The first hordes were visible from a distance. They made a strange sound, echoing westward, somewhere between the walls of Meihar and Solis, only to return and fade in the opposite direction, somewhere into the sea. That was where his foolish brother had once set off on his reckless voyage into nothingness. Bromir knew he would likely never see him again. But they were never that close for him to worry about him anyway. He recalled his father’s sister. Bromir had been young when she set sail, and later, her ship returned empty—without a single soul on board. But few people knew about that. Only those closest to his father were aware. Bromir had learned of it recently, though he had always suspected.

  Meihar was a dull kingdom in his eyes, and quite strange. Women cooked, women cleaned the rooms, women took care of the men, women ruled the kingdom. Women were everywhere. Not that it was a bad sight for a man, but giving them too much power was not a good thing. He couldn’t understand how they had survived for so many years like that. Soon, he would strip them of that. This is what he thought as he rode beside his father. Meihar had too many women, and everything relied on their laws. It wasn’t right for a woman to rule, at least not without a man by her side as a corrective. That could be fixed, but not if the kingdoms continued as they were. That’s why he dreamed. Of a new order. And he believed he was on the verge of achieving it. One way or another. And this couldn’t happen without sacrifices. But if the sacrifice could avoid being him, all the better.

  The barbarians ahead seemed to move faster while their small army moved slowly. Their army was small, but his father had arranged it so that they wouldn’t take the first hit. Bromir had heard him setting it up before they left. That’s why there were ten horsemen at the front, lined up side by side with spears pointed forward. They couldn’t afford more. The road wasn’t endless, and if they made two rows, they would start getting in each other’s way. Behind them were his father and himself, both seated on their horses, backs straight, looking ahead where the danger, if it could be called that, was coming from. Around and behind them were a few more horsemen and about fifty men on foot, constantly shifting positions. The six warriors of Meihar were also with them, though Bromir thought they were unnecessary. What could women possibly add to a real battle? Their place was not on the battlefield. Neither was his. There were others to fight wars and battles, and it wasn’t him. But he had to follow his father’s orders. And he had to present himself well before him. If their plan didn’t work, he would take the crown the normal way.

  Severin raised his hand, and everyone stopped. To their left were already the full territories of Ajax and Solis. As they moved deeper along the road, the walls became lower, and they could see over them. But there was no one there. Only a few peasants among the vineyards, preparing the harvest, but when they saw the army, they fled through their small holes and hid like mice. And indeed, most of the people in these lands were like mice. Just larger, but with the same character. Mice in mind, mice in action. That’s what his father had been saying about them the entire journey here.

  Silence fell. Only a few passing birds disturbed it. His father looked up, then ahead. The barbarians’ hordes on the other side were noisy. And when they saw the army against them, they seemed to rage even more. There were two shouts, followed by a roar. At first, it was terrifying. Then Bromir looked at his father. But there was no fear in his face. His father was a strange man. He could cry like a child, treat the lowest classes of their society like friends, and find joy in trivial things like the birth of rabbits in the royal stables. Yet he could also stand with a stone face and narrowed eyes, watching as a horde of unruly and furious barbarians charged toward him.

  “Bromir, stay close to me.” It was as if he knew he was being watched.

  He hated being told what to do. He hated being treated like a child. It made him draw his sword and tap his horse lightly, making it take a few steps ahead of his father’s. This time, his father was smiling. He hadn’t done it to make him feel proud. He wanted to show him that he was more ready than ever and didn’t need him that much.

  The first row of horsemen lined up like an arrowhead, the tip formed by two of them. The main road was wide enough for passage but too narrow for battle. To the right, the sand and sea began, with rocks at the higher points, but the higher parts were to the north. The further south one went, the lower it became. That’s why their kingdom was in the ideal spot, at the center of the main road. They could see both the rocks and the sand. And the dock with the ships was the only one in this part, and no one else could reach the sea without passing through their area.

  The barbarians were getting closer. The horse beneath him trembled. Bromir couldn’t tell if the animal sensed his nervousness or if it too understood the impending danger. His father had already drawn his sword. A sword larger than Bromir’s, but smaller than the one in Tristan’s hands. He didn’t understand why his father had given it to him so early. He hoped to have it in his hands after the battle.

  The six red-haired women of Meihar passed in front of them, entering what he called the “arrow” formed by their soldiers and prepared for battle. One of them was injured. He remembered her. On the arena in Meihar, during the fights when they had battled each other. But now she was healthy and not limping. He could only see her bandaged leg. Another had her ear cut off, but now she had something like a bandage covering the spot. And she was still fighting. He couldn’t imagine any of the women in Volkar doing that.

