>
> “Milord Lennox,” the merchant greeted him and Emerson nodded with his head. Too tired to be more polite. “It was inauspicious missing you.”
>
> Mmm.
>
> The man was coming from the castle nevertheless. Emerson pulled at the reins crooking his jaw and Duke stopped snorting irritated. A young horse, barely broken in.
>
> “Master Melcher was hospitable I hope. He can be a little brusque. Mister…?” Emerson asked and the young Lorian wearing merchant’s clothes smiled.
>
> A ruffian’s smile.
>
> “Wiscar,” he replied and Emerson noticed his reddish hair. Not a Lorian through and through. He felt his father’s presence again and it spooked him. “Master Melcher was busy at the stables Lord Lennox. I was entertained by you sister.”
>
> Emerson stared at the young man, not much younger than him truth be told. “Do come again on the morrow mister Wiscar. Allow me to offer ye a proper welcome. Ballard Castle is a hospitable place.”
>
> Wiscar sat back on the saddle not expecting the invitation. “Lady Lila is an excellent companion,” how would you know? Emerson thought sourly. “But I shall appreciate a return Lord Lennox of course.”
>
> “Trent,” Emerson ordered his manservant. “We have that hunt on the morrow yes?”
>
> “That’s true milord. Each week.”
>
> “Plenty of game this time of year,” Emerson told Wiscar. “Stay the night. We have plenty of rooms as well.”
>
> “Why, thank you Lord Lennox,” Wiscar replied not believing his luck. “Not wanting to brag, I’m an excellent hunter.”
>
> Ye could have went with decent then.
>
> “I thought ye were a merchant,” Emerson commented instead but kept his suspicions to himself. The moment Lila saw them entering from the Castle’s main gates her cheeks turned a pale white and almost collapsed inside the yard. Melcher, his father’s man, had to grab her elbow to keep the teenage girl upright. The old hand stared at Emerson’s face and then at his sister afore focusing on the oblivious Wiscar.
>
> “Sister,” Emerson growled and climbed down from Duke. “You know mister Wiscar well, I gather.”
>
> It wasn’t a query.
>
> Lila gulped down nervously, her dark-brown eyes wide as saucers.
>
> Ah lassie, Emerson thought and hanged his head.
>
> His father’s armour clanging when the old man got up furious.
>
> Ye fix that mess now boy, the late Lord of Ballard growled. Ye want to prance around wearing my blade? Rule me lands? Then you’ll abide by my rules.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Sir Emerson Lennox
Pale Jackal
Mista Savar
Errant knight of Ballard
Tales of the Peninsula | Unbroken
Part II
-Mista Savar-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Act I
-What Luthos gives…-
In the end, we all seek a meager slice of gratification, Emerson supposed.
Let the gods figure out the rest.
“My platoon Mista Savar,” Citata said stubbornly and put her Chiliad helm on. “I’ll lead them.”
Tanus scrunched his face, a week’s growth of brown hair on it and stared at Emerson.
“She’ll stay near mine,” the knight decided and turned to Asper. The hard-faced Cofol looking tired. “You prepared the ground?”
“Left the sides ‘free’, have obstacles set on the road, barriers and piled debris,” Asper replied. “Toros ‘the Black’ will hold the woods nearest to the lake and our west flank.”
“Samir you’ll keep your archers on the other,” Emerson continued with a nod. “Stay near the trees and fire when they slow down to navigate the field. They won’t find a way but after the first volley, go for the horses just in case. Then lit the piles on the road.”
“Fire arrows might spook ours,” Samir noted.
“We shall keep them at the rear. West, near Toros,” Emerson replied. “The rest of the platoons shall set up behind the obstacles to block the road. He won’t risk his chariots in the fields bordering the woods, but his riders might probe our flanks. As long we control them they won’t move forward.”
“Fifty meters of mounds of logs, caltrops, rocks and cut trunks won’t hold them Ballard. We need more depth,” Tanus argued. “Or a wall.”
No time for that and the Prince has a knack for finding his way around a wall.
“There shall be warriors after that and they won’t know how far we’ve prepared. Ten meters. A boy can throw further. You’ve issued javelins?”
“Any spear we could find in the spoils,” Samir grunted cutting in. “Nowhere near enough or arrows.”
“You’ll make them count and then use that blade Samir,” Emerson told him. “It’s a good day when a man gets to train where he’s lacking the most. Make himself better,” Citata snorted at that. “Or woman,” Emerson added.
“If he avoids the wall’s corner and the city gates again, then the turn will bring him right at the jaws of our defense,” Asper said raspingly. “But I don’t see him risking horses to charge over obstacles but then again, why chance entering the woods?”
