccable military buzzcut. His green eyes scanned the forest before him, as his men busied themselves around him, lifting camp.

Cromwell's orders had been clear: he and his 19th Light Horse Regiment, five hundred of Albion's finest light cavalry, were to harass, slow down and damage the Red Legion for as long as they possibly could. To allow them to link up with the Grand Alliance would be a catastrophe, one that could not be allowed to occur.

Garsed was a true believer, a diehard Reconquista member, son of a former noble-turned-senator. Many believed that Reconquista was a movement created by, and for, the commoners of Albion. The young captain scoffed at their ignorance: Reconquista had been born in the highest circles of the Albionese nobility, men who had been scorned, ignored or offended by the Crown for far too long.

It hadn't been hard for the nobles, now the new patrician aristocracy of the fledgeling Holy Republic of Albion, to convince the commoners that their intentions were only in their interest. And it had been even easier to turn the enraged mobs of peasants against those few royalists that still clung to their loyalty to the King. After all, long had the albionese lower estates been crushed by the monstrous taxes that had to be levied to pay for the 18-Year War.

It had been easy to get rid of the horrendous debt pit the Realm was in: the Holy Albionese Republic was no longer the Kingdom of Albion, and so, according to Congress, it owed nothing to the romalian, germanian and tristainian bankers who had funded Albion's war with Aragona. As such, the peasants of Albion had only known good things under Reconquista, because the massive tax levy had almost instantly been reduced by more than half after the end of the Siege of Newcastle.

Few thought that Albion could long fund itself without the trust of Halkeginian bankers, of course. The economy was expected to collapse within six months. But even fewer knew that Reconquista was being secretly supported by none other than the Kingdom of Gallia, the wealthiest and most powerful nation in Halkeginia, even over the massive and bureaucratically strangled Sacred Empire of Germania. With its economy held upright by the financial might of Gallia, and the people firmly on Reconquista's side, the rest had been easy.

The new patricians were former members of the Albionese aristocracy, but they were now supported by their huge fortunes and estates, which gave them unrivalled income to support their status as the upper class of the island's society. This new system had also allowed the upper nobility to essentially boot the least wealthy Houses from their ranks, many old families being forced into what was essentially commoner status, as their blood and magic no longer held any meaning; only money.

Yes, Reconquista was strong… but in the deepest corners of Garsed's mind, he hid fear. Terrible, dark, crippling fear. Even led by the most shrewd politician in Albionese history, and with its armies under the command of General Julius Magnus, a man widely considered by both peers and rivals as a military genius, the Holy Republic of Albion was in mortal danger. Over a hundred thousand Germanians, Tristainians and Romalians marched north, and a horde of the worst criminals and killers in Halkeginia marched south, like the maws of an enormous beast, ready to crush the city of Londinium at a moment's notice.

Garsed shook his head. He needed to focus. He had to do his part for the Motherland. Pride filled his chest, when he remembered that the future of the nation might rest on his shoulders, depend on his actions in the following days. If he succeeded… he would be a hero. A man whose deeds would be remembered by the generations to come, his name spoken with the same reverence as that of the great men he'd had the good fortune to share a timeline with.

And with these thoughts milling within his brain, he shouted:

"Faster, men! We march within the hour!"

-:-

Rear of the Red Legion's column

"Push!" feet dug into dirt, men grunted and roared. They advanced a step, bodies pressing, boots slipping on mud and ice.

"Keep pushing! Come on! Don't give up!" they shouted.

Finally, the cart was dislodged from the mass of loose earth and snow where it'd gotten stuck, and the group of Legion civilians that had pushed it free raised their fists, letting out a shout of triumph. Jenny stepped back from the team, breathing hard. Sweat beaded her brow, and she raised her arm to wipe it off with her sleeve. Her legs hurt from the effort, but it was nothing compared to the debilitating pain of marching twenty-five miles a day on an empty stomach for a week. She would recover fast.

The girl then re-arranged her coppery red braids, and picked up the pace next to the once again moving column. She had only taken four steps before little Saya appeared at her side from nowhere, and slid her small hand into her own.

