> As you come down the mountains,
>
> the Screaming Road reaches that narrow valley,
>
> where Kas was built back when Sovya was free
>
> to guard the entrance to the true North
>
> amidst the white-bark trees,
>
> and with its longhouses all behind sturdy walls.
>
> In this place where all northern roads lead,
>
> The Tiger’s myth was born.
>
> -
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter II
>
> (Lucius the third,
>
> Northern campaigns,
>
> Battle of Bloody Ridge,
>
> 2nd Month of Winter, 189 NC)
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Lucius
Bloody Ridge
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The sun was still hidden behind the dark violet clouds. It would come out from behind them once in a while, just enough to make the snow-covered terrain appear blinding white to their eyes and then disappear again, leaving everything in a dull shade of white-grey.
It was the wind though, icy and sharp as a knife that hurt them the most.
“They grabbed ‘em woods near the road and have a clear view up the slopes,” Their ranger Post Antinor reported, teeth rattling and exposed skin burned black from the cold. He’d most of his face wrapped in cloth fortunately. “They know we’re here. This here split in the mountains, is where the road leads and they know it.”
Lucius, now in his dark red Alden armour, heavy leather cape thrown over his shoulders, its rich fur frozen on his neck, nodded agreeing.
“We could try to outrun them,” Roderick said, seeing him pondering on it. “But we would have to leave the carriage and some animals behind.”
Not everyone could make it, was his meaning.
“They’ll see us, the moment we step over the ridge, milord,” Galio said, clad in his lamerall Legion armour, small steel plates worn out but serviceable. “Unless we wait for the night. I don’t counsel it. Not without makin’ camp. Weather up here, is worse than down there, milord.”
Lucius grunted in frustration. They had them trapped. Should we turn back? He wondered. How much time could he afford to lose, before returning the girl became irrelevant in the grand scheme of things?
“I can talk to them,” Zofia offered, clear voice surprising him. He turned and watched her approaching them with sure steps, her eyes greeting him in turn. “They will listen to me, probably.”
“What does this mean?” Roderick growled, everything about her, grating on his nerves.
“I’ve heard about the Benton Numbers Warband,” Zofia replied, tiny red spots on her pale cheeks more pronounced. “They don’t work for my father, but they won’t make an enemy of the O’ Dargans.”
“Bah, no. I can’t risk you,” Lucius said exasperated. It wasn’t his quest to just abandon her near the North. He had to get her back home safe, negotiate with her father after that. “They might lie outright. It is better, if I went to speak to them myself.”
“Out of the question!” Roderick snapped. “I will go, if it comes to that.”
“No one should go,” Dirk intervened, hoarse voice rattling like chains inside a dungeon. “If they know you killed Benton’s brother, they will be no talk, milord.”
“You are awfully sure they do,” Roderick said, voice full of suspicion. “How do ye know?”
“I don’t,” Dirk replied. “Can ya chance it? What if ye are wrong?”
Lucius glanced towards the ridge, then his eyes followed the rocks on both sides of the path, sparse trees here and there and the granite walls rising after that.
“You have any suggestions on what we should do, Mr. Curd?” He asked him. “We all heard, what we can’t.”
“Send a horse, a saddled one, down the path,” The Issir hybrid replied readily. “Towards their camp. Cut it first, so it bleeds. Maybe send a packed mule alongside it. Cut that as well.”
“Why on Uher’s arse, should we do that?” Roderick asked, glaring at him.
“He want us to set a trap,” Lucius replied, not very keen on the idea himself. “An ambush.” He added crooking his mouth.
“Call it a surprise, if ye like,” Dirk explained, with a smirk. “We do that, they sent a group to investigate, what happened to us.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Splitting them up is a sound idea, milord,” Sergeant Veturius said thoughtfully. “But I can’t see it helping us in the end.”
“Better to fight a smaller host, you’ve bloodied already, than a fresh one,” Dirk insisted casually, as if he didn’t care either way.
Lucius wasn’t convinced he was honest, but dismissed his fear. The Issir had saved his life, why betray them now?
Why the hells not?
“A surprise might work,” He decided, too cold to stand exposed for much longer. Or stand idle worrying about it. “Run me through the details, Mr. Curd,” He caught sight of Roderick glaring at him, but they had to act. Winter was upon them.
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An hour later Lucius stood watch as Galio and Dirk argued about which animal to maim and how. Nobody wanted to back down, despite both of them knowing, it didn’t matter much. Roderick was silent, left side of his mouth sucked in, where he missed that tooth. The wind blowing on their backs, right through hide and armour, reaching their bones.
They needed fire, or this night will be their last, Lucius thought, a grimace of pain on his bearded face.
“I’ve no other option,” He explained, although Roderick hadn’t ask him to do so. Lucius just felt, he had to. “Fighting is not what I want, old man.”
“I know,” Roderick replied, voice lost in the wind’s howling. “This is yer father’s doin’ and his fear that caused this.”
“How so?”
