"After battle, take your time, rest and recuperate,

Fill your bellies, fuck your wenches, and go to celebrate,

Afterwards, it repeats, a cycle from days of yore,

What is peace, but some rest, in between two more wars?" - "The Cycles of Yore", ancient soldier's poem, unknown author.

"Friede, lass," said Hogarth as he breathed heavily and their two groups took a moment to rest and recuperate after the fight. The lull in fighting was localized, as elsewhere in the fort the battle still raged on. "Good to see you alive… so since we have a pack of shit-eating assholes to put down, I assume you got a plan of sorts?"

"We gather everyone willing to fight," replied Elfriedee as she took the chance to gulp down some water from a waterskin. Then she pointed with her blade towards the still ongoing battles elsewhere as she spoke. "What's left of the Legion's people, the Brewers' people, everyone we got. Group up, and fuck those shitheads up the ass so hard they'd be shitting outta their mouths by the time we're done."

"Sounds like something up my alley, lass," replied the old dwarf with a wide, grimy grin. He had been working on his anvil when all this happened, and the soldiers that barged into the smithy found out the hard way why people rarely dared to bother the Free Lances' master blacksmith when he was focused on his work.

After all, getting a chunk of glowing, red-hot steel shoved down your throat has got to be a very unpleasant way to go.

Put together, there were about four hundred people with Elfriede, and nearly twice that willing to fight out of the artisans and smiths. The forge and workshops were shared by all three companies' people, so there was quite a mix from all three groups there.

Together, they had over one thousand people willing to fight, and that entire group descended like an avalanche on the smaller troops of enemy soldiers fighting with the Vanguard Legion's and Barnaby's Brewers' dependents.

That conflict was short lived. Their enemies had only left enough troops to rein in the masses, as most of their remaining troops were busy fighting the remaining Knallzog soldiers, whose dogged defense still stymied their advance.

Of the Legion's people, only around a hundred joined their group. Too many of their people - many children included - were either injured or lay dead on the ground, something that the few legionnaires who joined seemed intent on avenging.

The Brewers were better off, the two hundred and fifty people still able and willing to fight all joined the group. That company's policy which made every camp follower they took with them join their weapons practice at least twice a week paid dividends, as all their camp followers were quite capable of defending themselves.

Altogether, there were roughly fifteen hundred people gathered under Elfriede's lead. She led them from the front, as they charged the enemies while they were still engaged with the dwarves.

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That pincer attack broke the back of the enemy formation, with the surviving dwarven troops acting as the anvil to their hammer. By the time the dust settled, maybe two thousand of their enemies escaped from the fort, out of the ten thousand or more that first attacked.

The rest lay dead or dying on the ground, and the inhabitants of the fort - soldier and mercenary both - quickly got to work and dragged the corpses away. The bodies were dumped outside the fort unceremoniously, but only after they had been stripped of everything of value.

As dependents of mercenaries, Elfriede's people were very used to roaming the aftermath of a battle, to strip corpses out of everything of value. Their contracts included generous salvage rights, and they were very determined to make the best of it.

A few lucky corpses got to keep their tunic - usually too damaged - and their pants - usually soiled - on, while others were stripped down to their underwear. Some unlucky people who had the bad luck to die cleanly ended up as naked corpses on the pile.

Meanwhile, Elfriede, along with representatives from the Legion's and the Brewers' people, sat across from Graf Angus Harscape, the overall commander of the expedition, in his underground office dug underneath the warehouse. A very old half-elven matron fussed over her wounds, as she worked nature affinity magic to accelerate their healing while she talked to the Graf.

"We owe your people a debt," said the old dwarf formally, as he gave a short bow to her and the other representatives. "I know situations like this aren't covered by the contracts we sign, but please consider this as a sign of gratitude."

"Your people have full right to all salvage from this battle," said the Graf firmly, to a sharp intake of breath from the other two representatives. Full salvage was very rarely offered to mercenaries, even in the most generous contracts. "Should you find what you receive to be in excess, we might be interested in purchasing some, at a reasonable price."

"We thank you for your generosity, your grace," intoned Elfriede as she returned a bow along with the other two representatives. The other two left to inform their people of the news, while she stayed behind.

The old matron left moments later, leaving her alone with the Graf, after she had carefully fashioned a sling to support Elfriede's left arm. The wounds she took early in the fight had worsened afterwards, and made it hard for her to use the arm properly.

"Once again, thanks, Friede. I owe you one," said the Graf, now with a far less formal tone. The old dwarf and the captain of the Free Lances - her husband's adoptive aunt - had gone back a long way and were old friends. "I swear your whole family is making this into a habit. I owed Ingrid way too often when we were young as well..."

"So what do we do now?" she asked back, formality thrown the wayside. When they were in private, the dwarven noble always treated her and Reinhardt like family.

"Four of my detachments sent missives back three days ago. They ran into ambushes, but succeeded in repelling it. They reported being harassed by repeated guerilla attacks as they were making their way back," answered the old dwarf with a frown. "The Brewers also reported the same. They had re-merged their three companies following the ambush and were on their way back last I heard. Of the rest… we have yet to receive news. I'm sorry."

"So in the end, all we can do is wait and believe in them out there, huh?"

"I'm afraid that is the case, yes."

Elfriede gave an exasperated sigh at the answer, before she remembered something. "Oh right. We caught one of their leaders early in the fight. Kept her alive in case you want to see if you can make the snatch moan for you."

"Oh? That's good news. I will pay the bounty as per contract for her," said the old dwarf with a pleasantly surprised expression. "Any other request?"

"When you're done with the bitch? I want her back. Cunt fucking kicked my daughter. I'm not letting her die easily. Not on my fucking watch!"

"Consider it a done deal."

******************************

When the Graf's men went to the secondary barracks used by the dependents of the Free Lances for their lodging in order to fetch the prisoner, they were greeted with wails of extreme pain just as they opened the door, and the smell of roasted pork.

Both dwarves paled when they found the source of both screams and scent. Elfriede was humming a cheerful tune while she pressed a red-hot metal spatula against the stump of a woman missing most of her arms and legs.

"Just cauterizing the wounds so the bitch doesn't croak," she had said.