"Jenny! Guess what!" she chirped, cheerfully.

Jenny smiled down at the young girl, all blonde tresses and blue eyes.

"What is the thing?" she asked, in slow, hesitating Tristainian.

The little girl giggled, amused by Jenny's difficulty with the language.

"It's 'What is it?', dummy!" Saya said, her laughter clear and crystalline like a stream. "Anyways! I caught a snow hare this morning, Mum is going to cook it tonight, if you want some."

"Would love. If Saya don't eat all, yes?" Jenny grinned at her young friend.

"Mean! I'm a growing girl, see?" Saya stood on her tiptoes and tried to walk that way. Of course, she only took three steps before slipping on frozen tree leaves and almost falling on her face.

Jenny laughed discreetly, raising a gloved hand to cover her mouth.

"How is brother? Recovered?" she then asked. Saya's older brother, a boy of 13, like Jenny, had caught a cold just a few days earlier, during the Legion's second crossing through the mountains.

"He'll live." Saya nodded, sagely. "Medicus said so."

"You have doctor?" Jenny asked, surprised. The closest she'd ever seen to a doctor was the barber in Mitcham, who in truth was little more than a glorified tooth-puller.

Saya shrugged.

The two girls walked alongside the column, in silence, for a few minutes, Saya's hand holding on to Jenny's.

The Albionese girl looked around, at the hundreds of civilians and camp followers that travelled with the Red Legion, protected by warriors that flanked the column. She had been surprised to realize that the Legion wasn't just a ragtag band of criminals and raiders, as she'd first assumed.

Law, at least a brutal form of it, was upheld and followed by all, from the most prideful Crimson Knight to the youngest child. It was a lesson that everyone learned, and one that had been taught not long after the new Albionese prisoners integrated themselves in the hierarchy of the Legion.

Gradually, as they stopped being simple prisoners, and became part of the Red Legion, they were granted more and more freedom of movement. They were allowed to seek their own sustenance, mingle with their new Tristainian comrades, and a few even expressed their desire to join the ranks of the fighters.

And then, two days after the horde crossed the mountains again, one of the Albionese killed a child.

He was a man from Mitcham, a former member of the militia, who had lost everything when the Legion attacked the village, killing his parents, his fiancé and his brother. He'd nurtured his pain and hatred, while allowing the Tristainians to believe he could be trusted not to attempt to escape, or be violent. And one day, when he was washing clothes in a river, he noticed a girl of twelve bathing just a few meters upstream.

The mother of the girl found him just minutes later, his hands still around her child's broken neck.

Jenny witnessed the crowd take the man prisoner, but she was surprised to see he wasn't attacked, beaten, or lynched. He was simply and silently carried to Ghathrax's yurt, with only the wails of the mother being heard, calling for justice.

The Berserker personally flayed the man alive before everyone, and nailed him to a cross, which was carried by a group of warriors for a full day, until the screaming wreck of a human being finally froze to death during the night.

Jenny shuddered as she remembered the man's piercing cries of suffering, but she knew the lesson had been learned by every newcomer: preying on one's peers was akin to inviting horrendous death at the hands of Ghathrax himself. His word was law, and the law was absolute and unforgiving.

The lesson was repeated a few times since then. Another notorious example had been when the Red Legion sacked Poole three days later. Ghathrax had expressed his desire to avoid delays, and as such, raping, burning and generally wasting time was forbidden. The Legion was to kill only those that got in the way, steal every scrap of food they could find, and then move on.

And yet, a group of warriors was discovered by the astartes himself while gang-raping a woman in her own home, as her children watched.

Jenny witnessed the four men be publicly castrated living by the Berserker, then left to bleed out and die in front of the entire army. Once more, the lesson was taught: Ghathrax's orders were to be obeyed, even over one's basest and most primal desires. Failing to do so would bring terrible retribution.

Lost in her thoughts, the girl didn't pay much attention to Saya's rapid-fire chattering about this and that, until the small blonde started pulling on her hand towards the right side of the road.

"Hey, look! Flowers!" she chirped, excitedly, letting go of Jenny's hand to run towards the plants, which sure enough, peeked through the snow near the enormous trunk of an oak.

