And here it is... The day we march out and I will need to rally my knights and more.
Nin's still working on his developments and, as he said, he'll join me when he is able. My job until then is to meet these so-called osibindah in the field. Hold the line and push them back at best. Fight them to a bloody standstill at a more acceptable standard. At worst, we retreat to the reinforcements and have another go.
I cannot and should not comprehend anything beyond that. Death is all that awaits us if the line goes back. March only to victory, not one step back under any circumstance. So is the will of the king.
A will I must stick to and embody even as I tremble in private like this. One hand comes up and then the other, the refined steel shaking about no matter what I do. If I focus, I can make it stop, mostly. But the moment I just leave my hands be, it all starts. Again, stop, again, stop... Dammit.
Gods and goddesses above, I need more than this. I need haste from Daddy and his soldiers. I need Nin to be at my side now and not later. Too much rests on him, even before we do anything.
I've got my sword, my armour and the whole collection of weapons I carry into full-on battle...
My eyes cross over one of the many mirrors about the chamber, and I stare down the fearful woman. Seeing such vulnerability makes my posture straighten, my grip tighten. My magic flares viciously, and my cape bellows out like a single, grand and ornate wing. A single greatsword in my grip and one-hundred and forty-nine lesser blades circling me, orbiting me.
I narrow my eyes at the increasingly, but facetiously assured woman. My blades all come out, and I go through the motions, moving my wrecked nerves out of my body. Though I could only wish it was literal to some extent, it is not. Each movement, though, it drags the shaken nerves out of me, and I imagine myself cutting them down.
Where my main blade follows, an army of daggers, knives and lesser swords follow. Shifting and chopping the wind to a song of my design. My heels tap and clack, stabbing across the polished wood and leaving white chalk scars across the surface. I pick up speed, going faster and faster, losing control with each swing.
My body comes to a spinning stop, the blades collecting behind me with gentle tings. One-hundred and forty-nine of them. A heavy sigh leaves my nose, and I turn back to face the damage I've caused my palace. The floors are ruined, painted with blood-taking strokes, and the columns and stone have been chiselled from art to ruin.
I put the sword back to its magnetic sheath and leave it there as I hear a nervous ear come through the door. The servants stares at me, worrying for my state of mind as much as my ability to act. I give them a silent nod, gesturing for a return to solitude. They silently obey, and I look to the mirror again.
The unscathed mirror.
"A king is collected when there is panic. A king is noble when there is evil. A king is a protector when the world is full of cowards. A king is a fighter when the world is weak and unable. I am a king, I am that king." I remind myself, chastising any attempts by the spirit within to quiver and shake.
I must be calm, for them. Always for them. For the subjects who are worrying about their loved ones gone and potentially to be. For the soldiers who are about to lay their lives.
My magic is the banner they hold as much as it is the standard they fight for. Everything I do must inspire them when I am in the public eye. Cowardice is a private thought, a hidden action. The moment they are ready for me, I must leave behind everything.
Any tears, any shakes and divine above only knows how many cracks in the voice. All of it remains in the confines of this room. None of it comes out. I've made plenty of room for it, all these new cuts and carvings add to the volume of the chamber.
I can only hope the door's opening doesn't let the world drown in my terror. No. It won't. Nothing will go through that door, so I must and will dispose of it now. Now. Now.
"Nin... Please meet us out there. Please make do and hurry..." I say, my words so well-timed to the latest signs of his tests to build up magic. I've prepared myself as well as my own machines will allow me. But there's a set limit to what they can do, and there has never been a reason to change that to this point.
Hindsight is quite the vile thing, really... It has so much knowledge that you cannot foresee no matter how long you think. It just is. And, like the battle to come, it will be much the same.
I can predict all I want, but one can only predict the actions of monsters so much. I know barely anything, and while Nin has been very helpful, I doubt he's a scholar of these monsters. These osibindah. Predators from beyond the Crack in the Sky who have laid nothing but waste to my kingdom's exposed belly.
We owe a great debt to that rider who made it to us. His word and that of his steed certainly alerted us to the danger. Though, his words seemed so much better when he told me in private about how they came in peace at first...? One dressed in rusty armour with the ability to speak, a staff in one claw.
The earth shaman? No doubt the leader either way if it leads them here to battle against me.
"Your Majesty, Lady-King Morgihranur. The army awaits your rousing words." my chosen servant announces, catching my attention from the half-minded stare to the mirror. I look his way, nodding at the elderly man as I flick my hands free of tremors.
"Very well, I am coming. Have the musicians sing to the skies to let the steel and oak know their Lady-King stands before them!" I call out extra loud to make sure I'm leaving behind the last of my uncertainty. Yet, even then, I can still feel a hook in my spine... Dragging it all after me.