> ‘Ah,’ Ron Niveld thought, sitting on the large flat stone covered in greenery, listening to the sounds of the river. ‘It’s a good spot this. Always has been.’ He placed his old bag down and searched for his pipe initially, the sounds of the birds chirping and the smells of the forest pleasant to both nose and ear. He gave up his search when he found his apple.
>
> ‘Marie would have loved that’, he thought stretching his tired legs and started cleaning it. ‘Munching a good fruit and singing with ‘em birds.’ He’d made the trip after a couple of years, as he didn’t want to leave their small house at first. A stupid idea really, but he’d hoped she’ll come back. Well she didn’t. No one did.
>
> The dead’s journeys have no returns.
>
> Ron sighed and wiped his wrinkled eyes not much in the mood for that apple now. He looked about him with a grimace and realized the birds had stopped. The forest silent and the river the only sound he could hear, until a horse neighed.
>
> Ron got up and eyed the armoured man getting out of the foliage atop his horse, another horse without a rider following right behind him. The third rider a younger man with slanted eyes and long hair caught at the nape.
>
> Good animals, strong, with long manes and expressive eyes.
>
> The men on the other hand appeared dangerous.
>
> “The hunting paths are further up ahead milords,” Ron said treading carefully. Unless he was lost, the men didn’t belong in this part of the forest, so near Boar’s Mountain. For they weren’t hunters for sure.
>
> “People assumed,” the leading man said in cultured common, his white beard long, skin dark and full of scars. Some from weather, most from war. “Old Niveld went up the hunting paths again.”
>
> “Yeah? Which people?” Ron asked and eyed the man’s heavy mail shirt.
>
> “Downstream at Hunter’s Cot,” the man replied. “I’m Sir Jan Reuten, a knight of Tyeus. I’m looking for old Ron Niveld to fulfil a quest.”
>
> “You found him,” Ron said with a grimace. “I want no trouble Sir Knight.”
>
> Sir Jan nodded, his great helm resting on the side of his saddle between the bags. A black helm this, bird shaped at the visor. There was a fine longsword there and a heavy lance that had seen action. The knight turned back and pulled the horse following him forward. A younger stallion, all black and shiny from hoof to his great snout.
>
> “This here horse is for you,” Sir Jan told him and dropped the reins on the ground. Ron bit his lower lip nervously not sure what to make of this. “And a promise.”
>
> “What promise?” Ron asked and stooped to pick the reins of the horse up. The stallion snorted when he touched his head lightly, but didn’t balk away.
>
> “It’s for your son. The opportunity to study under a Knight and earn his ring.”
>
> “My son is a hunter,” Ron retorted a little brusquely. “Married with kids. He’s too old for that, but I… thank you Sir Knight,” he added quickly.
>
> Sir Jan stood back on the saddle with a smile. “Any boys?”
>
> “One,” Ron replied eyeing him.
>
> “How old?” The knight asked him.
>
> “Who is the promise from?” Ron countered.
>
> “The Queen,” Sir Jan replied.
>
> “I know no Queens,” Ron argued nervously although he did. “Never left my forest.”
>
> Sir Jan nodded. “Your son did,” he told him and Ron recoiled, his words hitting him hard. “He fought alongside the Raven on Eplas.”
>
> Ah, he thought and stared at the horse’s innocent eyes. Damn ye.
>
> “Take your time,” Sir Jan told him and pointed at his place by the river. “I’ll wait over there, it’s a beautiful spot this. Come along Solt, never miss the chance to rest your mind, chance given. Usually opportunity eludes us.”
-
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Sir Gust De Weer,
Raven of Dawn
A most unfortunate event
Part III
-One problem at a time-
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Battle of Shifton’s Camp
Early night
“PUSH THE WAGON!” A man yelled, the rattling of arrows falling all around them seemingly endless and the fire crackling on the east side of the road spreading to a second building. Its light illuminating a large portion of the south approach to the village despite the black smoke and the darkness.
Gust glanced at the soldier looking like a porcupine taking another step, before collapsing on his face and grunted. He got up and sprinted towards the second wagon they were using to block the road, his boots digging the soft dry ground.
Mael cursed behind his back, having found cover in the alley they were keeping the horses, seeing him crossing the street. Gust changed direction a couple of times to fool those aiming at him, but in reality he was moving like a sluggish heavy boulder, ideal for target practice. So he slapped his helm shut, just as at least five arrows found him, all but one breaking on his dented plate, the last finding the loose joint on his left shoulder and stopping there.