“The lesser of two evils,” Emerson replied. “Walls don’t deter him but a bad terrain and the unknown might tip the scales in our favor.”
“Where is Sopat?” Asper asked him.
“Whatever Merehor did, he doesn’t have enough men to reach Phon,” Emerson replied. “Now since Lord Sopat hasn’t fought a real battle ever we must assume he might do something foolish.”
“Like running away?”
Emerson thought about it. He wanted to be honest with them but the truth of it was he didn’t know Lord Phon’s innermost thoughts.
“Whatever drives the Lord of Lai Zel-Ka brought him this far. Much further than I’ve thought he’ll advance. Whether it be shame, courage or a promise, makes no difference. He’ll go the extra mile,” he assured them. “Would the men follow his lead Samir?”
“They would for they wear the Capricorn markings proudly,” Samir said. “From mercenaries, caravan hands, guards. Down to the last slave.”
“Chubin Amin is a week behind him you think?” Emerson asked.
Phon was expecting reinforcements from the remote Yon-Simun Fort and the villages located at the westernmost point of Greenwhale Peninsula, the narrow land penetrating deep inside the Haze Sea. It stood across almost from Raxe-Tull the smaller of the Plague Isles if one drew a line on a map. That is if the few existing maps depicting it were real. Now if that line was to be extended further west, the Black Ocean started and according to sailors that had survived its northern-fueled storms over open waters and gargantuan waves, it never ended. Ancient Cofol legends Lord Phon loved so much argued there was land further west called Tull Cautara-Magor. The land of the arched sword. Whence all Cofol had come from untold thousands of years in the past. On the open fields of Eplas only Horselords lived at some point.
“This will be over sooner than that. Way before the Kata-Cim warriors arrive,” Samir replied. Their name given due to the single-edge famed swords they carried. A play from old Cofol words ‘Cim’ that meant blade and ‘Kata’ that meant nothing but could be a paraphrased/short ‘Cautara’ Emerson supposed. Chubin Amin was a member of their tribe, since the Khan wanted to bring them into his armies, but they had refused to fight for any of them. Chubin Amin had managed to mobilize some after returning from Fu De-Gar. “The Prince needs to open the road or he’ll run out of supplies. That were a lot of animals he had with him,” Samir finished his thought.
“Anyone has news on Velox?” Asper asked. “We could use the help.”
“Velox did all he could,” Emerson reminded everyone. “We shall do the rest. Stay composed and reject fear. Better to die free than a slave on the sands.”
Young Kelly raised a goblet to his words.
“Hoorah! Praise be offered! To the free warriors of the Chiliad and Mista Savar!” She cheered, eyes gleaming and cheeks flushed to great applause from those present. A smiling –usually gloomy- Citata grabbed the smaller girl by the waist and raised its shuddering body high over broad shoulders so everyone could see her. Kelly cheered again quickly recovering from the shock, wine spilling over both of them and the rest of the gladiators resting in groups by the road, the unmounted horse archers and even some injured slaver-guards stood up answering the young former slave-girl’s call.
It was a surreal scene to witness.
And this time the response was thunderous.
> Serebus attacked Merehor haphazardly at the start of Sartak’s road but got ambushed by sneaking cavalry and had to retreat in minutes. Bohor who had assumed command of the camp, despite being injured days afore, ordered him to retreat towards their large camp to regroup. He also took measures to evacuate the unresponsive Lord Phon-Iv and his wife. A message was sent to Lai Zel-Ka to his brother Don-Iv with the news.
>
> Bohor left the camp taking most of the wagons and carriages with him and about a thousand slaves. Serebus reached the emptying camp with the army an hour later, hunted by Merehor’s and Nis-Belu’s rangers. He thought of defending the road there but Bohor wanted him to follow after them and guard Lord Phon’s giant caravan.
>
> Merehor in his turn was ordered either by the Prince or Nis-Belu not to attack the Sopat retreating forces but to come to the Prince’s assistance. A portion of his troops were immediately dispatched east towards the junction led by Merehor himself who wanted to make a good impression to Nout, which left Nis-Belu (one of Nout’s longtime friends) in charge of the rest. This could have been the Prince’s order also, not wanting any part of his force outside of loyal hands.
>
> The Ranger leader decided to follow discreetly after the departing army, looking for a way to bypass them and strike against the slow-moving caravan the moment they exited this sylvan part of Simun Road and reached the open desert. Asmudius describes that two hours later, twelve hours after the assassination attempt, doctors present to look after his wife managed to revive Lord Phon-Iv draining his lungs from blood and using expensive ‘magic’ potions. A weakened Phon upon learning they were retreating almost perished from the shock. He asked Bohor for the reason he’d decided to ‘bury him whilst still breathing, write to his brother and then abandon the field.’