  These women were dangerous. And they were all the same. The same height, the same hair color, the same faces, and the same skills with weapons. They didn’t fight as well as men, like his father, for example, but they rarely made mistakes and almost always punished those of the enemy.

  But there was another part of the Meihar women he liked. The part between their legs. He had slept with a redhead before and always had a good time. It was strange that he was thinking about them now, with the barbarians charging toward them and the possibility of not surviving the attack. But watching his father’s calmness reassured him too. And he could think about women.

  Well, sometimes being with one of the ladies in other places required sacrifices. For example, the night before, that servant girl had to give her life. But it was worth it. The night with the silent Thalia had been amazing. Actually, Thalia was silent everywhere, except with him. Bromir had known Thalia long enough to know things that even her queen, as she called her, didn’t suspect. Thalia would be his key to Meihar. And the night with her had been the first seed planted.

  In the morning, no one said anything about the servant. He expected her death to greet him, but no one found the body, nor did anyone look for her. Everything had been covered up carefully. He suspected this was also Thalia’s doing. When he got up in the morning, she was gone. And when he went downstairs, everyone was lined up, and she was there. Innocent as always, with doe-like eyes, looking everywhere but at him. And they set off. The sweetness in his mouth lingered, but it quickly washed away from the sand and dust kicked up by the horses in front and behind him.

  He didn’t believe in his father’s ability to rule, but he trusted him in battle.

  He had seen barbarians before, but none like these. They were enormous and naked, painted and scratched from their heels to their necks. Their weapons were uniform and glinted in the sun. They let out a cry that scared the horses, and only the strong hands of the men riding them kept them in check. And though the horses were trained for battle, the echo along the narrow road rang from everywhere and pushed them slightly back.

  Only his horse didn’t stop. Or rather, Bromir did nothing to stop it. He let it push him slightly back. He didn’t want to be caught in the first blows of this horde. His heart clenched a little. He looked at his father again. Why didn’t his expression change? He watched the barbarians like Bromir had watched Thalia last night. But yes, for him, battles were like being with a woman. He had heard him say that at gatherings. Especially at those where he had drunk too much. And though he could abstain from drinking himself, he would drink when gathering with other nobles. And not a little.

  “Bromir, hold the second line with the girls.”

  Was he underestimating him? Before he could protest, the horsemen moved forward, and his father followed immediately after them. Not that he was eager to be in the front lines, he was even thinking of ways to slip away, but still, his father’s attitude wasn’t pleasant.

  He could only watch as they moved away. The king and his father didn’t even look back. He loved battles that much.

  The six Meihar warriors were lined up in front of him, side by side. Behind him were only a few of their horsemen left, but their job was more to secure their rear. The girls didn’t look at him. They stared ahead as if the enemy was right in front of them. And yet, it was still far away. When his father had moved away with the horsemen, one of the redheads turned around. He couldn’t remember her name.

  “Well, what do we do now?” She looked at him with narrowed, spiteful eyes. But she was beautiful. He would have bedded her if they were in a different place.

  “Do what you want. I have no intention of moving from here.”

  “You’re not as brave as your father, are you?”

  “And who were you again?”

  “Helia, but you know that very well.”

  “I have no idea.” He genuinely didn’t know. “And if you don’t mind, keep your eyes forward. I don’t want one of those barbarians getting close to me.”

  “We take orders only from King Severin. The Queen told us to listen only to him.”

  “I’m his son, so when he’s not around…”

  “When he’s not around, we do what we see fit.” They treated him as if he were nobody. “If you don’t like it, you can go to him or return to Volkar to your mother and cry to her.” Helia gave him a contemptuous look, pursed her lips, and spat loudly on his horse’s legs.

  “Maybe the rumors are true.” She had turned back around, but he was still talking to her. He knew she could hear him. “In your kingdom, men are scarce, and that makes you nervous. Believe me, no woman’s hand will touch you like a man’s. And if you want, I can give you a little demonstration.” Bromir had drawn his sword and was running it down the back of the woman who had spoken to him.

  Helia turned around in a flash, knocked the weapon from his hands, and it fell to the ground by his horse. Bromir was left without it. He felt humiliated. The other five redheads laughed quietly. They tried not to be heard, but he could still hear them. And even if they hadn’t made a sound, he knew they were laughing at him inside.