He pulled it out and tossed it away. The steel tip hadn’t penetrated, but was darkened with something foul and oily, he noticed. Gust cursed, almost lost his footing and then threw his bulk on the heavy wagon. The wheels creaked and moved forward as he started heaving with both arms and his shoulder, the veins swelling on his neck, the hard plate collar straggling him. Arrows whistled over his head, stuck on the laden wagon, or the ground. So many one didn’t have the need for a blasted quiver to fight the rest of the night.
“EEEYAH!” He growled ineligibly and felt the thud as the front blocked the opening, before dropping on his knees sweating profusely from every pore of his body.
Gust opened his visor and puffed out with his back on the wagon, face illuminated by the burning buildings a good twenty meters away to his right. The arrows had stopped falling, he noticed.
Either the Cofols had run out, or…
“Are they coming?” He asked a scowling Sir Bolte that was glowering at him standing at the exit of the alley.
“They have to milord,” Mael replied austerely. “Are ye going to join us soon?”
“Nah,” Gust said and used the knuckle of his gauntlet to touch the cut on his brow that had opened up again. “That was a shitty stitch job Mael,” he griped.
“The remedy assumed yer lordship would stand still. Yelling, running and pushing laden wagons about in the field is usually frowned upon sire an’ downright absurd a practice for the injured,” the knight retorted, eyes on the shadowy Cofols riding about beyond the edge of the village. They had tried twice to get their wagons back, but they weren’t willing to arm-wrestle with the cavalry trapped inside the village, so they retreated each time. Setting the houses on fire was an idea they also had abandoned. Probably someone figured out that supplies and wagons burn as easy as a house, Gust thought and stood up grinding his teeth, his back hurting him.
“Darn arrows are poisoned Mael!” He growled grimacing and the knight signaled the men-at-arms covering the other side of the road, a couple of meters from the flames, to get ready for company.
“I’m aware milord,” Mael responded with a jeer. “It’s manure the most of it, but a couple of wounded had gotten their blood poisoned.”
“You could have bloody told me that!”
“Nigh impossible when yer lordship is galloping ahead of the rest,” Mael admonished him. “And I didn’t want ye to get all round up about it.”
“Argh!” Gust roared his fury spilling out, just as a Cofol started lugging at the wagon from the other side to get it unstuck, his approach unseen. He stooped under it, his helm banging on the bottom when he crawled forward, extended his arm searching and found a foot wearing a soft leather boot. Gust pulled at it hard, the man hitting the ground with his back and a short yelp, afore getting sucked under the wagon the yelp turning into a terrified shriek.
Gust shoved his heavy gauntlet, now closed into a fist, in his mouth to silence him, getting most of his teeth out of the way and heard a second Cofol jumping down behind him, more moving about hidden behind the wagons.
Three pairs of feet.
Then four more.
Ten.
Ah, ye sneaky cunts, Gust thought channeling his father and rose up from under the wagon, his steel mace in hand. A towering armoured figure blocking their retreat.
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The Cofol mercenary turned his head seeing his friend spiraling out of control before lunging into the burning collapsed building and got the steel flange protruding from the mace’s head right between the eyes. His shocked face distorted and the cranium split right in the middle, the subsequent burst sending his conned helm to fly away still covering part of his pulverized brains.
He went down and Gust stepped over him, grabbed the next one from the shoulder and turned him around. He swung with the gore covered mace, but he caught a mercenary standing next to his opponent at the back of the head right at the nape. A clank and the man went down, but his head deflected Gust’s mace, the arc wider and he hit the man in front of him with the shaft.
The Cofol’s helm took the brunt of it bending inwards and the man’s left eye turned bloodshot and bulged out. He stumbled on his feet, but another mercenary turned around, saw Gust swinging his mace and tried to cut him across the chest. Gust parried it aside with the mace stopping mid-move, but got a return slash that bounced off of his shoulder plate, the blade clanking on his helm as it retreated.
“Darrgg!” The Cofol screamed half-panicked half-delirious seeing Gust faltering, his ears ringing and rushed him.
A horrible decision given the trapped Cofol had the chance to climb the wagons and escape. The fact that Gust was reeling and his left side was open to an attack completely irrelevant, as the famed knight’s left punch could kill a man, or a small boar dead was the saying.
And it did.
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Gust dropped his ruined gauntlet down and grabbing his dangling ring finger, jaw clenched manically pulled at it hard straightening the broken bone.
“Uh, ahm,” Klaas mumbled incoherently looking between the dead Cofol and the knight’s bloated flesh in utter shock.
“Snap out of it Klaas! Here, bandage it tight with the pinky,” Gust grunted through his teeth and gave him his left arm. “Where in Tyeus spear is Sir Jan?” He barked at a soldier clearing the gore from his blade. The street was littered with dead bodies, not all of them whole.