Jenny followed the little girl, grinning. She loved flowers! She curiously knelt beside Saya to admire them, and saw a small group of tiny white flowers, which looked a bit like snow lilies, but with larger petals and yellow stamens peeking out.

She extended her fingers to touch one, and felt a soft tingle spread through the tips, and up to her wrist. They were magic! No wonder they could survive in the cold and the snow.

"What are they?" Saya whispered, marvelled by the sight.

"Not know…" Jenny answered, in her broken Tristainian.

"It's 'I don't know'!" the little girl giggled, amusedly. "But, how can flowers be magic? I've never seen one…"

"I once… saw merchant. He had magic flowers in uh… bottle?" Jenny hesitantly answered, struggling to find the right words. "Merchant called them 'ekulerudamuru', I think."

"Oooooh…" Saya whispered.

Jenny smiled down at the absorbed girl, then plucked one of the flowers. Saya looked up, questioningly, and then the redhead moved to gently entangle the gleaming white flower into the blonde girl's hair.

"Pretty." Jenny said, admiring the beauty of the flower now nestled amongst Saya's golden tresses.

Saya beamed up at the thirteen-year old, and moved to hug her, rubbing their cheeks together.

Suddenly, Jenny caught something on the edge of her vision, beyond the treeline. Without letting go of Saya, she peered out, trying to make out just what she was seeing.

It was a man, sitting atop a brown horse. He wore an ornate blue and white uniform. An Albionese cavalry uniform. Jenny hugged Saya closer, lifting her up.

"Saya. Hold to me. Yes?" she whispered.

"Jenny?" Saya asked, pulling back a bit and looking at the red-headed girl, quizzically.

Jenny didn't say anything else. Her eyes were fixed on the rider. More cavalry appeared to both of the man's sides, who sat atop his horse with his left hand arrogantly placed on his hip. The riders advanced through the trees, more and more coming into view. Jenny still couldn't say a word. She stumbled back, still holding Saya close.

A shout was heard, a fast stream of Tristainian from behind Jenny. It was too quick for her to understand. Jenny turned her back on the Albionese cavalry advancing through the woods, and started walking at a brisk pace, back towards the column. She heard a chorus of hisses, and looked over her shoulder, just in time to witness several hundred cavalry swords leaving their sheathes and gleaming like rods of light in the morning sun.

People started screaming, and the column started moving faster. Warriors ran past Jenny, who kept walking as fast as she could with Saya in her arms.

Suddenly, a horn blew a flat note into the cold air, and Jenny heard echoing thunder behind her. She risked another glance, and saw the slow advance of the cavalry had become a fast trot, and then full gallop.

The column dissolved into chaos. People ran everywhere, in every direction, some trying to take refuge in the trees on the left side of the column, while the rest swarmed forward, abandoning backpacks, folded tents, carts. Only a few dozen warriors were present, most of them completely dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of the Albionese riders.

Jenny broke into a run, holding Saya close, and she could hear the little blonde gasp in fear as she looked over the redhead's shoulder, seeing what was coming for them.

The first horsemen reached the column a few seconds later. Swords gleamed, slashing left and right. Jenny dodged a running woman, who was promptly decapitated by a speeding Albionese cavalryman. Blood sprayed over her as a warrior was cut down by a long cavalry saber, a mere five feet away. Jenny let out a terrified scream, echoed by Saya, as she lost her balance and fell. The impact knocked the wind right out of her, but adrenaline allowed her to immediately regain her bearings. They'd fallen next to a large cart that held piles upon piles of farming implements.

Jenny shouted:

"Saya! Under the cart!" and started pulling on the little girl, shoving her under the cart, as another rider sped towards them.

With the tiny blonde hidden, Jenny turned, and shouted in Albionese, kneeling and with her hands in the air:

"Sir! Sir, please! I'm Albionese! I'm a prisoner here, please!" she pleaded.

If the horseman heard her, he never gave any acknowledgement that he had. He kept riding towards her, fast as the wind, his saber gleaming coldly.

