King's Brew

King’s Brew

The wind howled, and the banner, already ragged, ripped free from its pole. It flapped and twisted in the gale, finally landing in the dirt at the king’s feet. He stepped over it and, mud-caked and battle-worn as his men, made his rounds through the camp.

Half the tents sat empty. The cooks were mixing bonemeal into flour to stretch out their failing rations. A month ago, he’d have made himself to walk with purpose, if only to uplift his forces.

Now, he didn’t bother. Crown askew, he surveyed what remained of his army. He had failed them.

The sound of rushing hooves cut through his despair, and he spun to find a column of riders approaching, White Wizard at their head.

The wizard galloped hastily into the camp and immediately recognized the men’s defeated morale. “The day has not been lost” he proclaimed with unwavering conviction.

The king’s heart fluttered. “Do you have it?”

The wizard motioned, and a halfling stepped up and spilled a handful of silken dark beans into the king’s hand. “Harvested fresh from the Green Barrows of the First Riders, Majesty.”

The king brought them to his nose and inhaled. The intense redolence of the royal bean coursed through him with a rich, nutty warmth; the scent brought forth memories of old, bolstering his resolve. 

His body sprung erect and his eyes narrowed. “We must prepare them at once.”

He walked to the spot where the tattered banner still lay and picked up the fallen flag. Raising it over his head, he turned to face his camp.

“Defeat has not found us yet! We fight until the bitter end! Stoke the fires! Set the water boiling! The next battle approaches, and I would not have my men march without their brew!”