“Trying to break through to the bridge or else, per yer exact orders milord,” the man replied expressionlessly.
Ah.
He’d completely forgotten about that.
Gust turned and looked for Sir Mael. He found him observing the Cofols regrouping, the night helpful to the Crows cause as it made the Cofols reluctant to waste arrows with their supplies in Gust’s hands.
“You think they are running out?” He rustled.
Of arrows was his meaning.
“I think they outnumber us heavily and the Baron isn’t moving,” Sir Mael replied crooking his mouth and looking older than yesterday. Gust felt tired as well, riding and fighting, then fighting some more in the dark instead of resting wasn’t helping for sure.
“Sir Jan has orders to notify De Moss that we need help,” he rustled and made to wipe the blood trickling down his face, but realized Klaas was still working on bandaging his hand.
“Almost done milord,” his squire apologized.
“The Fort is blocking the approach to the bridge,” Mael countered. “Infantry won’t make it over in time under that shelling.”
“They could if they move now,” Gust grunted. “And I didn’t ask for infantry.”
> With Sir Gust cut off inside Shifton’s Camp, the Prince cordoned the small village using his fast moving riders and then sent another group to hold the bridge so he could retrieve the rest of his cavalry still keeping the Baron busy on the other side of the river.
>
> The Cofols started trickling through over the stone bridge with the first dark, but Sir Jan Reuter circled back from the village leading the heavy cavalry and scattered the mounted archers blocking the bridge again. He immediately found himself caught between two forces in the open and got severe casualties both in men and animals. The mercenaries fired volley after volley on the exposed heavier cavalry, but armour and the dark lowered the damage inflicted and Sir Jan managed to survive the night. This was the second time in the campaign the stubborn knight from Colle had been given a borderline suicidal mission and managed to escape death.
>
> Prince Radin found himself in a dilemma. He knew there was the potential for a prestigious win against the trapped Sir Gust the next day, but he was running low on valuable ammunition (there was fodder aplenty for the animals near the river and at pre-made stockpiles on the road towards Tyeusfort) and he didn’t want to risk a major battle at Tirifort as he had spent the previous months reinforcing Tyeusfort.
>
> Prince Radin wanted the Issirs to waste time, fighting him again and again, whilst dragged away from their base. With his brother entering Rida, he hoped to receive reinforcements soon. If Prince Atpa moved towards Devil’s Cove down the Merchant Path then this would have turned out to be Sadofort all over again. Hoping aside losing a single fort didn’t matter in his strategy, as long as he stood in control of the only road and the logical approaches to Eikenport and Merhant’s Triage. Eventually attrition would win the battle for him.
>
> Baron Van Durren lost the morning trying to get his scattered forces in order again, but suffered attrition from repeated attacks from the mounted archers, who dared his knights to charge at them. At noon Captain Gel De Moss who found himself in command of Scaldingport forces on the east front prepared for an assault towards the walls again, when word reached him that Sir Gust had been cut off beyond the river. The legend is a giant raven informed the Crows about what had happened, the whole tale difficult to believe, but surprisingly enduring in the years that followed.
>
> He thought about sending the rest of his Men-at-arms to retake the bridge, as by that time they’ve figured out the fort was very lightly defended, but the young Baron upon being informed of the Captain’s decision turned livid, as that would leave the fort to concentrate their machines on his men. Lord Robert fuming sent Sir Lowel Koel, youngest son of the Baron of Tigerfall Castle Leonard Koel and his second in command, to the Crows camp to take over. De Moss refused to surrender command ‘to a mere Baron’s lackey’ and the two men came to blows until calmer heads prevailed.
>
> Later that afternoon with Tirifort still standing and still shelling the paralyzed attackers, though the volume of fire had lessened with each passing hour, Lord Robert managed at last to get the First Foot going again and prepared for an assault on the west walls of the narrow oblong-shaped fort, when a swollen-faced Sir Koel returned to inform him that Sir Gust had been missing for hours from the field along with the bulk of Scaldingport’s cavalry, but was presumed still alive. Worried the Baron stopped the assault, turned down Sir Koel’s demand to have Captain De Moss executed and rode himself to the Crows camp to get a better understanding of the situation.
>
> With the night coming fast, it was initially proposed to regroup and attempt only a rescue attempt across the river, but Robert who had grown impatient after getting hunted down for months from the Cofols turned the idea down and opted for something else in its place. A night assault on the Fort from both camps and sending Sir Gust the units he’d requested with a small escort, amongst them the Baron’s close friend Sir Jaap Vegenuur of Badum.
>
> This time a bandaged Captain De Moss agreed, adding for the record that had the delay cost the missing Sir Gust’s his life, then everyone involved should expect to face the Old Crow’s wrath upon their return.