"Sir, please-!" Jenny tried to scream again, futilely. She covered her head with her arms…

And suddenly, a loud "thunk" was heard. The soldier let out a gurgle, loud enough for Jenny to risk a quick glance. She saw him speed past her, his saber falling from slack fingers. As the man's horse galloped past her, she saw that he had a long javelin lodged into his chest.

A war cry echoed over the screams of the terrified civilians, and Jenny saw several dozen Khornate warriors rush from the middle of the column, charging to meet the speeding horsemen before they reached the rest of the camp followers who were trying to escape.

The Albionese cavalry rode right into them, frenziedly slashing and stabbing. Many warriors fell under the razor sharp swords, many more were trampled under the hooves of horses. Without slowing down, the Albionese continued to press the charge home, right into the mass of fleeing men, women and children. Their weapons spared no one, from the most elderly to the youngest of children. Pistols and carbines were fired, felling stragglers.

One of the riders was felled by another javelin. Two more met horrendous ends when Red Legionnaires armed with axes hacked their horses to fillets, then took the deadly weapons to their fallen masters. Jenny dove under the cart, hugging Saya close, tears streaming from her eyes. Why did this keep happening?

More warriors made their way through the multitude of fleeing camp followers, roaring war cries. Groups of cavalrymen abandoned the carnage of the civilians, reforming and charging the Legionnaires. The swift horsemen shot through the gaps left by the loose formation of the Khornates, razor sharp sabers butchering dozens in the first pass, before forming up and charging a second time, killing more warriors. Jenny could see more groups of Albionese cavalry ride up the road, herding the terrified civilians back towards the rear, separating an entire chunk of the column from the main force.

Saya huddled closer to Jenny, trembling in fear, the only sound coming from her being small panicked breaths. The girl hugged Saya back, observing in abject terror from under the cart, as the remaining Legionnaires started forming a more coherent mass of armed men. The next charge was the first to be repelled effectively. Shields locked into place around the civilians and carts. Axes and swords slashed at horses, which fell kicking and neighing, dragging their riders down with them, where they were easy prey for the vengeful Red Legionnaires.

The Albionese changed their tactics, skirting along the shieldwall as they fired their pistols and carbines. More warriors fell, their chainmail and wooden shields incapable of protecting them against the deadly lead bullets that sprayed them like hail. In response, the Legionnaires started throwing dense clouds of javelins, arrows and sling stones, killing dozens of cavalrymen.

Jenny couldn't see it from her hiding place, but the rear of the column had been completely cut off from the rest of the army, which now moved away from the ambush at a fast jog, abandoning their trapped and surrounded comrades to their fate.

However, that fate never came. A rapid succession of cornet notes was heard, and the cavalry dispersed as quickly as it had arrived, disappearing into the forest. They left two hundred dead behind them, of which only twenty-seven were Albionese.

It took the rear guard more than four hours to start marching again, and by then, the rest of the army was so far away, they couldn't see it anymore.

-:-

Londinium, Southeastern Albion

Londinium celebrated. For the first time in several months, the city was full of colour, music, and a general good mood. Garlands hung from every balcony, banners adorned every building, and crowds cheered in the streets, for that day of the 21st of January of the Year of the Founder of 6149, the Republican Army of Albion marched victorious into the capital.

Column after column of disciplined pikemen, swordsmen, musketeers and cavalry paraded in full panoply along the main avenue of the city, which led to the old King's Square, renamed Liberty Square after the city fell to the Revolution of the Roses, a mere year and a half ago.

The Republican Army of Albion had defeated Prince Rodrigo de Aragona and his army, in what would come to be known as the Battle of Medway River, and so, the people of Londinium rejoiced. They cheered, they waved, they sang, and they chanted their praise to their soldiers, their heroes, who had annihilated those who would bring death and destruction upon them.

For one blissful day, they forgot about the war. They forgot about the huge Grand Army of the Alliance which had taken South Gotha a mere three days before. They forgot about the thirty thousand murderers, rapists, arsonists and looters who, after razing and plundering a path northwards from Plotsmouth to the Pass of Vargaria, were doing the exact same thing again as they marched southwards towards Londinium.

