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Sir Emerson Lennox
Mista Savar
‘Pale Jackal’
‘War Leader’
The Plains of Dor O’ Cofol
Part III
-Me lad, this was the easy part-
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Battle of Dor O’ Cofol Plains
Twenty meters beyond the Chiliad’s field fortifications
Three hundred meters from the ruined north side of the village of Palar
On the Coastal Road
Thirty kilometers from Que Ki-La
‘Three Sisters’ army center
Summer of 193NC
4th day of first week
Early noon
“What ye got there Ballard?”
The veil was made out of sheer white silk, the thin fabric looped many times around his left wrist half-hidden under the covered in intricate carvings steel vambrace. It was part of a longer outfit Ziba-Ra loved wearing outside the house because it made her look both ‘covered and uncovered’. The girls of the Peninsula following the old Imperial much lewder morals religiously. The gesture though that of a proper Lorian Lady.
“A Favor,” Emerson rustled returning his harsh black eyes on Elur Sol’s forces deployed in the field. “It’s a noble Lorian custom.”
“From Ziba?” Troy raised his washed-out blond eyebrows. “I come from Lesia and don’t follow any of that after so many years. She was born here Ballard and I don’t think there’s any of that left in her as well.”
Emerson glanced at the much younger man. With Troy just over his twenty-fifth winter, they stood apart a score of years. The gladiator grimaced seeing Emerson’s face and used his right hand to slot the helm on his braided head.
“Apologies,” Troy said angry with himself. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Emerson smacked his lips and looked at the movement of the enemy forces again. He’d made a vow after all that had happened with his sister to try and overlook the rot in people much as he could. Looked to help out and guide them where he could without pausing to question their inner thoughts. Yes, Emerson would intervene to steer them the right way, but the demons in their hearts, he believed they had to overcome themselves.
Find those good threads and follow them. A killer won’t turn into a monk until he sees the damage his actions caused to those left behind. A thief won’t change his ways until he loses something to someone else or to life itself and a wayward heart won’t stop hurting others until it feels the touch of that agony on its own skin.
A good person shall find his way.
The bad, it fell to people like Emerson to put in their place or in the ground.
And the gods above shall judge our naked souls on the scales.
“It’s in her blood,” he said to the uncomfortable gladiator and stood up straighter on the saddle. “She’ll make the effort to find what she lost,” Emerson added. “Whether she’ll succeed at it or not, I’ll care for her the same. She’s the mother of my son.”
Troy nodded behind the cover of his helm.
“You’re a lucky man Ballard,” Troy said lightening his tone and while he meant it, Emerson shook his head in disagreement.
“No one is only lucky or unlucky,” he told him. “Ye gotta put in the effort lad, no plaguin’ shortcuts or fooling about and life will bring balance.”
But not afore running you through the meat grinder.
“You think he’ll march the infantry on us?” Troy asked changing the subject.
“Nah,” Emerson replied crooking his mouth. “See that they stopped already? He’ll send the archers forward. The moment they fire their first volley,” he continued and turned his body on the saddle to look back at the lines of gladiators behind them. “We’ll retreat behind the barricade.”
“What happens after that? He might react in an unexpected manner.”
Emerson pushed Ziba’s veil under his vambrace and answered without looking at him.
“It’s an open field. We blocked his right flank with Asper and built a wall to bar him from running straight through our center. He’ll think about it, but then come at us from the east around the wall.”
“Not much room there to maneuver both cavalry and infantry,” Troy noticed slowly learning some stuff about strategy, although Emerson knew he didn’t have any talent there at all. Troy reminded Emerson of a stupider, much braver, more skilled in battle though also older Glenavon. Given the latter was a king now even of a ruined place, Troy had the work cut out for him to match that. The fact Glen hadn’t given up after almost getting killed but had fought his way on another throne, showed Emerson he was right to give him the room to grow. The young man had always the quality in him.
