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Sir Emerson Lennox
Mista Savar
‘Pale Jackal’
‘War Leader’
Tales of the Peninsula | Leopard’s Claws
Part I
-Bastards and Lords-
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If yer fixing to hunt a predator, prepare yourself for a hurting son, his father used to say. Emerson rode near Velox ahead of those retreating towards the city either entering through the broken south gates or following the walls heading northwest towards the thickets. He jumped from the horse, his bandaged knee protesting at the landing and handed the reins to a young gladiator standing next to Velox.
“What’s the damage?” Velox grunted seeing his face.
“The impatient warrior,” Emerson growled through his teeth one of the many desert sayings he’d learned during his time in the Peninsula and splashed some water on his face from the flask Velox had given him.
Or the angry one.
“Is carried out of the sands on his back,” the veteran finished his words and stared towards the distant field.
Emerson could have written that himself.
“Is Merehor in place?” Emerson asked.
“I sent word to Serebus as well, but I don’t trust either.”
“He needs to stay at the junction. Move only if the need arises.”
Nout wouldn’t risk his men inside the woods.
Would he attempt to break through them though to avoid entering the city?
“You think the Prince knows of the forest path?”
“Sartak is causing us problems since the start,” Emerson replied. “Sol’s plans were easy to read, but not his. He told the Prince everything, I reckon.”
“Lots of people in the city still,” Velox commented.
“Nout won’t fight inside the city. He needs to take the bridge to get reinforcements.”
“It would have been easier to stop them with a good ole ditch right here,” Velox said looking at the Chiliad taking positions to block the fields hugging the walls parallel to the walls, starting from the Simun Gates all the way to the brick fortifications corner. The junction was directly across the ruined gates at the edge of the palms forest and the start of the Figs copse near the Clear Lake’s south shores.
“I want to draw them to that corner and around the turn,” Emerson replied. “Half a kilometer to the lake from the walls, good ground only near the city and the north road we can control with spears. We wear his horses down and we turn this into an infantry engagement without flanks.”
“I don’t trust the Sopat to hold the junction.”
“He just needs to guard the east flank and stay put,” Emerson grunted. “Nout will have only one way to go. Phon controls all the roads, the forest and has men covering Sartak’s path. The more Nout pushes west, the less men he’ll have to break through towards the north.”
“They started out plenty well,” Velox noted sourly.
Emerson stared at him soberly.
“The only way out for the cities is to ruin his army,” he told the weather-beaten Chiliad leader. “So he can’t use it again. Stop him here or no one else shall. The moment a games-master runs out of warriors the games stop and people look to sate themselves in a cheaper manner.”
Velox grimaced, wiped the sweat off of his shaven skull and then stared at his boots.
“What about the lads?” He asked gravely. “Gods damnit Jackal.”
“There are thousands of people, slaves and poor innocent families living in the Three Sisters,” Emerson replied looking about them at the returning Slavers that had made it out of the battlefield. “They don’t stand a chance Velox, not the way this war is being fought by both sides. Oath-breakers, crooks, killers and men with blood-soaked hands end up in the arena for the most part. We’re not as important lad but we can be of service. We can, if it means we bleed the Khan dry and make him reconsider his strategy. He shall. For it is better to lose something but not all. Ensuring Nout is stopped here, is the right thing to do for the whole realm,” he added meaningfully.
“Welp, better don’t use this in a speech anytime soon. Most lads don’t give a shite about the realm or even the Three Sisters,” Velox retorted with a sigh. “Anyway, Toros is cutting trees down since yesterday, looks to narrow that down even more,” Velox said. “What about Troy?”
“Troy will guard the bridge and the river to our rear,” Emerson retorted and eyed the fit gladiator galloping their way along with Qathor. “Tight space and the potential of a brawl. He’ll be impossible to get rid of.”
> Prince Nout ordered his chariots back –the Prince intended to use one himself- and Ramen-Toka disengaged easily on the open fields before Que Ki-La. Hora-Se stopped his Cataphracts as well and left the rest of the cavalry to pursuit Bohor’s shattered force up to the south walls of the city. Bohor and Asmudius were both injured but made it near Sir Lennox.
>
> Nis-Belu’s battered scouts continued hurrying the slavers but he also ordered them back after a while to rest their horses and pick up the injured they’d left behind. Master Ibn-Robet an architect and writer following the Prince and Beon-Mau a talented engineer, surely advocated on liberating the city (3/4 of Que Ki-La was abandoned by now with the survivors gathered at the northeastern coastal district and the periphery of the city, its walls and gates completely controlled by the Chiliad) but Nout had already begun working on a contingency plan. He probably feared Sept Khemet wouldn’t be able to disengage in time to assist him and being in contact with Arik Sartak turned his eyes on the refugees, survivors and even the Three Sisters distant camps for another way.
>
> Sept couldn’t help at all, because he was fully dead by now but Sartak, who was dealing with the rebellion for months already and knew his opponents inside and out, presented the Prince with some very valuable facts. While the latter is disputed by the Khanate’s historians who align themselves with Atpa’s records, the general’s people still insist that this was the case.
