Two days ago, in the main Vexin camp, a scout rode in, his face grim. He had been sent to track the King's movements, and his report was a chilling one. It was not the King himself who was on the march, but a general known to all. He was a man with a cold, unforgiving reputation, a man who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with Damon himself—his old friend, Kieran. The two had fought together in a previous war, and Kieran had always been the King's loyal general. Now, he was leading an army slightly larger than Damon's own, and their movements were strange. They were not marching to confront the Vexin. They were marching for something else.
Damon, standing with Arion, listened to the report, his face a cold mask of grim resolve. Kieran, a man he respected and had once called a friend, was now coming for him. The war was coming to a head, and he would have to face it, but a new, more mysterious variable had been added to his plans.
Then, a moment later, a young soldier from House Galen arrived, his horse a lather of sweat and foam. He was brought before Damon and Arion, his clothes torn and his face streaked with dirt. He held out a scroll, his hands trembling. Damon read the words, and his face, which had been a mask of grim resolve, turned to a cold, hard stone.
He was faced with a terrible choice. An old friend was coming with a mysterious army that held a slight numerical advantage, and his allies were under siege. He could not be in two places at once. He looked at Arion, and his eyes, which had been filled with a cold fury, now held a grim resolve.
"Arion," he said, his voice a steel-hard command. "You will ride. You will take a relief force of 1,700 troops. Take the best we have. Take 400 cavalry, 500 archers, and 800 infantry." He then gave an order for the scouts. "I want four pairs of two horsemen each: one pair to the north, one to the south, one to the west, and one to the east. If anyone comes to attack you, I want to know about it. We will not be caught in a trap."
"And you, brother?" Arion asked, his voice calm and steady.
"I will ride with the main Vexin army," Damon replied, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Kieran is coming for me, but for what purpose, I do not know. I will not let him find me unprepared. We will meet his army on the field, and we will win this war."
The Vexin's Ride had begun. A new game had started, a desperate race against time and a ruthless enemy. The war horn, whose sound had frozen both friend and foe alike, was now a sign of hope. But would it be enough?