If one wanted to summarize it, then both flawed young men had many differences but at least one thing in common. They lied frequently to hide their sins, not because they were evil, but because deep down they were ashamed.
If ye can feel shame then ye got a conscience.
Barring an unforeseen calamity you’ll find the right path.
“What?” Troy asked seeing Emerson’s ruminating expression. “Am I wrong?”
“Nay yer not,” he replied and Elur Sol’s foot archers spilled out of the lines of his infantry carrying double quivers on their backs and their longbows. “Here they come.”
> Cambyses-Sol, Lord Elur-Sol’s eldest son, upon witnessing the Chiliad retreating behind their crude but substantial barricade, urged his father to strike with their cavalry immediately. Elur-Sol turned the proposal down as he waited for word from Arik Sartak who was in turn trying to flank Emerson’s position through the palms forest. With time dragging and the foot archers ineffective against the long barricade (Asmudius gives the extending across the north side of the village pile of rubble made out of bricks, rocks, cut timber, broken columns and plain dirt a height of close to three meters, which seems excessive) Elur-Sol ordered his son commanding the Que Ki-La Cavalry to relocate to the east of the battlefield.
>
> This placed him less than two kilometers from the corral coast of Khanate’s Gulf and directly to Emerson’s right flank just beyond the reach of the crude barricade. Since Sol’s infantry had already angled in that direction and the edge of the wall as well, Cambyses had to wait for the infantry to make its assault before he engaged with the cavalry. While elements of Sol’s army scaled the wall at spots, his foot archers that had approached to lob shots over it were taken out of the fight. Elur-Sol ordered most of them further west and closer to the plantations to support Sartak and ordered Mitral, the commander of Que Ki-La’s guard to attack the west flank of the Chiliad beyond the wall.
>
> Mitral marched his infantry forward against Telos’ ‘Half-Face’ platoon. He also ordered an attack over the barricade and his soldiers did that almost at the same time. Emerson who watched from the center of the field decided to leave the bulk of Qathor’s and Troy’s platoons there to deal with that probe under the command of the first, then moved with Troy to reinforce Telos who had Citata’s assistance already, keeping Velox’s men in reserve.
>
> Mitral’s sword wielding infantry didn’t fare well against the shielded, spear carrying gladiators (Emerson had allowed them to bring any weapon available in the supply train’s stores forward, but had issued orders for a spearwall fearing a Cavalry charge) and made little progress despite having the numbers locally.
>
> Mitral’s didn’t have the numbers in the center as they were attacking piecemeal and swiftly killed the moment they jumped over the barricade. Seeing the lack of progress, Mitral committed more troops to flank the gladiators, but his guards were ineffective and woefully lacking in skill compared to what they were facing. To combat this Mitral urged the archers to start firing again over the walls in the blind and they did, a number of them trying to flank the Chiliad from the west side and get to their rear.
>
> Emerson sent his horse archers against them, but Samir’s large force headed straight for the plantations after routing the sneaking up archers and Elur Sol watching from the rear saw them fleeing the battlefield. Either mistaking their intentions or believing Sartak could handle them, he ordered his son to strike the Chiliad’s east flank immediately. Cambyses medium cavalry was predominantly an attacking force. They could deal tremendous damage, but they counted on their speed to quickly disengage afterwards unlike the heavy Cataphracts that could hold their own in multiple roles.
>
> To avoid the conundrum Cambyses looped around the east flank and assaulted Emerson’s Chiliad hugging the edge of ruined Palar. Citata’s platoon was caught at its easternmost sides whilst repositioning to attack Mitral’s engaged infantry and lost almost half its fighters in less than a minute.
>
> When that minute was over, Cambyses found his retreat blocked by medium sized mounted infantry. They wore fainted-blue and egg-yellow armbands on their right arms to mark them as Slavers, were clad in good quality mixed armour and had a Capricorn drawn prison wagon for their banner.