>
> Lord Khemet who had returned to Ani Ta-Ne after the ‘Battle of Que Ki-La Road’ reported several ‘foreign’ warships inside the ruined harbor. The Khanate Lord would circumnavigate the Stallion’s Rest near the shores looking for his son’s army but of course fail to find anyone. While an assault on the warships was considered at some point, Lord Khemet didn’t want to risk the crew and ships against an opponent he couldn’t recognize. So he instead retreated and messaged Rin An-Pur and the Prince for instructions.
>
> It is not known if his messages were received.
Come on lad, Emerson thought watching the gladiators resting under the shade of the walls. Troy tussled his hair back and looked at him hurt.
“Rear duty,” he finally said.
“Sartak will attack with everything he has,” Emerson explained. “Don’t play it down.”
“What about here?”
“We’ll retreat towards the turn and Lotus Lane. Phon will control our west flank, the walls the other. You get our rear.”
“I understand giving Qathor the arse, but I’m really pretty straightforward—” Emerson cut him off with a glare.
“Will this foreign king help?” Troy asked with a grimace.
“Glenavon isn’t foreign.”
“No Lorian I know has a farm of wyverns.”
“Forget about him, assume we’re on our own,” Emerson retorted gruffly. “Nout will try to surprise us.”
“He takes his bloody time,” Troy scoffed and eyed the solemn-faced Citata. The female gladiator hadn’t spoken since Rubi-La breathed her last.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Probably resting his horses, but an animal needs time to recover,” Emerson replied. “When they come again they won’t be as fresh.”
“Have you seen Asmudius?”
“Not much to see, a lot of bandages,” Emerson rubbed his sore knee. “Unfortunately the blow missed his mouth. Uher saved the wrong man I fear.”
“Bohor?”
“Lost the arm. They had to amputate, torch the wound. Phon took him to their camp.”
Troy puffed his cheeks out like Glen used to do and groaned unhappy.
“Fine. I’ll head back. Lotus Lane my arse, eight out of ten trees back there are Fig trees. Ground is littered with them. The bugs will eat you alive if the crocodiles spare you.”
“Do they, spare you?” Emerson asked and glanced at a rider approaching from the Dates Plantation and the Palms Forest side.
“Nah,” Troy replied with a shiver. “Ye find yerself in trouble, give me a holler,” he added and strolled away pompously casting taunting glances at the resting gladiators. He received a couple of cries of praise for his efforts and a good number of colorful epithets accompanied from lewd gestures.
Emerson reached for his saddle and gotten the heavy sword out to check on the blade. Sheathed it, then went to check on his dagger next and custom-made longsword but the Cofol came straight towards them on his horse forcing him to pause.
“Looking for someone son?” Emerson asked raspingly and the young Cofol mercenary pulled at the beaded reins of his horse to stop it.
“Mista Savar.”
“Luthos favors you. Ye found him.”
“Samir’s scouts reported riders going in the woods,” the Cofol said. Samir’s men had found shelter there before trickling back near the Chiliad. They’ve lost too many unfortunately. Still a range unit is a range unit, Emerson thought.
“He left men behind?”
The Cofol nodded. “He did.”
“How many did they spot?”
“A dozen.”
Too few. A scouting party perhaps.
“What did Merehor say?” Emerson probed.
“He didn’t. Samir said I should speak with you.
“Why?”
“He might look fancy now but the man hails from Lukela. There’s a goat room in their brothels.”
For crying out loud.
“You think they turned around without making contact?” Emerson asked with a frown.
“Could be,” the scout replied. “It’s a straight path. Are his pickets blind?”
Maybe Nout’s scouts are that good, Emerson thought and stared at the treeline extending parallel to the walls, all the way to the junction and West Gates. Toros’ platoon was guarding the road that led from the latter to the turn. The narrows between the north walls of the city and the lake’s shores.
“Tanus,” he barked at the gladiator nearest him. “Citata.”
“I’ll head back towards the city,” the scout said.
“No you won’t,” Emerson corrected him. “You’re coming with us.”
“Where to Jackal?”
“Sartak’s path,” Emerson replied.
Better to check it out.
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Their small group cut across the meadow before the walls and entered the palm-trees woods starting after the large dates plantations that dominated the south approach to Que Ki-La. Emerson kept his attention that way expecting Prince Nout to move at some point. The Prince’s force hadn’t advance on the city after winning the morning engagement.
It was now early afternoon.
“Where are you from Dekra?” Tanus, the Lorian soldier-turned gladiator then a member of the Chiliad, asked the horse archer/scout.
Emerson turned his eyes on the wide opening. He could see it now amidst the loose trees. The men going back forth had widened what originally were natural animal paths running vertically to the one Sartak had cut through the palms.
The latter much wider, enough for a carriage to travel on.
Animals. Prey and predators, his father said pressing an oiled cloth on their hunting daggers blades and working it up and down at an unhurried tempo. The men of the escort doing the same near another campfire. Their fire turned to embers and smoking ashes but still giving a light glow that created long shades near the mountains that kept the Lesian desert away.