>
> Given Lord Ruud’s well-known low tolerance for fools, the knights present took his warning to heart.
-
Battle of Shifton’s Camp
Early morning, second day
CAW
The wayward wild crow sang.
The horse jumped over the slain soldier, the man twirling on his feet and spreading his entrails all over the dirt road. Gust raised his shield and caught a bolt, the steel tip breaking through just over his forearm and stopping on the chestplate. He was pushed back on shaky feet and the Cataphract stopped his warhorse and calmly reloaded his crossbow looking at him behind his silver mask.
Gust found his footing and dropped his shield stepping aside to stop a Cofol running towards a distracted Klaas. The longsword hissed traveling low and chopped the man’s right leg below the knee clean off. The mercenary cried out in pain, but kept on for a couple of more meters using the stub, the severed artery spraying blood down, until Klaas pierced him with a spear through his open mouth stopping him for good.
“Get back!” Gust barked to his squire and rushed the Cataphract that had turned his crossbow on the young man. The Cofol saw him rushing the horse and kicked his legs sending it to charge Gust, firing on the move. Gust flinched, the bolt missing his chest, not because the charging rider was a bad shot, but because a flail had smacked his right side ruining his aim.
The young Issir warrior that had tossed it got hit on the ribs and went down.
The Cataphract’s horse neighed, huge eyes under the Chamfron all black, seeing Gust sidestepping and hefting his sword with both hands putting everything he had in the swing. The blade cut through chainmail, hide, flesh and bone, almost taking the animal’s head off afore breaking. Gust cursed jumping away from the crashing down butchered horse, covered in fresh gore and the Cofol plummeted to the ground awkwardly, before stopping on a collapsed blackened wall with a crashing thud.
He’d managed to turn into an unrecognizable pile of wrapped metal and crushed flesh during his brief trip.
“Kill the horses!” Mael roared fighting ten meters away, the street riddled with fresh corpses, the older ones already bloating and smelling something fierce. Gust spat down, plenty of blood mixed in with the spit, kicked the broken Cataphract’s body over and then stooped to grab his saber. He glanced at the pale faced squire holding the spear and grunted, his throat hurting.
“Grab his blade,” he rustled. “Stay behind me.”
“They are pulling away milord,” Klaas informed him rummaging through the dead soldier’s things.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Gust grimaced and stared at the Cofols pulling out of the village again and then at the sky slowly lighting up. The color red and sinister.
Lots of red about, he thought. Other colors too, I suppose, if yer into these kind of things.
Gust hadn’t an artistic bone in his body, but he could tell where a scrap was heading to.
“They’ll be back,” he told him and walked towards the rest of their group. The knight paused to kick an injured Cofol repeatedly in the face, until he stopped moaning.
“Did ye get it out of your system?” Sir Mael asked him, whilst examining the bleeding cut on his right forearm, the vambrace ruined there.
“I’m pretty pissed still,” Gust admitted. “You better clean that.”
“No need,” Sir Mael replied. “It was a saber.”
Yeah, Gust nodded and removed his dented helm. Thank Luthos.
Those that had gotten arrow wounds had turned feverish overnight.
Another day here will kill us all, or their blasted poison will, Gust thought, half in the mind to get everyone able on a horse and make a break for the bridge after setting the supplies on fire. But he couldn’t just leave so many behind and deep down didn’t want to retreat, or run. Giving in to the Prince wasn’t an option, nor having him get his supplies back.
The biggest reason being that Gust wasn’t a coward.
So he decided to stay put and fight it out.
If Tyeus gave him a hand here, it was for this last part probably, as the war god favored courage over strategy.
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An hour later Gust had rushed towards the north approach to the village, most of its houses broken into by now, the few civilians cowering where they could. A brief count gave him a very low number of defenders manning the hastily constructed barrier. Made out of doors, windows and piles of mudbricks, Gust could clear it with a good horse given enough speed. He’d probably clear it with a middling horse, but the horse wouldn’t make it, he thought and stared at a young wounded Issir warrior resting on his shield. The pale-green eyes returned his stare politely.
He was the one from before, Gust realized.
“Milord,” the clad in old but well maintained chainmail soldier said. “They’re fixing to come at us again.”
“I ain’t letting a Cofol break through,” Gust grunted with a grimace. “What’s your name soldier?”
“Gert Niveld sire,” Gert replied with a tired smile. “Out of Hunter’s Cot.”
“I had a man named Niveld as guide there. I was hunting near Boarhorn River,” Gust muttered reminiscing.
