Chapter 9

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 to