Another desert than the one beyond the forest but some things never changed. Know their habitat, the Lord of Ballard continued raspingly, face dark and jaw clenched like always. Remember, just as the prey rarely uses the same route to escape you, a predator shall never lay the same ambush twice. Never watch the lion’s tail son. Look out for them claws.
“Are hippos bigger than elephants then?” Tanus asked just as they reached the built path, their horses moving slowly through the peaceful palms. The ground littered with dry branches and brittle yellow but large fronds with the occasional trunk rotting amidst them.
“They are not much smaller,” Dekra replied.
Emerson saw the horse tracks on the soft ground, many more cut trees tossed by the sides leaving small openings. They had used one to enter the path. It extended a couple of kilometers south and led just behind the junction if one followed it the other way.
A group of horses about two hundred meters away grazing, with six men sitting under the shade of a wild date tree heavy with hanging fruit and munching on what had dropped on the ground. Four of them looked like mercenary soldiers with tanned-yellow robes and leather cuirasses, but the last two had paler robes under their chainmail shirts and the narrower eyes of Horselords.
Emerson rode near them and stopped the horse five meters away, his eyes on the double-quiver desert horses in the group of six. While the saddles of the other horses were all decorated similarly, each was built differently. Those two though are identical.
Army issued.
A mercenary wearing plate shoulder-pads stood up swallowing what he chewed on and stared at him. Emerson had his steel helm hanging from a hook at his saddle and the Cofol’s eyes settled on it for a brief moment before returning to him.
“We give greetings to the Pale Jackal,” the Cofol said. “I’m Pardor. Lord Phon tasked us with guarding the path.”
“Any sight of the enemy?” Emerson asked raspingly looking at the two similarly dressed of their bunch. He noticed the strips of dotted fur on their archers bracers, leaving only their fingers uncovered.
May well be naught to it, he thought.
Then again it could be something.
“Nothing came this way,” Pardor replied scratching at the right cheek with a ringed finger. The skin tanned and unshaven. He smiled, a couple of teeth encased in white-silver. Expensive dental work. A man well-paid for services rendered. Nice engraved handle on his sword that looked more like a Kopis than a scimitar. The sigil of a bright six-leaf stem curved on the hardened leather right at the center of his chest.
Nasar.
“Merehor around?” Emerson queried and glanced at the solemn-faced Citata.
“We could go get him. The camp is three hundred meters down the path,” Pardor replied in a friendly manner. “Or we could sent message and he’ll reach out for you Jackal.”
“Why don’t ye go ahead and do the first thing,” Emerson replied gruffly. “And I’ll wait here.”
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Emerson climbed down from his horse. Dekra, Tanus and Citata following his example. A soldier had galloped away down the path to notify Merehor of their arrival. While he headed north, the rest of the group made room for them at their small campsite. No fire at the near, but traveling bags, few sacks with supplies, a couple of bows and weapons left near them. It looked like a stop to rest for the night but it wasn’t.
The horses are still saddled.
“Keep yer eyes open,” Emerson whispered to Tanus. Citata crooked the side of her mouth and Dekra frowned nervously.
“Fresh dates,” one of the mercenaries said and tossed him a ripe fruit. Emerson caught it and gave it to Tanus.
“Didn’t know the Jackal was a Lorian,” one of the horse archers said. There was a possibility they were wearing looted stuff, but Emerson didn’t think so. The enemy had done the morning looting. Still with many new men joining their ranks with the arrival of Phon, it was far from a certain thing.
Two men ain’t a dozen.
But if this ain’t a campsite then what is it?
“Lord Sopat calls him Ballard,” Pardor said making small talk. “Wish I’d seen ye in the arena.”
Emerson nodded his eyes on the two archers. The first one didn’t seem fazed but his friend standing a couple of meters behind him flinched at Pardor’s words. Not a fan of the games? Emerson wondered.
“I’ve seen the ‘Gargoyle’ fight in Fu De-Gar,” Pardor continued speaking as if he was nervous about something. “Man, I didn’t think that mountain would ever fall,” he added ominously.
“The time comes for all,” Emerson replied, his hand dropping on the handle of his sword. “Eventually.”
“I heard of the name afore,” the second archer started and Emerson couldn’t see his right arm as he was standing half hidden behind his friend. “It’s a place.”
“Hah,” one of the mercenaries guffawed munching on a yellow date. “Who would name himself after a place?”
“On Jelin?” The knowledgeable Horselord queried. “Bastards and Lords.”
Emerson nodded. “Where did you hear the name?” He asked gruffly and the Horselord grimaced and then spat down to clear his mouth.
“It’s been a while now,” he replied in fine Common. “The man’s dead.”
“Was he a bastard?” Pardor asked with an anxious grin.
“Nah,” the archer replied returning Emerson’s glare and took a step back towards their bags. “A knight, but he’d been a Lord afore.”
An ambush then, the knight decided.
Emerson stepped forward but paused remembering his friend and twisted sharply left, the curved dagger hitting the plate. It slid on his sides and he trapped the arm wielding it, the first archer grunting not expecting it. Emerson reached to grab him better under the armpit but the man yanked his arm back, nicked the knight under the jaw.
Violence exploded abruptly. Some of those present expecting it, others caught unawares.
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