Book 4: Chapter 8

King Fenris

Arriving at the training Fields, my most trusted knight, Sir Hugo, and I hop down from our thoroughbreds and tie them to posts with rope. Thousands of soldiers are in training. There is a cacophony of sounds: Swords clashing, axes and maces thrown at wooden targets, tree stumps, and men grunting with exertion.

A few hundred archers shoot at targets from varying distances and nod at me as I pass behind them. There is lots of yelling as men practice their war cries or call out to one another. A few training casualties hobble around with injuries to their ankles, knees, and feet.

My commander in chief, James Boroughshaw, is stationed outside a makeshift tent and is observing the jousting closest to us.

“My king,” James says as he kneels before me.

“Commander James,” I nod, and he stands back up.

“I require an update of our progress,” I say, sitting down in a wooden folding chair and accepting the glass of brandy squire Thomas hands