>
> When a shamed Bohor replied he was trying to serve the house Sopat as best he could, Phon replied soberly that he was the house Sopat and to order Serebus to give battle immediately. Bohor argued Serebus was incapable of doing it but offered to assume command of the men in the field with the help of Asmudius to which Phon agreed, whilst promising to resume travelling towards Nasar to recuperate. Asmudius describes that he’d eagerly insisted on helping Bohor, but he was probably ordered to do it.
>
> Nis-Belu seeing the Sopat stopping and blocking Simun Road again made a probing attack with Merehor’s remaining force and his riders but it didn’t produce any results given the narrow front. It is also probable Belu didn’t have the numbers. Bohor attacked as well but it ended in a stalemate with heavy casualties from both sides that regressed to lobbing arrows on each other for hours under the cloudy sky. Asmudius tried to flank Nis-Belu’s men from the woods but he was forced to turn back fearing he’d get cut off as well. The ‘Battle for the Simun Road’ ended up in a costly draw.
>
> Prince Nout’s army brushed aside a rear guard left by the Chiliad near the south gates near late the previous day, but didn’t enter the city leaving a force to guard against an assault there and marched to the corner following the road close to the walls during the evening. Entering Lotus Lane, the narrow fields extending on both sides of the large road heading for Small River and its bridge, he found himself without room to maneuver.
>
> The south banks of Clear Lake, hugged by rich wilderness (mostly Fig and Lotus trees) and infested with old-crocodiles (the larger in size local predators were not indigenous to the area but an invasive species not found anywhere else on Eplas that had found a rich feeding-ground it didn’t want to vacate. They were worshipped upon a distant time by the first Cofol settlers it must be noted here, with ruined temples still existing inside the woods) anyway they were of little use for Prince Nout. Heading east the forest wasn’t as dense (it wasn’t a thick forest in general) but still an ordeal to bypass with chariots. That left the road itself but the Chiliad had created a series of obstacles there the previous month.
>
> While nothing of that exists today one must assume that at least a portion of the road was blocked partially or completely at its narrowest point. Nout would have had to find a way for his cavalry to cross the ‘prepared’ area or use said riders as very expensive infantry against the waiting gladiators. It is unclear what Sir Emerson’s plan had been other than inflicting the maximum amount of damage on the Khanate’s Heir since we are unaware whether he knew of the events unfolding elsewhere or not.
>
> The rich wooded lands around the Lotus Lane up to the lake’s shores, as far as the bridge and deep inside the east woods across and on the other side of the road, are still churning out today many quality artifacts, armours of various types, helms, shields, swords, spears, broken parts or complete war-chariots and have its own wild horse population. A mixed breed of medium, sturdy but very nimble horses that have learned to live inside Que Ki-La’s woods.
>
> Despite all this a huge number of war materiel is completely missing or vanished into thin air (not to mention parts of the army, half the city and the village of Palar we’ll discuss in the last part) and it is impossible to reconstruct the real ‘Lotus Lane’ battlefield today, but only offer estimates based on oral accounts from citizens and Asmudius’ ‘Unbroken Chiliad’ epic tale.
>
>
The Lancers stopped and turned around to give way for infantry to approach. But the latter were taking their sweet time, the sun still half-hidden on the sky. Emerson glanced at Samir’s archers at the edge of the east thickets preparing to fire again and then at the lit braziers behind their lines before returning his stare at the commotion beyond the obstacle-covered part of the road, the trapped holes and the mounds of flammable material they had erected at random intervals where it ended.
The Khan’s army was bringing up to the front those large wooden shields again, carried by ten people per. Four meters in height and a length of six, made out of rough redwood planks. More an obstacle, Emerson thought pressing his knees to get Spirit moving forward. Than a shield.
I guess it works just the same unless...
“Hand me a javelin,” he told Tanus and Cander, the latter bringing one to him.
“Lit the mounds?” Tanus asked loud enough to be heard over the mumbles and yells of the Chiliad. The horns and gongs of the Prince’s packed army not helping. The quiet opening had come alive during the night and the sound only increased with each passing hour, mostly due to the animals though.
That’s an ungodly amount of horses, Emerson thought squinting his black eyes to see further. His eyes weren’t what they used to be. I bet you burn through yer supplies pretty fast lad.
