1- Conquering King: Chain of Command

Long live the Revolution.

The time for passive obedience was long gone. The time for violence was nearly over. Soon, the revolution would triumph.

No more would the people accept the rule of an incompetent young king with no concern for his country. No more would they stand by as the king drained their money away in his palaces and parties and left his people to starve while all around their enemies clawed at their borders, ripping away farmlands and claiming them for their own.

No more would the people bow their heads to one who claimed to have the favor of God.

The king was not appointed by God. The king was not favored by God. He had no power, no skill, no experience.

Micah sat on a stool and leaned on the hilt of his sword, looking down the hill at the scene below. Soldiers, bustling around, setting up tents.

His soldiers.

They hadn’t been his. In fact, just months ago, he would have been organizing an ambush on a camp like this, preparing to raid their supplies and set fire to anything that couldn’t be stolen. But now… Micah controlled the army. It was his to command- not the king’s.

Well, sort of. These soldiers were his. But some of the officers had turned on the King and joined the revolution, and they were higher-ranking than Micah was. He didn’t trust them- no one should, they had already turned on one leader, who said they wouldn’t turn on another?- but no one listened to him, so here he was, looking out over the army.

The revolution was nearly over. The King had nothing left- he’d lost the support of his people, he’d lost his allies, he’d lost his army- and the rebels had it all. And they were within marching distance of the palace. They’d have the king’s head in days, Micah surmised, smiling gently.

He’d have the King’s head.

Micah knew his status in the rebellion. He wasn’t a ringleader- his skill was in combat, not politics- but he was a brilliant tactician and his swordsmanship was unmatched. He could kill anyone in battle.

It was likely that, given the opportunity, the rebel leaders would give the King a chance to defeat them in single combat. He could fight, or he could send a champion to fight, and whoever they were, Micah would win.

He always won.

“Micah!”

He turned his head sideways to look to the right, resting his cheek on top of his hands. Someone was striding up the hill…?

Ah, yes. “Tor,” he said, granting the newcomer half a smile. “Nice to see you.”

Tor composed himself, shifting his sword on his hip. “Ahem,” he managed, after a moment. “Yes. Ah. The Ringleaders say they want to see you.”

Micah contemplated this for a moment. No doubt they wanted his affirmation about the single combat, although he’d volunteer for it whether they wanted him to or not. “Alright.” He lifted his head off his hands and used the sword to push himself into a standing position. Tor involuntarily backed a few steps away.

He nodded to Micah as he strolled on past, lazily swinging his sword around to slip it through the fastenings on his belt and hang it easily at his side. Soldiers watched as he went past- he was almost a legend amongst them, he knew. Because he was a fighter, but he was also a hero to them. He saved lives on the battlefield if he could.

The Ringleaders were waiting for him in another tent on the top of a nearby hill overlooking the army camp. There were five of them, standing around a table that he’d seen many times before, often covered in maps and battle plans. Now it was empty save for a single map of the land around the palace.

“Micah,” said the Ringleader in the center, a stout woman with short-cropped black hair and ebony skin. “Thank you for coming.”

“No issue,” Micah said smoothly. “You want me to fight the king, I assume?”

“Yes,” agreed the Ringleader on the far right, a tall and rather lanky man who specialized in advanced technology, the kind that was giving the rebels their edge of the king’s forces. Or had been, when the king’s forces were fighting them. “We’re going to offer him a chance at single combat to defeat us and we want you to fight for us as our champion.”

“Alright.” Micah nodded. “And will the King fight me, or choose his own champion?”

“Hopefully he will choose to fight you. If not, we have confidence that you can overcome whoever he chooses to fight in his stead.”

“I too possess this confidence,” Micah murmured, resting one hand on his sword hilt. “When will this take place?”

“At our siege.”

“And when do we march?”

“Two days’ time.”

Micah nodded slowly, dipping his head in respect to his leaders. “Alright.”

The Ringleader second from the right cleared her throat. “Micah Cyraxis,” she said, catching Micah’s attention with her use of his full name.

“Yes?”

“You do realize you are as much a Ringleader as any of us, right?”

This had occurred to him, but he hadn’t put it forward. “Perhaps,” he mused. “I bring success to our raids and victory to our battles. But I am only a fighter. I have not the mind of a tactician or an inventor.” He let his gaze rest on the Ringleaders with these qualities as he said this.

“You do,” the Ringleader insisted. “Join us, Micah.”

Micah decided that this was not the time to push his own unintelligence on them. Besides, being part of the Ringleaders could be useful. “If you wish me to join you,” he said after a moment, his head still bowed, “I shall.”

“Good.” The leaders exchanged glances amongst themselves. “You will lead our armies.”

“…all of them?”

“Yes.”

Micah bowed his head again, legitimately honored now. “It would be my pleasure,” he growled.

“Just don’t die,” the smallest Ringleader said, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

“I will try my hardest to avoid that,” Micah replied, smiling back. But he knew himself that he could not be felled in battle. Arrows flew past him, sword strikes missed. Traps triggered too early, or too late, and his mount was always nimble and could not be tripped.

Micah Cyraxis was blessed by God. He would not be harmed.

He would be victorious.