  He dismounted, bent down, and picked up his sword. None of them paid him any attention. Instead, they had started moving forward. Bromir slowly mounted his horse again and waited for them to move away. They would pay for this, at least he knew that.

  He looked into the distance. The barbarians and his father’s small regiment had already clashed. Weapons clanged, and people fell dead. More often, they were the barbarians. He watched his father. And even from afar, he could see how eagerly he fought. He killed and felled the barbarians one by one. Bromir urged his horse forward slowly. He tried to avoid getting too close, while still showing that he wanted to join in. But he didn’t.

  His father was alone for a moment. It allowed him to dismount. He said something to the horse, and it ran back. He was left alone on his two feet. Watching him from behind, he was truly impressive. His back was broad, and his cloak fluttered with every swing of his arms.

  Sometimes Bromir wished he could fight like him, but not have to do it. In training with the other warriors, he did well. Sometimes he was even better than his brother, Borin, though if that was any measure, since if Bromir didn’t love the sword, Borin loathed it twice as much. He didn’t envy his father for having such sons. But he believed in something else. He believed that a ruler should find stronger people than himself to do the work. And that’s what he did. That’s what they did, actually. Because his right hand, Garvin, thought exactly like him. The two of them would conquer this part of the world and turn it upside down. As long as everything worked out as it should. And so far, not everything was going well.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Bromir stood, watching his father fight, and didn’t think about the battle. He thought about the people he had. There was no longer a kingdom without their people. All that remained was for their plan to be set in motion. And fate to help them.

  For example, something happening to his father.

  But that was too much.

  He tapped his horse lightly, and it started to trot. His father was winning without him, but he couldn’t not go. It would be shameful. The six Meihar women were already there, and one by one, they took turns knocking down the barbarians in the narrow space. His father waved his arms left and right, giving directions to his men. And the barbarians fully deserved their name. They didn’t just fight with the weapons they had somehow acquired. They fought with their hands, their teeth, and their screams. The screaming irritated him the most. After each battle with them, his father usually took a few barbarians who later served as dinner for the wolves, or if they were lucky, died by the sword of a warrior in Volkar. Bromir hoped they would find some now too. He would personally take one of them and torture him, just to hear him scream.

  He smiled at the thought. But his smile froze when he saw his father’s face. Angry, bloodstained, and serious. He had turned for a moment to see where Bromir was. Bromir immediately understood what he was thinking. He could read it in his eyes. He thought he was a coward. He wasn’t a coward. In his own eyes, he truly wasn’t. He simply had other plans for this world. And why should he dirty his hands with blood just to disregard them?

  He left his horse behind and started toward his father. The two soldiers responsible for his protection followed him. They had already drawn their swords.

  He hadn’t even reached him when one of those creatures somehow slipped past his father and the red-haired Meihar wenches and lunged at him. Bromir defended himself with his sword, but it was enough. The thin bastard of a barbarian, who was the only one among the others with hair—black and greasy—had landed right on the tip of his blade. Blood dripped from his mouth, and in his last moments of life, he stared into Bromir’s eyes.

  “Serves you right, bastard,” he shouted so loudly that his father turned around.

  That seemed to give him wings and some strength in his legs and arms. He hoped his father would at least be pleased now.

  A second barbarian faced him. This time the fight was more evenly matched. Actually, Bromir was much better than him, but the barbarian was agile. He jumped left and right, making it difficult for Bromir to strike him. But he didn’t attack. He did nothing to try to kill him. Maybe he was trying to tire him out. Well, he wouldn’t succeed. Bromir might have been weaker than his father, but he was younger and certainly got tired less quickly than him. Especially since he rarely drank. Even the wine they said was harmless.

  To his surprise, and somewhat to his delight, the second barbarian died too. But not by his hand. The tip of a spear protruded from his chest. When he fell, he saw Helia behind him. The redhead pulled the spear back toward herself and cleaned it of blood demonstratively. What she didn’t see, however, was another barbarian leaping toward her. Let her die. That’s what he hoped for. Let him stab her in the back. No one would miss her. She had saved him, but he hadn’t asked her to. And one less. No one would miss her.

  The barbarian turned out to be stupid and screamed. Another redhead cut him down with a precise, swift, and calculated strike. The barbarian was halved, and part of his body fell at Bromir’s feet. Disgusted, he kicked away the part of the hand and head. Drool mixed with blood dripped from its mouth, and its eyes remained open.