Julius rode at the fore of the parade, his dress uniform impeccable, golden buttons shining in the sun. His new horse, a young black mare, carried him with absolute dignity, ignoring the roar of the crowd and the beating of marching drums. She was a noble beast, a warrior bred for battle, trained to only respond to the commands of her master, and not to the noise of combat, or the overwhelming colours and sounds of a military triumph.

The military procession marched in unison until the last unit entered the square. For obvious reasons, not the entire army had been made to join the parade. The city could not hold such a huge force within its walls, nor could over fifty thousand men stand at attention in Liberty Square. Instead, six thousand troops from the best performing and most heroic regiments were selected to participate, and they now stood in perfectly disciplined rows, separated by their regimental colours and uniforms, before the House of Commons, where a Congress delegation led by none other than Dictator Cromwell awaited them.

Cromwell advanced several steps, as Julius dismounted. Both men smiled, then moved to embrace each other as the old friends they were.

"General. Congratulations on your victory." Cromwell said, as they separated. His green overcoat billowed a bit in the light, cold breeze of the Albionese winter.

"Thank you, Mr. Dictator. My men are as worthy of praise as I am, though. Without them, without their bravery, their discipline and their skill, I could not have done it." Julius answered, as politician and general started walking up the steps to the entrance of the House of Commons.

"Your troops are what they are thanks to your military reforms, old friend. If not for you, the Aragonians would likely have defeated us regardless of numbers. We both remember the 18-Year War… so many young men slaughtered, so many great armies butchered by the merciless Aragonian war machine." Cromwell answered, his tone low.

"You are too kind, Mr. Dictator." Julius replied, laconically. "Still, I can't help but be surprised by your presence in Londinium. I thought you were in the North, attending to your, ah… special project, sir."

"I am here precisely because of my little project, Julius. You see… she has escaped." Cromwell confided, his visage darkening slightly.

"Ah. I see. Which I suppose is why the Red Angel's barbarians now rampage in our lands. She seeks revenge?" Julius asked, as they arrived at the top of the stairs and walked into the enormous, richly decorated palace, now turned into a civilian Government building. "I got the news just hours before we engaged the Aragonians at the Medway. Linser Castle is a pile of rubble. Mitcham, razed to the ground. Several other towns as well, and now they're coming back. Directly towards Londinium."

"I don't think the barbarians have her. Had she returned to her familiar, we would know. No, I think she is here, in this very city." Cromwell answered. His voice was neutral, his demeanour as calm as if they were taking a stroll in the park and having a conversation about the weather, rather than discussing important matters of State.

"That makes no sense. Why would she have returned to the capital? It is the heart of her enemy's lair. And do not take this as agreement that we should keep being her enemies. In fact… what we did at Tristain has prompted over one hundred thousand Tristainians and Germanians to sail across the skies on a massive fleet and invade us, plus a large number of criminals, cutthroats and looters under command of a man who killed almost a thousand of our troops at Newcastle, and many more at Tarbes. All because of one fourteen-year old girl who could be a Void descendant." Julius replied, his tone far from cordial now.

"She awoke, Julius. What we did to her, it awakened her power at last. We succeeded, before she escaped. Killed several dozen soldiers, and managed to wound Myoznitnirn. The Mind of God, a familiar of the Void. And she did magic without a wand, Julius. I've never seen anything like it." Cromwell countered. "Additionally, O'Conor's boy, she took him also. The one who discovered the crypt, back in '39. I had it closed off and warded after the Revolution, but she will try to access it, if she hasn't already. Don't underestimate the drive of someone who is desperate enough to know her origins, her purpose in this world."

"Even if she is here, sir, we cannot spare the manpower to search for her. I must set out again within the week, and engage the Alliance before they recover from taking South Gotha." Julius shook his head. "I don't even know if we have the manpower to do it. We suffered too many casualties at the hands of the Aragonians. Three thousand dead, triple that, wounded. Add the infirm, and the frostbitten, and I'm left with barely fifty thousand men to face three times that number, between the Germanians, the Tristainians and that Romalian papal army disguised as sellswords."

Cromwell simply gave Julius a half smile.