>
> This engagement brought the whole of the center and east flank of the battlefield into a deadlock in the tight space between the wall and the ruined houses of Palar.
The sun made the weapons shimmer amidst the dust clouds raised and the smokes from the burning at spots barricade. There was a great clamor raised from thousands of men and animals fighting across the flat terrain. The ground shaking and the smell of death and fresh blood that of Cediorum’s busiest slaughterhouse. Emerson led his mounted men near Bohor’s and Nertor’s slavers, the sight of slain corpses littering the field. A lot of animals in the mix, some still neighing injured, gutted or missing limbs.
He paused there as a wild-eyed Bohor rode to meet him, Emerson’s gleaming Jackal helm making it easy to recognize the grizzly knight in the field.
“We need to pull back!” Bohor yelled to be heard. “Nertor got hit by camels. He’ll lose control of the horses!”
“Which direction?” Emerson grunted trying to make out what was happening in the chaos surrounding them.
“It doesn’t matter Pale Jackal!” Bohor snapped irate. “Horses panic at the smell of them!”
“Issue torches. Set one alight. Use oil,” Emerson retorted gruffly glancing at the sun. “Do it now!”
“What…?” Bohor gasped in horror and pulled at the reins frustrated, his horse protesting at the abuse.
“Bohor, yer men are dying,” Emerson reminded him and the slavemaster hissed in frustration but turned to gallop away.
“Move the gang?” Troy yelled standing proud on his horse, chiseled muscles oiled and primed like a prized harlot at the market.
“Get everyone marching. Leave the horses,” Emerson replied gruffly and climbed down from his. He unsheathed his blades, a curved short sword and a straight blade he’d made out of an old steel sword, resembling a custom longsword and spat down to clear his mouth from the pungent taste. “I don’t like their smell too.”
The camel riding warriors the veteran knight hadn’t expected, but Emerson had approached this part of the battlefield to deal with any such surprises. He’d left the door open for an enticed Sol to commit here, where he could fight him in a narrower front. Had to sacrifice many a good men to do it.
It is what it is, he thought a grim expression on his face remembering his father’s words.
“I got a bottle of rose-extract perfume from…” Troy offered but Emerson had already started moving towards the engaged mounted forces and didn’t hear the rest of it.
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The bulky two-humped camel galloped before him blaring blinded, shaking its ghastly head and kicking wild, flesh peeled back at its snarling bloody mouth, large head and back set alight, pieces of burning melted fat and detached boiled flesh dropping on the field. It left a flaming inferno behind, the half-dry grass giving out a thick bitter smoke and visibility reduced to the bare minimum. The cacophony of the savage engagement otherworldly.
Troy cleared a smoking corpse with an athletic leap two meters in front of Emerson, landed with a flashy roll under a slashing scimitar and disemboweled the soldier wielding it in passing with his curved Kopis. Emerson followed after the energetic gladiator walking with measured strides, the pain in his left bandaged knee bothering him as the injury was permanent and a scowl on his helmed face.
He stabbed an axe wielding dismounted camel rider under the armpit, then broke his teeth, dislodging the jaw in the same heave. He used his steel shoulder guard to do it, not to lose momentum, when the howling man twisted around to face him. Emerson stepped over a smoking dead camel, parried aside a spear thrust, turned his blade over the long shaft and rode the flat of it on the polished wood all the way to the source, butchering the fingers of the man holding the other end.
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A stab and yank in the groaning soldier’s face brought him down and Emerson moved aside to avoid a lunging lance, leaving his sword back to sever the tendons on the charging horse’s left hind leg. Scolding blood jumped out of the nasty wound in a three meter wide arc. Emerson flipped the longsword changing his grip on it and slashed down brutally catching the Cofol that rushed him following after the horse right above the knee, the blade biting at bone. The soldier plunged forward screaming and leading with his head, guzzling on a mouthful of cold steel Emerson lay in his way to help him stop.
