Sorceress of the Second Sphere

23. The Price of Honour - Peyton

Various colours of irises stared in awe as Peyton took steps forward through the crimson-walled corridor. Blue, green, grey and brown: all different colours, shapes and sizes, yet they all had one thing in common. Each stared at him in fear.

Peyton's fingers wrapped around the hilt of Stoneheart, the proud heirloom of the Oakfort lineage. Its gleaming metal appeared blood red as it mirrored the stone walls of the Bleufontaine corridors and as it edged closer toward the remaining forces of the late Sir Cedwyn Oakfort, it appeared as if each of the men was gasping their final breaths.

Like animals trapped in a corner, some men appeared ready to fight to the last, determined to have their final moments as warriors rather than prisoners of the brutal Ravenscourt nobels. Peyton could sense their anxiety. Their life was in his hands, and with one wrong word, their lives would be forfeit to Sir Emhyr, a man who would have no qualms about inflicting the maximum amount of pain for the longest period, all in the name of pride, dread and pleasure.

The whole situation felt like a powder keg, ready to burst open, with Peyton being the fuse. As he eventually came to a halt at the doorway which led to the small pack of defenders he mumbled under his breath to the gods for his and their safety.

Raising his eyes and looking beyond the soldiers, he could see the Ravenscourt troops, eager to end this insurrection. Beyond them, the cold emotionless eyes of Sir Emhyr glared towards him. Peyton had already failed in his objective to capture Sir Cedwyn and end the battle, and now he would do everything in his power to not sate Sir Emhyr's bloodlust by ending this skirmish without any bloodshed.

"Brocca, I believe?" Peyton looked toward the man that he had only seen moments earlier when Cedwyn still breathed.

The man looked at him sternly, his eyes initially appeared glazed, but as Peyton focused on his chocolate brown irises, he could sense how the man's soul was plagued with the dread of his potential demise.

"A..aye, milord," he stuttered, clanking his halberd against his chainmail.

Peyton took a deep breath, exhaling his concerns as he knew that every word would count. "I will need your men to be at ease and prepare to lower their weapons on my command. This is a very delicate situation and things could escalate quickly if they are allowed to. Do you understand?"

With a small nod, Brocca acknowledged the man half his age.

"I want everyone to come out of this alive and unharmed, can I trust that you will assist me to make this happen?" Peyton queried, his hand gripping Stoneheart even tighter than before.

"I am your man, milord. The men will stand at ease."

A small wry smile appeared on Peyton's face as he nodded in respect to his new compatriot. As he took his first steps forward toward Sir Cedwyn's men, he felt vulnerable as their anxious and unnerving stares descended upon him, but as he confidently stepped forward with Stoneheart placed underneath his arm, each of the soldiers around him lowered their weapons and stood to their feet.

If the situation called for it, the young knight would not have been able to contain his pride as he strode between the warring factions, but as he closed on the Ravenscourt aggressors, the look of disdain, anger and jealousy was palpable.

"SOLDIERS, STAND TO!"

The command bellowed from behind the phalanx of halberds as the sharp points eagerly directed their attention towards Peyton. As the men raised their weapons and parted to allow the young knight to step through, the gaze from Sir Emhyr was far sharper and unnerving than any weapon that could have been directed toward him.

Peyton attempted to remain confident, yet he could feel his heart attempting to jump from his chest. His approach was assured, yet his knees felt like they could buckle at any time. The pure fury in the face of the Earl of Caernleigh was far more intimidating than some of the most fearsome creatures that Peyton had fought in the past.