“Me father’s a scout,” Gert said. “And a hunter; got a younger brother learning the trade from him. I wanted to learn fighting wit horse and blade, so I left ‘em. But he’s a good hunter aye.”
“Led me right into a mountain boar’s lair big as a bull, almost lost a leg,” Gust grunted. The hand of a Princess as well.
“As I said milord,” Gert deadpanned bravely. “A darn good hunter.”
Haha, yeah that’s right.
Gust liked men that stood their ground to lords and fools.
He eyed him and cracked a wolfish smile. “Is that yer armour Gert?”
“Ayup. Had a horse as well but it got wounded and I lost it milord. But I can fight on foot just as well.”
Good man.
Gust smacked his lips and turned to stare at the Mounted Archers gathering for another pass. “I owe you a horse mister Niveld,” he told him and reached for his shield, a part of the bolt still stuck on it. “Help us survive this and I’ll throw a knighthood in the bargain. That's a promise.”
“Haha!” Gert guffawed, his young face lighting up. “A knight of Hunter’s Cot milord?”
Gust nodded and hefted the saber in his right hand. “No lofty name or famed place, will make a better warrior mister Niveld. Herein is where yer measure is taken, amidst the blasted steel blades, the rushing mounts and the cold dead.”
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The Cataphract jumped his horse over the barricade, long lance skewering a soldier through shield and plate. He let it drop, more horses jumping over on his right and left, spears and blades pushing the defenders back.
This line is thin as a whore’s night tunic.
Gust rushed forward, saw a Cofol hitting a man-at-arms busy fighting someone else on the head and shoulders, the saber finding helm and armour the first couple of times afore, coming up bloody and slashed at him. He missed for the most part, an arrow breaking on his visor snapping his head back, but caught the Cofol right at the boot resting at the stirrups.
The saber cutting through to the bone.
He cursed, found the Cofol that was standing back and casually firing arrows from a safe distance and run towards him. Gust reached the barricade and swung a leg over it, or that was his plan, but he had no lift, so he banged his knee hard and went over it with a tumble. He got up cursing, a fresh coat of dirt over his blooded armour, made to rush the Cofol, but spotted a second row of them moving to engage and grunted.
The Mounted Archer clicked his tongue and his swift horse turned around. He dashed ten meters away and nearer to his approaching friends. Gust counted about forty coming towards them from the direction of the bridge, visible now that the sun was up, less than a kilometer away.
The archer smirked annoyingly, aimed with his bow again and fired.
Gust deflected it with his shield and the Cofol shrugged his shoulders and fired another. Gust took a step back the arrow whistling by his head. Then another. He had to get back behind the barricade. The archer started laughing and reached for another arrow. Behind him, beyond the approaching row of men and horses, more figures had appeared on the bridge marching fast.
“You are a stupid dog. Big muscle, small brains, small cock,” the Cofol yelled in broken Common. “I’ll take your armor and sell it. It’s too big for me,” he explained and fired another arrow that punched through a weakened point of his plate. “Hah,” the archer laughed. “Next one perhaps.”
The men coming from the bridge stopped, unloaded their haversacks and placed what looked like wooden bipods in front of them taking their blasted time.
Gust took another step back, raising his shield.
“Run stupid dog,” the archer taunted and Gust decided to oblige him. He run back towards the barricade and jumped over it just as the first volley of Struder’s heavy crossbowmen ripped through everything standing upright without cover and a few standing behind shields.
That first range finding shot is always a blasted killer, a crashing behind the short barrier Gust thought with a shiver. The lifeless glassy eyes of Gert Niveld staring at him seemed to agree.
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“Sir Gust,” Struder greeted him leading his slow-moving host. “I report the bridge is secure sire.”
“What about the Fort?” Gust asked hoarsely, the number of casualties they had suffered bothering him immensely.
“The First Foot was determined to climb the walls sire,” the Captain replied and blinked seeing the dead littering the street. “The Cofols are in the village?”
“Few made it in,” Gust replied and glanced at the corpse of Niveld for a last time with a deep frown. “None came out.”
Accursed sneaky bastards.
“What were they looking for milord?”
“Their wagons,” Gust said and sighed feeling worn out. “But we refused to oblige them.”
“I’ll set up the men on the south approach to expect their next assault sire,” Struder offered with a smart salute. Gust nodded and hobbled towards his squire. Klaas was holding a flask of water and Gust washed his mouth first, cleaned his face and cut, afore drinking the rest of it.
“See the men have water lad,” he told him and walked with difficulty after the marching troops from Castalor. The studded leather armour they had on came with a harness attached on it so they could carry the considerable load of the heavy crossbow. While cumbersome to set up, it wasn’t that much slower in rate than the smaller variant and packed immense power. A weapon to stop anything, if you knew where they were going to appear. The next size was the Legio’s Scorpio. But that needed at least two men to work the level for the torsion springs.
