Ekumene (An Original Fantasy Quest)

Gillaume, sweetest Gillaume. The fresh faced youth grown strong and now finally given the opportunity to lead. She wondered how he'd fared, out here in the Western mountains. Whether the cold had chilled his wonder, or if he'd found just as many things to smile out in the barren wastes as he had back in their father's court.

They had grown together, Jospehene and Gillaume, with barely six months between them. Their father had borne the scandal of raising his bastard alongside his trueborn son, though they had all benefitted from her womanhood in that regard. They were left to their own devices by the king's other children and as childhood turned to adulthood their bonds only strengthened.

Campaigning together had been a joy, his company turning unpleasant trails to happy times. Even battle had been a pleasure with him at her side.

"Josephene!"

Her thoughts interrupted, she turned to find the source of the cry. Theodore, wrapped tightly in painted cloak against the cold, was hurrying along the flank of the marching column towards her.

His cloak marked him clearly as a spell-singer, one of the few who could bend the winds of magic to their will with their sweet voices. It was decorated with the sigil of his house, the sleeping, seeing raven. Even without the cloak though, he was still marked in body by the stresses of his work and in his voice, which he usually kept so low it was almost a whisper to protect its power.

"Theodore. I thought you were taking your time. You know setting the pace has never suited you." She said, a note of good-natured mockery entering her voice.

"I will suffer the harder march if it means I no longer have Fredo muttering in my ear every other moment."

Fredo was another of their number, though not one of the King's Housecarls. He was instead a Paladin-Priest, devoted servant of Wulpuz and Wurtiz the married twins, and the embodiment of Glory and Fate. He was a fine warrior and he glowed with the blessings of his Gods whenever he swung his hammer marked with their twin faces. However, as with many of his ilk, he was also highly-strung and had a penchant for praying whenever there was no other conversation, both under his breath and aloud. It was frustrating at times, doubly so for a man who had to keep his mind in harmony so that he could use his power.

"He only means well, Theo. Surely you've learned to ignore him by now?"

"If he meant well, he would learn to control his muttering. I'm amazed the Twins have not seen right to striking him down for it."

It had been a source of constant, albeit generally good-natured, tension between the two men.

"Be careful not to blaspheme where he can hear you, or you'll taste that hammer that he keeps threatening us with."

"The Gods know I am their faithful servant," he said, touching his forehead and raising his hand heavenwards, "but I am not his, and I will not suffer him without reason."

"Then stay here with me, Theo, and be done with him." There was no reason he couldn't march with her. The men were in good spirits and would keep the pace without much chivvying, and with Fredo breathing down their necks, there would be no need for concern without Theodore out there as well.

The baggage train would do as it had always done and look after its own needs.

They were marching uphill, on a broad stony path wide enough for three men abreast. Looking back Josephene could see the trail of their small force stretching back almost half a mile with trailing wagons and straggling people extending it significantly. Looking forward, she could see the crest that blocked their view of the winding path and the forts beyond.

And then she saw the horses, five in number, coming over the crest. Her fingers flexed, an unconscious response to a potential threat, before she recognised a shield and the colours painted on it. It was the fourth of their number returned from scouting their route, trotting down the path with his sharp-eyed soldiers in tow.

Josephene raised a hand both in greeting and a signal to the column. They slowed to a stop even as Thomas reined in his horse.

"Thomas!" She called as he dropped to the ground, a grim expression plastered across stony features, "What news from ahead."

"Only the worst. The beacons are lit."

Her heart missed a beat. If the guards they were to relieve had put torch to the beacons that rested atop each fort, then the enemy was already upon Antia's borders. The forts themselves may even have fallen in the time it took for Thomas to return with the news. Gillaume- she put that thought away before it could even begin. It was too much to think of.

What is Josepehene's history with Thomas?
[ ] He is almost an uncle, a kindly friend.
[ ] He was a teacher and taskmaster and little more.
[ ] He is an advisor to the king who has little love for a bastard.