The short sword’s blade lodged in the butchered man’s broken palate, black gore painting the knight’s left arm to the shielded elbow and glistered on the Jackal’s intricate carved pieces of armour.
He let go of it without a second thought, just as Citata bellowed like a wounded animal and caught his attention, the battle raging in that part of the front. The two infantry forces still locked in their own private scrap away from the edges of the opposing battle lines. At the latter the opposing cavalries were duking it out. While Bohor’s slavers were not a pure cavalry force, they could hold their own being proficient in riding and carrying heavier armour.
Whatever that meant for the Khanate’s policies and customs, the slavers had seen more action than the lancers. The camel riding Caravan hands though were equally skilled and Emerson had hovered there, until the gladiator’s scream had drawn him near the shieldwall.
Rubi-La had taken a dipping arrow down her collar. It had lodged in her lung sneaking past her half-plate and the female gladiator had collapsed gurgling up blood. Emerson grimaced seeing Citata abandoning the wall to rush to her struggling lover. Emerson grumbled under his breath, then reached with his free hand and yanked a spear out of a dead Cofol soldier afore heading there.
He led with it, always walking with the same measured strides not to waste energy. Emerson approached Mitral’s infantry line (the name of the commander given to him by Bohor’s slavers) and came out of the raised dust clouds straight next to a line sergeant. His spear plunged into the Cofol’s armour above midriff without hesitation, wrapping the scales and breaking the rivets. It hit a rib and broke it, then went through the shuddering man’s spleen ruining that too.
The man died in horrible pain and Emerson shoved the impaled sergeant on the last soldier holding the line. The soldier lost the grip on his shield, got a vicious spear through the neck from the gladiator facing him and died before realizing what had occured. The one behind him saw the sinister bloody and beastly steel figure standing where their officer had been a moment ago and locked in his tracks unsure.
A roar coming from further back breaking him out of his fear induced stupor.
“THE CURSED JACKAL!” An officer yelled. “KILL HIM!”
The grisly knight turned to eye the horse riding officer while retreating with measured strides away from the shieldwall that started unraveling as more and more Cofols peeled off reacting to the order. They rushed towards Emerson, who found a discarded round shield on the trophy littered terrain and slotted his left arm through the bloody straps. It was a wooden mass-produced thing with a veneer of iron on the outside, but Emerson had fought with cheaper weapons plenty of times in the past.
A kitchen knife, he thought deflecting a sword cut away and slashing half the face off of the eager man holding it. Is still a knife.
One eye on the crumbling under the heavy pressure of the gladiators Cofol shieldwall, the other on the soldiers leaving it to come after him. Two dozen, he counted. That’s six rows of troops missing from the formation’s outer sides depth. Almost ten meters of inverted half-egg shaped gap opened behind the embattled edge of the first couple of rows.
Two Cofols rushed him, but he blocked one with the shield feeling the rattle on his shoulder and parried the other with the longsword, turning defense into attack instinctively. He carved a meter long gash across the soldier’s chest. The blade cutting through armour and then flesh, Emerson’s steel always kept much sharpened afore every scrap.
Less so in the in-between days to allow the steel to rest.
The bleeding wound on the second soldier giving both Cofols pause, just as one of the soldiers holding the line went down not ten meters behind them and the south edge of their formation folded.
All disastrous things happening at once.
Along some… equally ridiculous and grim.
“FUCKIN’ SLANT-EYED COCKSUCKERS!” Roared Troy flying spectacularly over his head, legs kicking at the air to give him even more lift and landed between the two soldiers taking them down. Emerson lowered his blade with a grimace, gladiators charging past him at the soldiers that had peeled off following their officer’s order. Behind all that Telos ‘Half-Face’ men along with those of a furious Citata were pushing Mitral’s force back.
Speaking of Mitral, Emerson thought and turned his head about him, pitiless eyes trying to locate again the mounted officer with the fancy armour.