Gust found Sir Mael standing behind the destroyed wagons they had brought into the street to block it during the night assault. Some of the men were pillaging the contents, mostly foodstuff, grain, dates and fodder, but for one that had sacks with arrowheads and ready-made shafts.
“We need someone in charge of the wagons,” Mael commented eyeing the plunder.
“Not for these,” Gust replied and touched the swollen cut over his eye. “What are they doing?” He asked seeing the dust from the riders occupying the road.
“Thinking about it, I reckon.”
“Will they go for the bridge again?” Gust asked.
“I don’t know,” Mael replied earnestly.
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The Cofols retreated later that afternoon. It was disappointing as Gust had spent the time setting up stronger defenses and choke points. His disappointment turned to anger and even the news that the Baron had managed to breach the Fort’s walls weren’t enough to placate him.
Gust felt cheated and looking at the casualties he’d suffered didn’t help him at all.
An hour before sunset a rider informed him the fort was theirs, but the First Foot had killed every single one of the Cofols that had found inside. The sex and age of the victims left vague.
“Our boys probably had a hand in it,” Mael told him inside the half destroyed cabin they had set up his headquarters. “Not pleasant getting stoned for days.”
“That’s on the Baron,” Gust grunted. “And De Moss. He better have an excuse for it.”
“It’s a win Gust,” Mael noted.
“No it’s not,” he rustled. “He’s going to wait for us down the road. Then we have to do all this all over again at Tyeusfort. Damnit he knows exactly where we are going!” He traced the road on the crude map and heard commotion outside.
“Everyone has to stick on the road and avoid the desert,” Mael said looking at the map. “Theoretically we could cut through the peninsula and reach Eikenport from the north.”
“What about water? This seems like a big detour,” Gust grunted and went to the broken door to see what was going on.
“The locals would know,” Mael replied. “It’s camel land.”
Gust snorted and walked out. He paused, his eyes on the group of soldiers wrestling about, one of them kicking a young boy on the head and sending it sprawling down.
“What’s this?” Gust barked and hobbled near them, his left knee swollen.
“Milord,” an Issir soldier said. “That piece of shite knifed Arnout in the kidneys,” he pointed at a pale faced, slowly breathing man laid under a shade. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
Gust pressed his lips into a thin line and turned towards the slowly getting up native youth. The young Cofol wasn’t over fourteen at the most.
“What was the dispute?” He asked, every word hurting him. Gust needed a rest and a day’s sleep, but once he’d worked on solving a problem, another popped right up.
“The kid stole Arnout’s ration,” the first soldier replied. “He caught him and that slanted turd knifed him.”
“I haven’t eaten for days!” The boy yelled at them. “They’ve taken everything!”
“Cut his arm off,” Sir Mael suggested, the standard punishment for thievery in the Order.
“Fuck you black devil!” The boy cursed and Gust sighed.
“Cut both his arms off,” the soldier offered looking at his superiors.
“Just try it and I’ll show you!”
“Where’s the knife?” Gust asked tiredly. The soldier approached and gave him the bloody dagger. Gust flipped it in his hand and then tossed it to the boy.
“Pick it up,” Gust ordered.
“What if I do?” He asked him.
“Then ye’ll get to show me.”
“Milord that boy is a killer!” the soldier protested, just as the youth stooped and picked up his dagger.
“No, he’s not,” Gust replied, just as the youth rushed him, knife in hand. He’s just hungry. He stepped back just as the youth lunged at him and snatched his arm at the wrist just as he attempted to pull it back and slash at him again.
“Uh,” the boy gasped, looking into Gust’s face.
“You can give up,” Gust told him. “Or you can try again, but it will cost you.”
The youth narrowed his eyes, his small wrist in Gust’s much larger hand and then tried to cut him with the dagger again angling it sneakily upwards. The blade lodged on the bindings of his vambrace with a clack, but it was the sound of bones breaking that was heard the most, just before the boy started screaming.
Aye stubborn all right, he thought and stooped to pick up the dagger.
And stupidly brave.
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“Set the bones, bandage his hand,” Gust ordered entering his headquarters, the young kid sniffling in a corner holding his broken and dangling wrist. Klaas puffed his cheeks out unsure where to start. “Use the dagger,” Gust suggested. “What’s your name?” He asked the boy to distract him. The fact he hadn’t lost consciousness impressive.
“Solt,” he sniffled, shivering all over.
“Are ye a local?”
“The Prince took the locals. I hid. Those too young to fight work the beds.”