“He didn’t want ye in Regia,” Roderick continued. “Opted to send ye as far away as possible, everything to stop ye from avenging Ralph’s death. Everything to prevent ye from going to fight Cofols in Eplas and die there.”
Lucius snorted.
“We can beat the Cofols back, old hand.”
“Bah, Reinut didn’t even attempt it. Thought better to have them as allies, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re here in this accursed place.”
Lucius clenched his gloved hand into a fist and slowly opened it again, testing it.
“We can’t hold whatever’s left of them, even if the ambush is successful. They’re too many. The moment our shieldwall fails, we’re all dead,” He said, voice grave.
Roderick grunted, stared once more towards the near ridge and nodded.
“That we are, I reckon. I’ll get the shields out, just the same.”
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“The moment they show up,” Lucius yelled to be heard over the elements. “Post and those with a bow, will take out any archers. Target those with light armour next, or spears,” He paused, skin burning, and the cold cutting him right through. The men were gathered around him, faces grim and hurting, bodies stiff and half frozen, while still breathing. There was determination there and fear. Even pride, Lucius supposed. Galio the only one of them, with a smile on his face. If they died here, in the middle of nowhere; no bard will sing their praises, no one will know, if it was bravery that did them in, or cowardice. No one but them.
They would.
“When they fall, we might have a bit of time to catch our breath. It won’t be long, before the rest of them come at us. Nonus and Canutia will push the carriage further up the path, light a fire and give us a fallback point. We won’t though,” He stared in their eyes, voice hoarse from all the yelling. He wanted to say something more inspiring, but he couldn’t think of anything. “We won’t back down. We’ll break them, right here!”
“AYE!” Galio thundered, Mamercus and Caeso following him, booming voice scaring whatever beast ventured near them away, the others following, their cry reaching the dark heavens above. “FOR LUCIUS!”
No, Lucius thought, face tense and eyes smarting.
For Regia.
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The first Northman appeared at the ridge, an hour after the wounded animals went galloping down, maddened with fear and pain. A scout, he had his bow out, but didn’t have the chance to use it. Post nailed him in the chest, arrow going through hide and stopping at his heart. He fell from his saddle; the next one, this one on foot, opening his mouth to warn the others and dying before he could, blood pouring out his mouth; He got an arrow through his neck, and another stuck in his right leg.
Young Arrun, Faustus and Hostius rushed the other two, the third still breathing, turning tail and running back down the path. Kaeso went after him, long dagger in hand and Faustus using his spear killed the first and turned to help the others finish off his friend. The Northman fought bravely, despite being cornered, wielding axe almost cutting Arrun down, before Faustus got him with the spear through the knee and brought him down.
He stepped away for Arrun to finish him off.
Lucius run towards the ridge and arrived just as Kaeso appeared, coming back the other way, blood on his lamellar armour.
“He was a bleeder,” The ex-Legion man explained to a hard-breathing Lucius.
“Are there more?” Lucius asked.
“The camp is up in arms, milord,” Kaeso replied and that was that.
Soon, Lucius thought, a shiver down his spine.
“Leave them, rest yourselves! Everyone gets a spear but for the scouts and Zofia,” He didn’t want her involved at all, but he didn’t have the time to convince her. Locking her up was an option he considered, but had to disregard for diplomatic reasons.
“Where do you want the horses?” Roderick, who had followed him, asked.
“Keep them back, on the side,” Lucius replied.
“You should stay out of the line,” Roderick argued. “I’ll keep them near, just in case.”
Lucius turned to admonish him, but stopped himself. There was no time. Galio, shield in hand, was examining the terrain, a frown on his face.
“Where?” Lucius asked him, knowing what he was looking for.
“Ten meters after the ridge,” The former Legion sergeant decided. “Ten men can form there, block the path, if your lordship can hold our sides wit the Northman.”
“Do we have ten?”
“No milord, we have eight. Leaving Mr. Curd, yerself and lady Zofia out.”
“I can take two, keep them from flanking you,” Lucius said confidently.
“They might have another two at their back, or more, milord.”
Push right through you, was his meaning.
“I won’t let them past me, Galio,” Lucius insisted clenching his jaw, the insult hurting his pride, although that wasn’t the old sergeant’s intention.
The veteran nodded with his head, perhaps understanding him more. His eyes misty, old memories mixed in with new. Glories past and horrors all a blur.
“Then they won’t milord,” Head held high, cheek guard barely holding where he’d mend it. “Tis as simple as that.”
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Benton Numbers knew something was wrong the moment he saw the shieldwall barring his approach and the frozen bloody corpses of his scouting party. He could count the men opposing him in his fingers, which was a good thing. Still they looked professional the lot of them, men you don’t frequently see out here in the wilds, well armoured, their shields sturdy and held high. It was a problem this and an unwelcome surprise. But he could also see the red and the black tiger painted on them, the Regia colors and knew he’d found his man.
Light snow started falling from above, poured a fresh coat of white over the flinty and mud-covered ground. The strong wind stopped, the Gods holding their breath, giving them a rare moment of peace, just before the men roared wild, weapons raised high and shattered it.
The snow turned red.