What must be done?
[ ] The forts are already lost. We make a stand here, where we can.
[ ] We hurry to the forts as quickly as possible. We can still save them.
[ ] We can do little good here. Return to the capital and bolster the King's army.
[ ] Write in

---

"Did you reach them? The Forts, I mean. If they have only just put torch to oil…" She said, staring at the crest that blocked their view of the forts beyond, as if it would suddenly become invisible and allow her to see what lay beyond.

If the forts were still held, and she had no doubts that Gillaume could hold them for much longer than anyone would suspect, then with another hundred men at arms alongside the strength of Fredo and Theodore and even Thomas, despite his age, they would surely be able to push back whatever raiding force had caused the lighting.

"I returned as soon as I saw the beacons had been lit." Thomas said, a pensive frown showing clearly through the thickness of his beard. "The King will already be calling his banners for aid. If we turn back now, we will reach Raeen in time to reinforce his army."

"If we turn back now, we abandon those men, we-" she caught herself before she mentioned her Brother openly. "-we abandon our duty. We were charged with holding those forts and, even if we have yet to reach them, that is still our goal." She pushed down whatever emotion she was feeling and looked him square in the eye, a challenging look. He was one of the few men to have never backed down from her.

"I'm afraid I must side with the Thomas." Theodore half-whispered, breaking his carefully maintained silence. "To push on now, in the face of an unknown but assuredly present enemy? That would be folly."

"And Fredo would be glad to leap at the chance of battle. If this were to be put to a vote, it would be split. Fortunately, it is not. We press on."

"Josephene…" Thomas' frown turned to a look of ill-at-ease compassion, "You and Gillaume are as close to my family as you can be without being blood. I care for him as much as I do you but you must see that if the beacons have been lit then the forts are already lost. Do not let your feelings cloud your judgement."

Thomas spoke the truth, she thought, on the matter of family if nothing else. The old man had been a friend to their shared father for many years, and thus a part of the children's lives almost from the moment they left their mother's wombs. He had taught Jospehene her first lessons with a sword after she had begged him for the opportunity.

But this was not just about her brother. Or so she told herself.

"He knows we're on our way. Those signals are meant as much for us as they are the King. We march for the forts."

The two men, one old and grizzled, the other young and lithe, looked at her doubtfully. But she felt it in her bones, she knew that Gillaume still stood. She would show them as well.

"We march!" She shouted, fist in the air, eyes locked on theirs. A cheer went up from the men who followed her. They may not know the reason behind her shout, or the details of the hushed conversations their leaders had held, but clear direction was purpose and purpose was all that was necessary to those she led.

Thomas and Theodore nodded, visibly unhappy but accepting. The column began to move again, the quiet filled with the sound of thumping boods and rattling weapons.

---

The Westing Forts were a line of individual fortifications that marked the Western border of Atria and the main defensive structures against the predations of the plain's raiders that came from beyond. While many of the forts were small, lying abandoned except by scouting parties who patrolled up and down the mountain range, there was one that dominated all the others. Originally simply the Westing Fort, as Atria grew it became Armand's Fort for the King that rebuilt it.

Stone on one side, a simple wooden palisade on the other and marked by four tall towers it was an imposing presence that sat in the gulf between two harsh mountains, and snow fell on it almost constantly.

Josepehene and her column passed over the last rise and finally Armand's Fort was before them. Two of the towers had their beacons burning bright, fires blazing into the sky just as Thomas had reported. But they were wholly unneeded. The sound of battle, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded, drifted down the valley. It was clear enough that she could make out individual voices as they shouted their fury and their pain.

She increased her pace, the others around her matching it. She had to fight the urge to break into a run, aware of the example she was setting. Instead she used the slower pace to arm herself. The sword she'd been carrying for so long which felt so comfortable in her hand. The shield her father had given her, painted in his colours that marked her as sworn to his throne.

The gates that cut through the palisade were open, left to allow the forts defenders the opportunity to retreat if everything turned against them. She was suddenly afforded a view of the battle beyond, the men and women holding the wall and the raiders attempting to spill over and into the fort proper.

To the fight!
[ ] Charge! - The men will follow where you fight. (Strength+swordmanship)
[ ] Men to the wall! - Commanding the troops is more important than bloodying your blade. (Education+strategy)
[ ] With me! - Without your voice at their head, the men will quail (Willpower+Leadership)