Damnation.
“Where did he take them?”
“Triage?”
“Where’s that?”
“Near the mountains,” Solt replied with a grimace of pain. “Where are you from?”
“Scaldingport.”
“Where’s that?”
“Near the sea,” Gust replied.
“This might hurt,” Klaas warned and placed a crude brace under his hand.
“More?”
“Yes,” Klaas replied. “But not too much.”
Solt nodded and then abruptly fainted when his squire moved his wrist into position.
----------------------------------------
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Gust slept like the dead for eight hours and early the next morning he rode to Tirifort, where the Baron had set up his headquarters, his colors flying above the towers. He walked with a slight limp not because his leg was better, but out of sheer will. Gust had no time to rest the knee, or hobbling about like a fool pretending he was injured.
The Baron was at breakfast, the men around them still picking up the slain and moving them to the big funeral pyres.
“Gust,” Robert greeted him with a grin, looking tired but in good spirits. “That’s a big win friend. Costly, but by gods they paid dearly right?”
Gust pulled a chair out glancing at the interior of the well maintained fort and then collapsed on it, the creaking alarming for a moment.
“Rob we haven’t really done anything,” Gust started and some of the knights stared at him confused. “The Prince escaped with most of his force intact.”
“That’s plenty of his force about to get turned to ashes friend,” Robert countered and showed him the big piles of the slain in the yard.
That’s the fodder. The blasted cheese in the mousetrap.
Radin doesn’t give a damn about these people.
“We could have used some information,” Gust argued. “I see at least a couple of women in there, Rob.”
“Are you even aware of how many women the Khan ruined in Rida?” Robert asked him tasting his wine.
Gust made to speak, but the Baron stopped him with a tired gesture.
“Children, men,” Robert continued. “Those not killed, were enslaved and sent back beyond the Steppe. Thousands they say.”
“Rob I get it, but if we make enemies of everyone, then we’ll fight them all in the end.”
“The Khan offers surrender, but that means your life is forfeited,” the Baron continued. “My father refused to surrender and I didn’t twice in Queen’s Oasis. This enemy dear Gust, is evil.”
“Evil has no race, or country Rob,” Gust admonished him. “Evil are not the men dying in the field but there’s plenty in greed and politics. What you said is a politician’s pretext. Which is what we are doing here. What are we fighting for if we lay waste to everyone?”
“Ah, you wish to negotiate with the Prince?” Robert asked him with a smile. “Usually you are not the talkative kind.”
“You know he’ll wait us down the road. This is his plan. Damnit man can’t you see we have no support? Where’s the god darn Council?”
“And we’ll smash him again,” Robert replied, dismissing his arguments. It was as if his friend didn’t want to listen. Or couldn’t. This isn’t like Rob at all, Gust thought, wondering what was going on. “Let me worry about plans Gust. We have our orders,” Robert added with a frown.
“How many men did you lose?” Gust asked him.
The Baron stared at his lieutenants. Sir Koel moved in his seat, face sporting blue and black welts and a black eye. “Less than two hundred men my Lord.”
Less than… Gust sighed and glared at the knight.
“These piles hold over three hundred easy,” Robert explained, as if you could measure the dead and find profit in it. “Then there are those you cut down in Shifton’s Camp right?”
“What about the men I lost?” Gust grunted and put his hands on the table. “A hundred and thirty two men-at-arms, thirty-six Old Spears, with more dying of blood poisoning even as we bloody speak!”
“Your usual heroics are risky in the field my friend,” Robert taunted with a grimace at his outburst.
My usual… ye piece of condescending shite!
“Gust, we need to discuss a plan with the Baron,” Sir Mael intervened sensing he was about to go through the table and smack some sense into the Baron’s head.
“What plan?” Robert asked staring at the seething Gust. The knight felt his brow leak anew and grinded his teeth, blood trickling down his temple. “The plan is set.”
“We go after Tyeusfort next,” Sir Vegenuur added.
A rider was heard arriving at the gates of the fort, the commotion distracting.
“Robert if we follow after him, we are going to have a repeat of this in Tyeusfort and it might not go as we want. It’s a bigger castle, there’s a city at the near and out of our reach.”
“Without taking the forts we don’t control the road Gust,” Robert replied with a thin smile, as if he was talking to a simpleton. “It’s a simple strategy. We need the road.”
Gust clenched his jaw so hard, he felt bones creaking on his face.
“Milord perhaps we can discuss it later?” Mael offered and behind him a sergeant approached followed by a well-dressed man of Lorian descent. He’d short-cut blond hair, wore an expensive ring armour, over hardened leather, with finely engraved round plates over it, steel vambraces and greaves and wore a bright white tunic underneath. A pair of comfortable boots protruding out of his long white cloak.
