Chapter 40
The Road to Blackstone
The familiar sight of Bluestone's palisade at dusk felt like a warm embrace after the sharp tension of the border skirmish. Renly rode through the gate to the respectful nods of the sentries, the weight of the past few days settling into a dull ache in his muscles. The village was quiet, the smoke from evening meals a gentle haze in the cool air.
The next morning, after a deep and dreamless sleep in his own bed, he led the militia through their dawn drills. Watching Will command the thirty men with confident authority filled him with pride. As the training ended and the men dispersed for their daily chores, Renly retreated to his personal training ground behind the manor—a secluded, packed-earth circle surrounded by tall pines.
He practiced the Explosive Lunge slowly, feeling the flow of vital force from his core to his limbs, not unleashing its power. As he moved, his mind worked through the political puzzle. The Viscount now holds the Ferguson Viscount's younger brother and fifty of his men, he thought, his movements fluid and controlled. That's not just a military loss; it's a massive political and financial embarrassment. The Fergusons will be furious, but they're also compromised. He executed a perfect, controlled lunge, stopping his fist an inch from a wooden post. They'll have to sue for peace, offer a hefty ransom to get their noble back and avoid all-out war. It buys us time. The Viscount's border, at least, should be safe for a few years.
The other borders of Lythos would be another matter, a worry for other lords. But for Bluestone, it meant a window of stability. A window he could use. The thought of Anya's letter, still tucked safely away, burned in his mind. The larger game was calling.
Later, over a simple breakfast of porridge and dried fruit with Lyra and Will, he laid out his plan. "I'll be leaving for Lakeside today," he said, his tone casual. "I'll take a group of ten men. Will, you're in charge of the village's security with the remaining twenty. Lyra, the manor and the village management are yours."
Will straightened up, his young face serious. "You can count on us, my lord." Lyra, ever perceptive, gave a slight nod, her eyes questioning but her loyalty unwavering. She didn't ask why; she simply accepted his decision.
The ride to Lakeside was uneventful. They arrived as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the surface of the lake in fiery oranges and reds. Ser Tomas, the Viscount's younger brother, welcomed him warmly into his comfortable, if less fortified, manor.
Over a hearty dinner of roasted fish from the lake, the two knights talked. "I heard about your success in the Bramblewood," Tomas said, raising his tankard. "You've done the whole north a service."
"The Viscount's scouts found the trail," Renly deflected modestly. "We just followed it to its end." He then carefully steered the conversation. "I've been thinking about the wider conflict. I heard you had some… dealings with Count Rose in the past."
Tomas sighed, a look of weary nostalgia crossing his face. He was a man who had chosen a quieter life. "That was in my younger days. A bit of aid sent down the road when I had more ambition and less sense." He took a long drink. "I've learned since then. Getting involved with the great houses is a sure way to find an early grave or lose everything you have. I'll stay out of the trouble this time. My brother has the right of it—neutrality is our shield."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But the trouble is coming whether we seek it or not. You've heard about Rose City?"
Renly shook his head, his interest sharpening.
"It's under siege," Tomas said grimly. "The Duke of Ironwood and the First Prince have joined forces and surrounded it. The Crown Princess and Count Rose are trapped inside, defending the walls. Lady Olivia is pinned in the capital; she can't leave the King's side. So, the Count and the Princess are on their own. The Duke's army is just sitting there, waiting for their food and morale to run out before they launch their final assault. It's a waiting game."
Renly absorbed this. The situation was even more dire than he had imagined. The heart of the Rose faction was being strangled.
"There's more," Tomas added, his voice barely a whisper. "Anya left a message for you. She said if you were still willing to come, you shouldn't go to Rose City. You're to go to Count Blackstone's fortress city instead."
Renly's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "Blackstone? But they're known for their strict neutrality. They only follow the crowned king, not any prince or princess until the succession is settled."
Tomas shrugged. "That was their old policy. It seems the winds of war are changing everyone's allegiances. Or perhaps something else is at play. That's the message."
Renly stayed the night in a guest room at Lakeside Manor, the new information churning in his mind. Blackstone. It was an unexpected and intriguing move. Why there?
He left at first light, returning to Bluestone by dusk. He immediately called a meeting with Lyra, Will, and the senior village managers in the manor's main hall.
"I will be leaving the village for some time," he announced, his voice leaving no room for debate. "It will be a long-term leave."
A wave of unease passed through the room. The manager of the granary, a practical man named Harald, spoke up. "My lord, with the border tensions… is it wise?"
"The border is secure," Renly stated firmly. "The Ferguson incident has ensured that. We won't face an invasion from that quarter for years. You have my word."
He spent the next day making preparations, ensuring every detail was in order. He formally placed the gruff but reliable Bor, his deputy captain, in charge of village security with ten men. "You have the best of the gear and the training," Renly told him. "Ten of you here are worth thirty raiders. Hold the line."
Finally, everything was ready. As the sun rose on the day of his departure, Renly stood with Lyra and Will in the courtyard. The twenty militiamen chosen for the journey were already mounted, their packs secured.
"It's time you knew our real objective," Renly said to his two most trusted aides. "We're not going on a simple patrol or a visit to another lord. We ride for Count Blackstone's fortress city."
Will's eyes widened. Lyra's sharp intake of breath was the only sign of her surprise.
"The situation in the kingdom is collapsing," Renly explained. "Rose City is under siege. We've been called to serve a… larger purpose. This is what we've trained for. This is where we step onto a bigger stage."
There was no fear in their eyes, only a determined resolve. They were his, heart and soul.
With final nods to Bor and the villagers who had gathered to see them off, Renly swung onto Aethon's back. He led the column out of Bluestone, the hooves of their horses a steady drumbeat on the dirt road. They turned south, away from the familiar forests of the north, towards the unknown heart of the conflict.
As the outline of his village faded behind him, a strange, quiet nostalgia washed over Renly. Not for the village itself, but for the memory of a starving, terrified scholar in a muddy alley in a village called Oakhaven—a lifetime ago, in another skin. The world had turned in a circle, and he was going back. But this time, he was not a beggar. He was a Knight, leading his own men to war.