He found him desperately trying to get his panicked horse to obey. All them burning camels making a number on everyone’s horses.
Which was why Emerson had opted to walk the distance on a bad leg. With another pained grimace the weary gore-covered knight strolled down the chaotic battlefield towards the struggling Cofol commander.
He kept the same cadence in his strides as earlier, but gave it a good sprint for the last couple of meters to get more oomph in the hack.
Thigh bone is difficult to cut through even wit a sharpened blade, his late father always cautioned a young Emerson following along in his hunts. An unforgiving man that hated seeing a good blade ruined and easy to hand out rough punishment to those careless with his weapons.
Never has a man possessed a heavier hand than Emerson’s father.
So Emerson angled the brutal hack just right, putting momentum and his shoulder behind it. As a matter of fact, his blade severed the saddle’s hardened-leather strap off of the warhorse along Mitral’s whole right leg a handbreadth bellow the hip.
The damage catastrophic.
> Famed Troy, the Titan of Novesium, who witnessed Sir Emerson killing the mounted Cofol leader with one blow was left so astounded in the middle of the field that he’d almost gotten himself killed to half an arm. The rest of it Telos had chopped off, according to Asmudius who was nearby, thus saving the distracted gladiator’s life.
The Que Ki-La infantry started falling back, those at the front turning to run away and colliding with the men coming up from behind, the loss of officers in the collapsed south side of the line creating chaos. Whether it was Mitral’s death that had created the domino effect, fatigue or heavy attrition, Emerson didn’t know, but soon everyone was retreating and the gladiators were pursuing them beyond the edge of the barricade.
It wasn’t a rout but close to it as the enemy soldiers rushed to reach the open ground of the plains and their camp. Emerson couldn’t see that far, but upon witnessing the gladiators moving out of their shieldwall to hunt down their opponents sprang into action to prevent the catastrophe.
“Troy get them to stop!” He roared and moved to pull men back with yells and curses. Bohor who realized his intentions ordered Nertor to slowly pull away as well and most of the leaders started ordering their men back as well.
Telos ‘Half-Face’ and a furious Citata who had withstood the assault since the start of the battle disagreed with the knight’s decision. The sight of the enemy infantry slipping away unpalatable. Velox, the Chiliad’s second in command who had just arrived with the reserve fearing a breakthrough got the worst from the covered in gore scarred gladiator, when he ordered a general halt, until Emerson hobbled there to intervene amidst the general pandemonium.
“Jackal!” Telos growled, bleeding from a cut down his right arm. “We go after them!”
“They are not running away,” Emerson grunted, breathing heavy and in considerable pain from his bad leg. “Their archers are out there still roaming in the open and there’s cavalry amidst them,” he explained and Telos threw his arms up in the air in frustration. “You fought bravely Telos. We need to regroup now—”
“We need to go after them!” Telos bellowed cutting him off. “What is this talk?”
“Lad I ain’t asking ye,” Emerson retorted clenching his jaw. “Stand down.”
Telos stood back, his grip on the front curved sword he carried tightening.
This ain’t the arena son, Emerson thought. Ye don’t stand chance.
“I want to avenge Rubi-La,” Citata hissed looking at Emerson with feverish eyes. “She won’t make it.”
“You won’t. Not like this,” Emerson told her soberly and an angry Telos took a step forward. Velox narrowed his eyes and reached for a dagger as he was standing next to him. The knight stopped the veteran trainer with a glare and turned to face the muscular half-breed. “If you wish to die so much, then go ahead,” he said loud enough to be heard by many of Telos’ platoon that had congregated near their leaders meeting. “Go after them. I won’t kill another gladiator today.”
Telos grimaced with half his mouth, the stitches crisscrossing most of the right side of his face and then turned to his platoon. “Follow me! Let’s run them back to the gates of Que Ki-La!” He roared and went after the retreating soldiers –still under the discreet harassment of Bohor’s mounted slavers- but not all of them went with him. Not from his platoon or even Citata who stood back frustrated but with a look of uncertainty on her tanned face.