The Issir knights present shared glances with each other and Baron Van Durren stood back on his seat curious.
“My Lords,” the sergeant started after saluting. “We intercepted a group of travelers.”
“The road from Tyeusfort?” The Baron asked nigh surprised, given they were at the other side of the river.
“Devil’s Cove sire,” the sergeant corrected him reluctantly.
Gust felt an uneasy feeling creeping up on him and turned his torso, the chair complaining underneath him, to examine the newcomer.
“If I’m allowed to speak,” the man started sporting a heavy Lesia accent and Gust who had no dealings with Lesia anyway, disliked him instinctively not because of that, but because his kind of men were what his father called ‘big cunts’.
“Please do,” Robert urged him. “I’d have offered you quarters, but you’ve caught us in the middle of campaign mister…”
“That’ll be quite all right my Lord. The name is Captain Nathanyel Wyncall,” the cultured man replied with a toothy confident smile. “I serve with the ‘Three Hundred’ mercenary company, currently operating out of Eikenport.”
Uh?
Gust had narrowed his eyes so much, he could barely see him.
“Ahm,” the Baron murmured unsure. “We don’t have need for mercenaries at this point, but we could for sure use your input on the situation Captain Wyncall.”
“I’m afraid we’re permanently employed my Lord,” Wyncall replied readily. “But seeing our employer has open contracts with the throne of Kaltha, it was deemed prudent to help smooth out the current bumps on the road sort of speak hehe.”
“What bumps?” Gust grunted eyeing him full of distrust.
“Well, for starters,” Wyncall said raising his brows at the scowling Sir Gust. “The Princess is currently in Eikenport.”
“Is she now?” Robert murmured thoughtfully.
“Eikenport is far away,” Gust rustled not liking where this was going.
“I can assure you,” Wyncall replied with a smile that deserved to be bludgeoned out of existence, Gust thought. “She’ll stay put with your graces permission.”
> Prince Radin wisely retreated from Shifton’s Camp after attempting to finish off Sir Gust and traveled back thirty kilometers to wait for the Issirs to advance again. He sent birds to Tyeusfort informing the local commander about the fall of Tirifort and urged him to mention the detail to his report back to Rida and Prince Atpa, currently standing in for his brother that was campaigning near Altarin.
>
> Atpa’s version of events while official veer from here on from the Issir and Lorian sources and we will revisit them at a later time.
>
> Baron Robert Van Durren’s rejoice at his victory in Tirifort was soon to be lessened as the dispute boiling inside the Issir army became a full blown disagreement. The reasons behind it heavily disputed depending the source, but it is clear Sir Gust De Weer was unwilling to strike for Tyeusfort that fall. He proposed a daring lunge through the desert aimed for Eikenport, leaving enough of a force at Tirifort and its bridge to stop the Prince from retaking it. The Baron disagreed, but Sir Gust wouldn’t be persuaded and the Issir force was split down the middle.
>
> A compromise was agreed upon, with the Baron continuing towards Tyeusfort very cautiously, giving Sir Gust’s smaller and more mobile force the time to reach Eikenport via the ‘Camel Paths’ with the help of local guides. Sir Vegenuur was to accompany him with several knights to act as the Baron’s proxy, a clear indication of mistrust on the Baron’s part.
>
> In order to understand how these two men couldn’t agree on a strategy one must have more insight on what was happening in Kaltha at the time.
>
> The Baron himself asked for reinforcements from Devil’s Cove sending several messages to his family, but old Lord Van Durren and still the comatose King Antoon’s Shield, had his hands full with a ‘dispute’ in Badum and stalled for an answer, or was ordered not to reply.
>
> Anyway the dispute was rather important and it had been hidden from the young Baron initially. Thinking he’d perished in Rida the previous year, the local Council had voted for his much older cousin Janos Van Durren to assume the High Baronship of Badum with the agreement he’ll marry young Aafke Van Durren. The Duke of Riverdor and leader of the family had agreed. Robert’s younger sister had fled to Pascor seeking the protection of the Lakelords and Robert’s letter revealing he was still alive had turned a sensitive situation into a shitstorm of epic proportions.
>
> Some would claim it placed power firmly in Lord Anker’s hands.
>
> Three versions of this event exist today.
>
> Aafke’s, Lord Anker’s and Sir Gust’s.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter IX
>
> (Sir Gust De Weer, Raven of Dawn,
>
> -Crows in the Desert-
>
> Volume II
>
> -
>
> Sands of Cameltoe Peninsula,
>
> & the Queen’s Raven
>
> Fall-early winter of 190 NC)