  All six women fought as one. He noticed that. But he also noticed something else. Almost all of his father’s horsemen were dead. Only one was left alive, surrounded alone among many barbarians. His father saw it too, but there was no way he could reach him despite trying to fight his way through. In Bromir’s opinion, it was impossible. Maybe if he went, he could help. But he didn’t care. Neither about his father nor the stranger who was going to die soon anyway.

  His father fought like a twenty-year-old. He slashed them one by one. The six women on the left of the attack also slashed down the men. But the last horseman died. And the forces seemed to be balancing out.

  And another horde of barbarians was approaching.

  “We won’t hold,” his father turned and shouted while killing two more. “Bromir!” He shouted at him. Bromir looked at him but didn’t move. “We’re retreating.”

  Retreat? That was the last thing Bromir ever expected to hear from his father. But he was right. In fact, it had been wrong to come here in the first place. No one needed this battle—not Solis, not Meihar. Only his father fancied himself some sort of guardian of the kingdoms. The barbarians wouldn’t make it to the North anyway. They would be stopped at their harbor dock, which cut through the main road. And there, their army would easily win. On their territory, it was easier. And the barbarians, as stupid as they were, knew it. But now? Now they were losing. It was just him, his father, and the six women from Meihar who fought well but were not men. They would never have the strength of men. There were a few more of their own, but they were behind, more focused on guarding him and his father. They weren’t people for such pointless skirmishes.

  "Bromir, we're moving back!" his father shouted again, striking down one of the barbarians and taking a few steps in the opposite direction. Bromir engaged another barbarian, one he could kill. He was large but had clumsy hands. It was clear that the barbarians weren’t trained for the battlefield. They relied on having it within themselves, on carrying the fight within. But most of them had no skills, and even for Bromir, it was easy—though it was unbearably tedious, and he hoped he would never have to do it again.

  The six Meihar girls had formed a semicircle, each of them striking down a barbarian. And the barbarians kept coming, in hordes. For them, it was all or nothing.

  "They’re too many. Far too many. I underestimated them!" Severin was beside him now. "I don’t know how long we can hold."

  Bromir didn’t respond. If he could, he would run and leave his father to fight his foolish battles alone. And now, because of him, he might die.

  "Where are the horses?"

  Bromir turned to see. There were no horses. They had all fled back. Only the narrow path saved them from being crushed by the horde. Then he saw something. Behind the first line of the most battle-ready barbarians was a row of three women. Three very beautiful women. Despite being barbarians, they walked slowly, looking ahead calmly, as if nothing was happening before them and as if they were not in the midst of a battle.

  One of them caught his attention. She had long, black hair and blue eyes. He could see her blue eyes even as he fought one of her kin, whom he quickly killed. But another came. Bromir wanted to see that girl again. So he killed the next one. His strength returned. He wasn’t fighting for his father. He was fighting to get to her. And she, along with her three companions, seemed unconcerned with anything else. They simply walked forward, carrying something on a cushion in their hands. Just like his father had told him they had done last time. Then, his father had brought back some strange bone after battles with the barbarians. But now, this was no bone. It was something else, smaller but clearly important to them.

  "Bromir, we have to retreat. We won’t hold," his father repeated.

  His father was now far behind him. Bromir heard his voice, but it was like he was intoxicated, especially after his eyes met the girl’s. He wanted to reach her and take her. He was pushing forward. One, two, three. The barbarians were nothing special, but they were many.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. Someone pulled him back, and Bromir almost fell. It was his father.

  "What’s wrong with you? You’ll get yourself killed."

  Bromir turned to see her again. She was still looking at him. And they started to move back. The barbarians didn’t let up. They screamed, shouted, some even growled. The six Meihar women were still alive, fending off the faster barbarians. The horses weren’t even close. The good news was that the barbarians didn’t have any either.

  A strange noise echoed, something even the barbarians heard. It stopped them. It stopped Bromir and his father too. The walls separating them from Solis Castle split open. A mighty sound rang out, followed by a shout. The battle paused for a moment. Everyone looked that way. Bromir hadn’t even realized that wall could open. Strangely, only the four women, including the beautiful one, continued forward. The other barbarians around them stopped and looked toward the wall.

  "Let’s move while they’re stopped," his father shouted again. "Don’t pay attention to anything."

  But Bromir stopped. He watched the girl. Suddenly, arrows rained down from the walls. It was as if the walls themselves were shooting. But it wasn’t the walls. There were openings in them, and from the openings, bows emerged. And the bows fired arrows as if the wall were a cloud and the rain was shaped like ice, falling and killing the barbarians one by one. His father seemed pleased.