“Not yet. I want to see what he’s doing,” he replied hoarsely. A dressed in leather-armour over his rich robes official riding a decorated horse had approached the men tasked with carrying the ‘rectangular shields’ from the rear and barked orders at them. Instructions, Emerson decided and turned his head west to catch a glimpse of Asper’s platoon hugging the woods overlooking the fields. A force of riders was probing there as well but were keeping their distance assuming there were more archers inside the west woods.
Logic dictates you’ll send the mercenaries, Emerson thought nearing the disturbed part of the road, a couple of Cataphracts hanging away from the treeline perking up gauging at the distance, loaded crossbows in arms. With Emerson standing some meters from the fifty meter ‘prepared’ part of the road and the Cataphracts even further back to avoid the longer range of Samir’s composite-bows to their east, he wasn’t bothered with them. But that would just leave you without infantry, so you’ll have to use cavalry to cross the caltrops or flank us. Since you’ve been pondering on that for days given that you grew up around these lands you won’t do it.
You’ll pick the woods sooner or later but then the chariots would be useless, Emerson deliberated. You love yer toys too much to leave ‘em behind, so you’ll go for something more dramatic.
More flair.
And then, you’ll be forced to clear the woods.
The first group of engineers marched ahead carrying the heavy giant wooden shield and reached the ensnared part of the road, easy to spot since there were cut beams peppered all over its length, dirt and round holes. Samir fired a volley on them killing four facing the forest and injuring the fifth momentarily, as the toppling on his arrow-riddled body platform-sized simple construct squashed him dead.
Then the archers picked their exposed colleagues one after the other. One of them making it back and out of their range with an arrow sticking out of his right hip.
“That was stupid,” Tanus commented standing next to his horse. Emerson watched the official ordering the next bunch forward. Four wooden shields this time in two rows parallel to each other. The south facing (or outer two) he angled towards the forest to cover the others that headed straight but carefully for the discarded first, stooped to remain under the cover of their friends.
The man gave it half a minute and then ordered another bunch forward.
And another right after.
Hmm.
Not engineers then.
You have slaves to spare apparently.
“Tell Samir not to waste anymore arrows!” He barked and Tanus relayed the order with riders galloping up the gentle slope towards the trees to inform Samir.
Emerson saw the official returning towards the Prince’s lines amidst the clouds of dust and despite the low visibility of early dawn he spotted a gilded chariot with painted white wheels that had approached the frontline leaving the rest war machines behind.
The knight raised his arm high and flipped the javelin around one time over his helmed head as an invitation. A rider was sent immediately towards the advanced rows of Cataphacts and two of them kicked their legs and galloped towards Emerson. They reached the first slow moving wooden shields, now inside arrow range and walked their horses half-stooped on their saddles.
Their intention clear.
“I have another javelin,” Tanus commented and Emerson nodded counting the distance.
A hundred meters.
Eighty.
He had the range but needed accuracy, so he climbed down from his mount.
The wooden shields crept up closer to the caltrop infested zone and the Cataphracts raised their crossbows.
Fifty and change.
The First Cataphract stopped his horse and aimed.
Too far to hit anything son unless yer lucky, Emerson thought and the bolt whistled a meter to his right.
Yer not.
The first slaves reached the start of the prepared area and dropped their ‘shield’ down over it. The second Cataphract bringing his horse over but standing to the side to allow the second group to deposit their load where the ‘bridged’ part ended.
Aha.
Solid idea.
The second Cataphract fired his crossbow missing Emerson’s body for less than an arm and went back to reloading, just like his friend that had stopped five meters behind him. Emerson pulled his right arm back, took two heavy steps forward –his hurt knee protesting- and hurled the javelin with a loud growl. Turned without looking at its trajectory and took the one Tanus held up for him, the gladiator flinching at the sound of steel going through armour and the screams rising from the slaves building Nout a land bridge.
He turned around, a bolt stabbing the ground before him, took another two heavy steps unbothered his arm raised, the Cataphract turning his horse around to get away and then snapped it with an even greater growl. Skewered the armoured animal through its left hind leg and brought it down. Its rider taking two tumbles afore stopping, but quickly hurrying to his feet and sprinting away under the loud catcalls from the lined up Chiliad.
Emerson walked to his horse and climbed up with a glare at the laughing Tanus who sobered up immediately.
“They’ll be coming over to visit us right mad, I reckon. Which is as accommodating as it is not,” he cautioned him. “Better get back to our lines. What Luthos gifts, likes to take away.”