"Worry not, old friend. I have just what you need. Believe me, when you next return, you will do so victorious. I have secured all the help you will need, not just to defeat the Alliance, but also that abomination the Valliére girl calls a familiar." the Dictator dug his hand in the right pocket of his longcoat, and pulled out a small black box, which he handed to Julius.

Julius opened the tiny box, which revealed a rather ordinary-looking ring, barely a band of silver with a purple gem resting on its center.

"What is this? Some kind of magical weapon?" Julius asked, arching an eyebrow. The gem seemed to glimmer hypnotically.

"It is the Ring of Andvari. Myoznitnirn will accompany you when you march out against the Alliance. She will teach you how to use it." Cromwell answered. "This, my friend, is a weapon unlike any you've encountered in formal warfare. Under its sacred light, no mind can resist the will of its wielder."

"I've heard the stories. Never thought they would be real for once." Julius touched the ring with one finger. A warm current of magic spread from its tip to the rest of his hand, and then his arm. "You will not accompany us, Mr. Dictator?"

"I will remain here, and use my own men to find the Valliére girl. She will be in my clutches by the time you return. And then, we will lure the familiar to us, using her. Once she is under our control, so will he be. Albion will have the power of a Void Mage, and her invincible familiar, and rule Halkeginia with them." Cromwell answered. "And then… with the power of the Void in our hands… we shall finally be free."

-:-

South Gotha, Southeastern Albion

Henrietta and Wales could not believe what they'd just heard.

"A truce for the Silver Pentecost? Is he insane?" Henrietta asked. She had forgone her soft velvet dress, in favour of her campaign armour, an intricate Mithril piece that nevertheless left a generous cleavage that would have been scandalous for any but the Queen of Tristain.

"On the contrary, dear fiancé." Emperor Albrecht III answered, as he looked in turn at every general, noble and member of the royalty that crowded the high class inn where the leadership of the Allied army had settled. "I believe he is quite sane. But I do also believe he underestimates us."

"So General Magnus sends us a message, asking for a truce for the Silver Pentecost, knowing we will refuse?" Prince Wales asked, without raising his voice.

"I would say he is attempting to buy time to maneuver troops for a surprise attack. Probably between three and four days from now, depending on the weather." the Emperor answered. "But unless he is extremely delusional, I do not think he believes we will buy into such an obvious trap."

"On that, we can agree, your Imperial Majesty." Julio Cesare said, in his aristocratic Romalian accent. "However, an obvious question remains. What do we intend to do?"

"It would seem our current plan of spending the winter in South Gotha and marching North once spring comes is, at the very least, delayed." Henrietta said, softly. Several Tristainian and Romalian officers nodded in assent. The young Queen caught sight of Potocki, nodding at her from behind the Emperor.

"So it would seem, dear fiancé." the Emperor answered, a glacial smile on his lips. "Hence, I propose that we accept the traitor's proposal, and subsequently break our word, and attack him when he least expects us, within three days. We will catch our outnumbered enemy completely by surprise, remove their capability to counterattack, and then proceed to Londinium at our leisure once the snows melt."

Voices were raised in assent. Henrietta and Wales glanced at each other, but neither said anything. Henrietta turned her gaze back on the Germanian, and nodded.

"I see no problem with that plan. However, I do believe we should not stoop so low as to break our word as nobles. We don't need to send a reply immediately, and still attack by surprise regardless." she said.

"The oaths of nobles to traitors melt like snow in the ears of Brimir, my Queen. We will face no loss of honour for betraying a betrayer." Albrecht III answered. His half smile made Henrietta shiver. "Of the commanders of this Great Alliance, those who are in favour?"

Every hand in the room was raised. Henrietta and Wales took barely half a second longer to raise their own.

"Excellent. Send for the Albionese messenger. I will give him the answer he is to bring back to his traitor general."

-:-

Apologies for the delays, people. Work is a bitch.

As always, please leave feedback, and any theories or comments you might have on the story. I greatly enjoy reading them!

PD: Chapter 2 has received a substantial modification to the Binding scene. I recommend you check it out, and tell me what you think of it.