Stormbolt neighed loudly, vapors shooting out of its nostrils and large snout bumping Lucius’ shoulder, as he kept leading him up the narrow path. They had left the cobblestone road and veered near the edge of the basin, basically following the lightly wooded ridge of the mountain range. The night was extremely cold and the chilly wind picked up at random intervals, making standing still even for a moment quite the ordeal. Wrapped in their winters coats, or heavy hooded capes, and with woolen cloths covering faces, or anything exposed, they did the best they could to get some distance between them and the town, traveling all night essentially.
An hour before sunrise, Post Antinor informed Lucius that the paths ahead of them weren’t suitable for the carriage and they had to return on the main road, if they wanted to continue using it. The road being more a euphemism, as it was now nothing more than a sloping muddy track, especially since they had already started going up the heights.
The terrain and nature changing all around them, much as they could see it.
“No one followed us that we saw,” Roderick said, lines around his eyes deep, alike canyons. “Might as well get back on it and on the saddle, make some distance until the Fork.”
The great mountain range split somewhere in the distance, a road inviting them northeast towards Sovya and the coast, cutting through the Howling Pass, the other leading straight north towards Gudgurth Fort.
“We don’t know, where those we tracked yesterday are though,” Lucius replied, rubbing the warm belly of Stormbolt, as much a comfort for him, as it was for the horse.
“I don’t see another way. Zofia might hop on a saddle,” Roderick said, distant wolf howl accompanying his words. “Canutia and the merchant can’t. We need the carriage.”
“Sergeant Veturius!” Lucius barked, too cold to argue the matter further.
“Aye, milord!”
“Give word, we’re turning for the road. Keep your eyes open,” Lucius ordered wanting to get everything moving without delay, make up the time moving fast up the paths and find a more favorable spot for a campsite. They would need one to survive the night. Every night, from here on out. Stormbolt neighed again, large head half-lost in white vapors, agreeing.
They found their first white slopes, just before reaching the Fork. The skies dark above them but quiet. The morning sun barely visible behind the black and blue clouds. The path they followed, showing some signs of people using it, tracks and animal droppings all around, but the boulders right and left empty and silent, but for the howl of distant predators.
“That’s a direwolf, I reckon,” Roderick explained, frost gathering on his beard, making him look almost ancient.
“Ayup, woods are full wit them,” Gallio agreed, having less lines on his unshaven face, not helping him look much younger.
Lucius turned on his saddle to watch the carriage pulled by a couple of horses, move slowly over the hard mud, the line of mules laden with their supplies following it. Better for it to be cold, than snowing, Lucius thought. For this path at least. Aye, a good thing, since it made it easier for the animals.
The veteran sergeant had paused with him, as they waited for the rest of the men and beasts to pass them by, but didn’t resume after them, when they did. He just stood on his horse, gloved hands crossed over the horn of his saddle; his head turned east, towards the thick pine trees hiding the narrow path cut through the mountains, leading towards the strong burg called Yepehir.
“Ye could listen to the wind howling through the rocks and trunks,” Gallio said, hearing him approach. “Somedays we couldn’t even discern, if it was a real one from a beast, or just the air playing tricks on us.”
“Was it about this time of year?” Lucius asked staring at the distant woods, plugging the chasm between the steep mountain sides.
Gallio grimaced, glancing about them.
“Second month of winter it was and we’re a couple of weeks from the first now. So close, but still quite the difference, milord,” The old legionnaire said, patting the mane of his horse to get it moving after their caravan. “A couple of lads died from cold, while standing in the shieldwall, swords stuck frozen in their hands.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Lucius offered, seeing the man hurting at the memory. “Brave men all. Patriots.”
“Aye, milord,” Gallio said. “It helps them, aye it does… to hear ye saying it.”
If the road leading up the mountains was poor, the one heading towards Gudgurh Fort through the mountain pass was terrible. Barely wide enough for the carriage and on uneven terrain, cut through rocks and woods, without much visibility and facing towards the elements. Mainly the northern frigid wind blasting on their faces non-stop, from the start of their second day on the mountain.
Lucius decided to look for a campsite as soon as possible, since despite their good effort in covering the distance and the time of year, the winter seemed to have come early.
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Assuming they have another season up here, he thought, watching the ex-legion guys building a fire, using a mix of their dry wood with branches picked from the surrounding area. Wet, it caused a very thick white smoke to rise and it was difficult to lit or provide enough warmth.
“Someone’s coming,” Tertius Cantilius said. He was one of the younger recruits Roderick had brought with them. Tertius had taken the first watch. Lucius glanced at the dark sky, guessed they had a couple of hours before sunset.
“Can you make them out?” Bryn Bowens, the Northman and Generidus bodyguard asked.
“Post is tracking them since the turn, up the path,” The man replied, blowing on his hands to warm them up.
“So they are coming from Gudgurh, ye reckon?” Roderick asked, approaching them.
“I don’t know, they may.”