  The barbarians fell one by one. The rear ranks started to retreat, while the front ones tried to escape the arrows, running toward them and falling into their trap. Severin, his father, had drawn his sword again and was cutting them down one by one. The red-haired wenches, as Bromir called them, had gained confidence too. Most of them were covered in wounds and blood, which suited their hair color quite well.

  The gates of Solis opened, and more warriors emerged. This time, they were blond, without helmets or any protective gear. They wore leather outfits, most with long hair, though some had shorter hair, white skins, and bare feet. They ran quickly, slightly bent, and charged directly at the barbarians, knocking them down one by one. They were heading toward the four women.

  "No!" Bromir shouted and ran after them.

  Bromir crashed into the warriors of Solis, who apparently recognized him and stepped aside. If they hadn’t, he probably would have cut one of them down. He stood as a shield before the women and started waving at the blond men with weapons as if he were their commander. He was grateful they understood him and changed direction.

  The women continued walking as if nothing had happened. And now Bromir was their shield. He felt like one of the barbarians. He hoped he didn’t look like one.

  The warriors of Solis moved quickly, attacking from all sides. Wherever Bromir turned, he saw a blond man with a short sword jumping or cutting down a barbarian.

  He didn’t know if any of the Solis warriors had fallen, but he saw many beheaded barbarians. There were also a few wounded ones on the ground, not too injured to get up, but too frightened.

  "Leave these to me!" his father approached with slow, deliberate steps. He had sheathed his sword. The warriors of Solis had surrounded him. "Who’s in charge here?" he asked, looking at them.

  Bromir kept the four women in his sights. They had finally stopped. And somehow, he didn’t know how, they weren’t injured. They hadn’t even dirtied themselves. Only a few drops of blood stained one of their sleeves.

  One of the Solis warriors stepped forward. He had blond hair down to his shoulders and light eyes. His skin was also pale.

  "My name is Charon. I lead the twelfth warrior unit of Solis," the blond man bowed his head slightly and quickly raised it.

  "Thank you, Charon!" his father did the same. "Without you, we wouldn’t have succeeded against the barbarians. Is Lord Ajax nearby?"

  "King Ajax is in his quarters and does not wish to be disturbed," Charon answered like a soldier.

  "Does he know about the barbarians?" his father asked quickly, his tone revealing more anger than genuine interest.

  "He knows. He sent us."

  "Can we meet with him?"

  "I’m afraid not, King Severin. We have orders not to let anyone through."

  "Not even the king of another kingdom?"

  "Those are the orders. We would appreciate not having any trouble with you."

  His father looked around as if searching for something with his eyes, then looked back at Charon.

  "Tell Ajax that this contradicts the agreement between the Five. And that I invite him to my son’s wedding." Charon nodded slightly. His father continued, "If he doesn’t attend, I’ll have to convene a meeting of the Five. I’ve been meaning to for a while anyway. And he’s one of the culprits."

  Bromir was somewhat relieved that there wouldn’t be a meeting with Ajax. He wanted to go home. He was tired of the heat in these lands, tired of the barbarians, and tired of the pale-skinned lunatics like those in front of him now, and especially tired of the Meihar wenches.

  "I’ll deliver the message, my lord. We’re at your service if you decide to head further south."

  "No. We lost more men than I anticipated. I only want horses. I’ll pay handsomely for them at my son’s wedding."

  Charon bowed his head again, raised it, and turned to his men. Two of them ran toward the interior of the kingdom.

  Bromir glanced back at the blue-eyed beauty. The three girls stood huddled together, not moving. But there wasn’t a trace of fear in them. And the item on the cushion they carried was strange and small. It was some kind of object.

  He thought the black-haired one he liked smiled at him, but he wasn’t sure.

  He was sure, however, of what he heard. He raised his head. Everyone around him was silent, looking ahead.

  "Bromir. We’re not finished."

  He knew it even without his father saying it. He drew his sword and took his stance. The six Meihar warriors also lined up beside them, while those from Solis arranged themselves somewhere behind.

  The new horde of barbarians wasn’t the problem. The problem was what was leading it. It looked human, but it was at least twice as big as the others. Its long ponytail fell behind it, striking the horse like a whip. And its shoulders alone were the size of an ordinary man’s head. It stopped not far from them and pointed its sword at them.

  Bromir wasn’t afraid. But he was tired of battles.