“Retake the wall,” Emerson ordered the rest of them. “Velox, find one of Bohor’s runners and learn what happened to Asper’s force. We might need to defend out west soon.”
“What about Telos? We should support him,” Troy argued coming after him as he headed for his horse.
“We can’t pursue on foot without cavalry or ranged units. Not into the plaguing open,” Emerson grunted and failed to climb up on the saddle the first time. Troy went to help him, but the knight slapped his arm away and managed to make it the second time with a pained hiss. “Find Qathor. Learn where their archers went. I’ll bring our horses forward,” he added and pulled at the reins to turn his mount around.
“I’ll do it,” Troy stopped him. “Stay here Ballard. Ye have a better grasp at this than myself.”
Emerson pressed his mouth tight, glanced at the dust and smoke concealing the ground beyond the barricade and nodded.
> Upon witnessing Mitral’s battered infantry retreating, Cambyses cavalry broke away as well. They had suffered heavy attrition but almost two hundred lancers managed to escape riding their tired mounts hard. The caravan hands found it more difficult to disengage as the horrified at the cruelty camels refused to obey and their force disintegrated. Some run away towards Palar where they fell on Sim’s supply train but caused little damage their mind not in plundering. Others followed after the cavalry north towards their rear lines and even further east towards the coast.
>
> Elur Sol had his officers regrouping the foot archers that had scattered from Samir’s charge earlier in the day and they managed to support the infantry’s retreat. Telos ‘Half-Face’ who rushed after the fleeing soldiers found himself exposed in the open, as absent another viable target the bulk– of the very frustrated with the way the battle had gone for them up to this point- foot archers concentrated on him.
>
> Almost three hundred archers fired three volleys and stopped Telos’ desperate charge to reach them, decimating his warriors and killing the Chiliad leader. Asmudius, who was also pursuing the Que Ki-La infantry with a group of mounted slavers under Nertor, reports that Telos’ had been stricken by at least thirty arrows afore going down. With the pursuit stopped and his infantry regrouping Sol disregarded his son’s advice to retreat towards the city. He had received Sartak’s report earlier that the Jang-Lu had pushed the gladiators out of the forest and expected the experienced officer to strike at Emerson’s west flank at any moment.
>
> Cambyses led the battered infantry again towards the smoking but standing barricade, but it took more than an hour for him to reform the demoralized men. Twenty minutes after he started marching to engage with the also regrouped Chiliad a livid Sartak arrived to Elur Sol’s camp.
>
> The commander had narrowly escaped by the skin of his teeth on his warhorse after leading a desperate assault on Asper’s force with his own bodyguards. (Given that Sartak didn’t have more than half a dozen Cataphracts with him, he was either very skilled or very lucky. He came from a long line of Horselords though.)
>
> At any rate, Sartak had ordered a retreat to avoid needlessly wasting the lives of his recruits, but also under orders from Prince Nout who had written to him directly not trusting Lord Elur Sol to put strategy above sentiment and due to their long friendship through Sartak’s father.
>
> The saved by the fiercely supported up to this day Prince’s message concise and devoid of sentiment.
>
> ‘Arik, if you can win, do so. If you can’t, withdraw and hold the city. If the latter is not feasible also, save the army’s youths and give ground. That’s your priority. Keep a force before the rebels advance and I shall do the rest.”
>
> A stunned Lord Elur Sol demanded Sartak rescind the order and turn the Jang-Lu around, but he wouldn’t budge even under the threat of execution. Khan’s advisor Ben Arfa, also a friend of Sartak’s father who was following the Khan on campaign, urged Lord Sol to avoid a harsh resolution and to ask Cambyses to halt a second assault.
>
> Lord Sol agreed reluctantly and they dispatched riders to message Cambyses to stop for the day. Cambyses received the message, but it was too late. Samir’s returning Horse Archers found themselves having free reign much as the foot archers had earlier and started pestering the slow moving infantry firing volley after volley of arrows into their lines.