“Right,” Lucius decided, checking on their two large fires, built in an opening between the trees, near the rough path. The carriage and their animals behind them in a semi-circle. “Everyone check around us for any surprises. Galio with your guys, keep the supplies secure and the lasses out of harm’s way.”
“Aye, milord.”
“I will check on them myself,” Lucius said and seeing Roderick’s frown, he added. “Get Faustus and Hostus ready. Young Tertius will watch my back.”
“I don’t think it’s prudent,” Roderick protested, but Lucius stopped him, raising a gloved hand.
“Have to keep them far from the fire and the carriage. Can’t have them spotting Zofia, or Canutia. Not before knowing their intentions,” He explained.
“So what if they do?”
“Do as I say. I will stand at the edge of the road, if they follow it. It’s far enough from the campsite,” He answered patiently. “They can see our numbers, but not much more.”
“You assume, they don’t know,” Roderick said, with a grimace.
Lucius kept his eyes on the rough path, deciding not to answer. A side bordered by rock, the other by the sparse tall pines.
The first man, long black hair sprouting under a conical helm, wild beard adorned with silver and gold beads and a heavy pelt thrown on his back, appeared fifteen minutes later. He was leading his horse by the reins, two men right behind him doing the same. A tall, lanky man, face painted white, but for around the mouth and eyes. Wearing fur and leather armour, twin axes on his back. The third, heavyset and as tall, carrying a greatsword, wore chainmail under a heavy fur coat that reached his knees.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Greetings,” Lucius said eyeing them approach slowly, not in any kind of hurry. The wind still blowing all around them, the cold biting.
“Greetings there stranger,” The first one replied, with a smile. White teeth flashing, amidst his beard. “We’ve seen the fire.”
“You’re welcome to approach,” Lucius replied, “We don’t have much to share, but warmth.”
“Tis enough, I reckon. Name is Oscar Numbers,” The man said, stopping a couple of meters from him. He glanced at their camp. “Quite a host, ye have. Are you merchants?”
“Name’s Sir Lucius. We were hoping to make a deal at Kas,” The young lord offered, his words close to the truth.
“A knight?” Oscar raised his thick brows. “Haven’t seen one, in a while,” He pointed back over his shoulder with a thumb. “Intent on followin’ the Screamin’ Road, I see. Why not headin’ for Yepehir, or Kadrek? Road’s much better there this time o’ year.”
“Better prices at Kas,” Lucius lied, eyeing the painted man.
“Hah. Might ye got it right there,” Oscar agreed, with a grimace. “That’s Eccentric Asmund, ye eyein’ and the small lad next to him, Clarence Toothless,” Clarence gave a grin, showing him why he got his moniker. “Good lads.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Lucius said, a little uneasy still, despite the relatively calm discussion. “You could warm yourselves in our fire.”
“That will be great,” Oscar replied, with a shake of his head. “But we have our own fire, up the mountain. There’s a cut in the rock, protects ye from the wind. Good spot for a campsite.”
“I see, good to know,” Lucius said, sensing Tertius move next to him. “What brought you down the path?” He asked, feeling his fingers numb, despite the warm gloves he wore.
“The smoke,” Oscar replied, much as Lucius expected him. “Curiosity.”
The latter word more ambiguous, than he would’ve preferred given the circumstances. Having the numbers though, eased him a bit, which was in hindsight a mistake.
You are talking for a while now, his mind warned him.
“What about?” Lucius asked, expecting another generic response.
“My brother heard talk, in a tavern,” The Northman started, voice hoarse, “An absurd story really, about an O’ Dargan travelin’ wit Lorians, this side of the mountain paths,” He made a gesture with his hand, as if dismissing the whole thing. “Then I came here to check on yer fire and met a Lorian knight in the bloomin’ flesh.”
Lucius took a step back, hand on his pommel. “I advise you, to walk back up the trail,” He warned them.
Oscar smacked his lips, eyes darting right and left into the gloomy surroundings.
“I hate to apprise ye Sir Knight,” The Northman said, a touch of sadness in his voice. “We ain’t followin’ yer counsel.”
Lucius fingers wrapped around the pommel of his longsword and made to pull it out, mouth open to warn his people. Oscar caught him with a shoulder, as he rushed the space between them, locking his arm and shoving him back, cutting his warning in half.
Lucius backhanded him hard, catching Oscar at the jaw breaking a tooth and got the man of off him. He made to get his sword out again, an axe whistling over his head barely missing, or so he thought, stopping him. Tertius groaned hit on the shoulder, the blade splitting his clavicle and throwing him down.
“TO ARMS!” Lucius roared, grabbing the bleeding young man by the arm, intent on pulling him away from danger, but got clipped himself below the shoulder blade by the greatsword’s tip and he had to let go. His backplate holding, but denting bad.
Dodging another attack from Oscar’s sword this time, Lucius found the space he needed, to get his own blade out. Behind him from the campsite, sound of heavy fighting reached his ears.
The big man waved his greatsword around in a wide arc attempting another swing, but Lucius blocked it with his own blade this time and sent it towards the onrushing Asmund, the painted man armed with his other axe. Asmund had to jump out of the way, blocking Oscar from flanking him, bastard-sword in hand.
Lucius sidestepped to dodge the returning greatsword, then moved forward and tested the big man’s armour against his blade. It bit deep in his right arm, the man’s hold on the greatsword lost and blood pouring out freely. Lucius raised his sword to cut him across the chest, but slipped on the mud and snow, botched the whole thing.
Stumbling away, he checked on the kneeling barely conscious Tertius, red painting his chainmail and cursed. Asmund came at him again, axe in a downward cut aiming for his leg. Lucius pulled it away, ground rough under his boots and flicked his sword catching the man at the mouth, above his jaw. The blade split his lips, broke his teeth and chopped a part of his nose off along with most of the soft bone there, maiming him something fierce.
Asmund staggered, a hand on his bloody face, more painting the snow under his feet and Lucius moved in, his blade coming down slantwise too fast for the injured man to dodge. The edge caught his hand, as he held it on his face and chopped it off clean, the cut piece flying away spraying a red mist over both of them. His scream dying, when Lucius kicked him hard in the chest and sent him sprawling down.
“Curse ye!” Oscar growled, seeing his men out of the fight and stooping vengefully opened Tertius’ neck with a dagger, the torrent of blood almost reaching Lucius feet, who watched the young man collapse, grinding his teeth.
“Now we’re even, Lorian,” The Northman said, evil smile on his face and a gap where his tooth was missing. His lips bloody.
Lucius walked towards him, eyes intense and his blood boiling. Oscar saw him charging and raised both his weapons, in a counter stance. One leg kept back a bit, torso turned and intent to block with his sword, then use the dagger to attack the knight, when the latter was committed.
But Lucius Alden, having picked up a real sword when he was six, unhorsed a man at ten, killed a mature blacktiger at fourteen and won a Royal Tournament, before his eighteenth named year, wasn’t easy to beat in a swordfight.
Some would say, he was perhaps the best with a sword in all the three kingdoms.
Perhaps an exaggeration.
Lucius flipped the sword in his hand, stopped expertly before the turn was completed and lunged from afar aiming for the Norhman’s head. Oscar moved forward to block, the attack coming from further away, than he expected and Lucius turned his sword inside the moment their blades touched, aiming for the coming dagger. The bigger blade pushed the smaller one down and rode its length moving forward with sparks flying, splitting the thin guard and severing Oscar’s thumb, before he’d time to pull his hand away. His thumb dangling by a strip of skin, bleeding copiously, the dagger dropped.
“Arggh!” The Northman groaned, trying to jump away and retaliate with his own sword. A wild furious slash across Lucius chest, never materialized. The heir of Regia continued completely focused, his moves a choreographed work of art, one attack following the other.
A half remise building on his last effort, cutting upwards in a semi-circle that caught the man under the left armpit with the tip of his blade, right where his mail left an opening. The potentially fatal deep wound followed -after taking a step back to block with his steel vambrace Oscar’s desperate slash- with a forceful downward cut of his own that opened the rings of Oscar’s mail and bit deep into his chest.
Always in rhythm, the whole sequence lasting less than five seconds.
Lucius stepped away from the collapsing brigand, breathing heavy. Asmund holding onto his maimed bleeding hand ran towards his horse, the big man following soon after. Moving fast the young knight hurried to the motionless Tertius to check on him, cursing when he saw the white of his eyes.
Grinding his teeth, heart heavy with worry and grief, Lucius walked towards their camp. The sounds of fighting fewer now than at the start.
Lucius feared the worst seeing the first corpse, near the first campfire.
A Northman. Thank Uher, the knight thought, when he kneeled and turned him around to check.
“They stopped,” Generidus said, coming out of the carriage his face pale. “Gods! You’re injured, Lord Alden.”
“Nay, it’s not mine,” Lucius replied, getting up. “Tertius is dead,” He said, the crease on his forehead deep.
“Savages,” The merchant commented.
“Where’s Zofia?” Lucius asked, but he heard men moving and turned, before the merchant had the time to answer him.
It was Roderick and Galio, leading the rest of his men. Lucius couldn’t see, if anyone was missing at first, but the redhead was walking amongst them, carrying what looked like a big battle-axe in her hand.
“Lass ran out of the carriage,” The loyal hand, explained. A bleeding cut above his right eyebrow, forcing him to pause to wipe it with a finger. “We went after her and fell on them before they had time to surprise us proper. They broke pretty fast.”
“How many?” Lucius asked, after he let a breath he had held leave his chest.
How many did we lose? Was his meaning.
“Faustus got another scar, no surprise there. Nothing else,” Roderick replied, examining his face. “But seeing ye, I guess the lad wasn’t so lucky.”
“Nay, we were not,” Lucius replied, mouth bitter. “They knew about her. Used birds more like.”
“I reckoned as much.”
“We shall burry Tertius proper and we move on, first thing,” Lucius said brusquely.
“I’ll take care of it,” Roderick said, with a nod. “You get your rest.”
“I’ll help. He died watching my back,” Lucius replied in a non-nonsense kind of way.
And that was that.