>
> With the infantry standing on open ground, they were as easy a target as Telos gladiators earlier and the soldiers stopped to protect themselves from the deadly barrage of missiles under their shields. The irked at this new misfortune foot archers lacked one. Clad as they were in thin hemp shirts and tunics, the hapless men got wiped out in ten minutes.
>
> Cambyses had to relocate to the west of the field with his worn out lancers to drive away Samir, but the savvy desert leader roped him towards the approaching gladiator force led by Asper. Emerson witnessing the events ordered Bohor and Nertor to charge at the lancers. He reinforced the slavers with the best riders the Chiliad had and himself. Afore he did that the ‘War Leader’ as he came to be known after this battle ordered Velox to lead the regrouped Chiliad out of the barricade and attack the immobilized Que Ki-La infantry.
>
> “Now ye can attack,” Sir Emerson had told Velox simply just before riding against Cambyses’ cavalry. “And if they run ye pursue until the sun sets. Luthos be wit you lad.”
Emerson watched the broken Cofol infantry running away from the pursuing gladiators with sober eyes. He’d hurt his back fighting the lancers and couldn’t follow them, but he trusted Velox to know when to stop. The uncomfortable truth was that they needed to inflict as much damage as they could to Elur Sol’s forces.
It was why Emerson didn’t like war. The callous ‘logistics’ of it didn’t agree with him. Because he knew them very well.
You have to make harsh decisions. It’s not an excuse and yer soul will suffer for it, but that’s the job description. There’s no glory to it.
A disheveled Troy approached sporting a limp as well. The brash gladiator had gotten it leaping from the saddle on an onrushing lancer pretending to be a Horselord of old and missing his opponent completely, since he wasn’t. Emerson had hurt his back and killed his mount trying to save him. The knight stared at his swollen mid finger and decided not to attempt to put the glove back on again.
“How did you know we won?” Troy asked with a grimace of pain and spat on his hand to clear some of the blood from a small cut he had on his stomach. “Oh shit, I’ll need a stitch here,” the gladiator cursed with a concerned frown. “Ye got to teach me how you fight wit one leg Ballard,” he added.
“It’ll heal, yer still young,” Emerson rustled and stared at the scores of dead littering the field. “Any of Telos’ men made it back?”
“None,” Troy replied and rubbed his sweaty braided head. “You could have stopped him.”
Emerson spat down to clean his bitter mouth. The blotch dark.
“He would have held a grudge,” he explained. “Spread the word about it to the men. Now they’ll remember what happened and follow commands.”
“Fuck’s sake Ballard,” Troy protested. “That’s a new side of you.”
“It ain’t,” Emerson grunted. “That’s war lad. Ye get it after a while. It’s not easy to rid yerself of it, so see you don’t follow in me footsteps.”
“Right.”
“You can win a fight, if you can lure yer opponent to fight where it suits you,” Emerson answered his earlier query. “But you have to be able to stomach loss else it won’t work.”
“You can?”
“I have to,” Emerson replied and touched the veil he kept under the vambrace. Felt its smoothness with his dirty fingers. “Each man here fights for something else. I want my son and his mother to get back home first and foremost. Help those that want help next,” he eyed the injured gladiator. “Have no time for fools and those that look to gain from slaughter. That don’t make me better. To win you have to be ruthless sometimes.”
“You can?”
“Unfortunately,” Emerson replied curtly.
“Welp, we have them running. I don’t see them getting back from this. That’s a lot of killing to stomach for sure,” Troy decided and rubbed at his hurting leg.
“Me lad,” Emerson replied gravely watching the first of a gloomy-faced Asper’s group approaching them. A bandaged Toros limping after him looking more dead than alive, but no Sylia or Audax. The knight’s expression grim when he added. “This was the easy part.”
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