Act II
-Running out of fodder-
Two hours later,
First week of Fall 193 NC
Battle of Lotus Lane
Part of the greater battle for the Simun Gates
Morning
The mercenaries rushed over the bridged part of the road, crossed it over as fast as they could and leaped the final meters where they had run out of platforms. The ground there covered with bodies, more bleeding out five meters forward where the Chiliad warriors rotated not to let them spread out. Both sides of Nout’s bridge littered with corpses as the moment Samir’s archers figured out the strategy they just waited for the infantry to rush across and opened fire in the blind directing all their arrows on the four-meter wide passage.
Emerson watched from the sides the lancers charging across after them two at a time trying to break out into the open road.
“LOOSE!” He roared and kicked his legs to get Spirit galloping across towards Asper’s group guarding the fields to their west flanks. Citata’s platoon hurling javelins, spears and spare projectiles on Nout’s medium cavalry.
The punishment they had delivered to Merehor’s mercenaries brutal. Emerson couldn’t count exactly but he could see the mercenary general foaming at the mouth watching their numbers dwindling rapidly.
He’d spotted a messenger riding hard from lake’s shores to Asper’s lines and Asper dispatching a group of twenty gladiators inside the forest. Emerson stopped his horse near the Chiliad leader and trainer that had taken over both platoons after his brother had been killed many weeks back near the Dates Plantations.
“Nout is in the forest?” Emerson growled.
Asper shook his head negatively. “They won’t come from the lake’s sides Ballard!” He yelled to be heard over the cries of the gladiators that greeted him recognizing the Jackal’s steel armour and helm. “They sneaked up from the north!”
“Troy?”
“Nah, they were covered in mud. I reckon they swam across the lake!” Asper replied.
“Toros can handle it?” Emerson asked with a nod.
“Toros is dead inside,” Asper retorted soberly. “Ain’t easy to kill such a man. He’ll go when he chooses.”
Emerson grimaced and turned his attention on the other side of the road, the sound of horses and men roaring, mixing with that of battle creating a persistent ruckus that muffled all other nature’s sounds.
“Will Troy hold?” He asked the wiry gladiator and Asper cracked a half-snarl which was all you could get out of him these days.
“That prick is too proud to lose, too much of an idiot to die,” Asper replied and grimaced properly in disgust giving up on the attempt to smile. “The Leopard will go for Samir,” he added and Emerson nodded since that was what he believed all along. The west was perilous with Sopat looming near the junction. East had his flanks safe up to the coast but he still needed the road.
So he’ll send his chariots through the moment he attacks Samir.
“I’ll head towards the archers with Citata’s platoon,” Emerson told Asper. “The moment Toros is free, you’ll take a platoon and reinforce the center. We poured oil on everything. If you believe they’ll break through, light them up and retreat to the flanks. Let it burn. Don’t stay to get shot at like a fool. Retreat out of range.”
“Well, I ain’t easy to kill also Ballard and they can follow over the fields.”
Emerson shook his head. “No they can’t. Moment those things hit a big rock or a good ole hole ye’ll see plenty of folks fly. Briefly. Unless they start moving alike plaguing snails, aye. A slow-footed chariot is just a large basket with fancy wheels. I’d charge at them then in yer place or kill one of the horses. Same thing almost.”
“You’re an expert on chariots Pale Jackal?”
“As much as yer a blasted immortal,” Emerson replied gravely and turned the horse around to return to their lines. “I’m not even sure that such a thing as an expert on anything exists. So look not to make a fool of yourself.”
Thirty minutes later
“THERE!” Samir bellowed and Emerson turned his head at the even larger group of warriors hurrying up the slope on their horses.
More mercenaries.
He headed there to meet them, Citata following after him with Cander and Samir’s group. The archers loosed their arrows on the fighters, got one of them on the leg, the rest wasted on shields or hitting trees. They were about to run out anyway. One of the mercenaries wore a blue scarf on his head under the conned helm and kept ordering his group forward. A chariot came up the slope slowly but its axle broke and a wheel came off after another bump forcing it to stop midway.
Two more following after it stopping as well, either damaged or out of caution. It was the furthest they could ‘safely’ sneak inside, staying away from the ruined north gates that Nout had taken but probably wasn’t sure if he could hold, as there were gladiators inside the city belonging to Thalion’s force harassing his soldiers. The situation inside the city chaotic.
“GET THEM! PUSH THEM OUT!” The officer bellowed spotting them and his group of around forty climbed down their horses, as while you could move about on one inside the forest, fighting mounted wasn’t easy. The three charioteers also hurrying up to enter the woods as well.
This was a big group.
Emerson smacked his lips and glanced at Citata who had her poleaxe out.
“Use the morning-star,” he advised her. “Mind the trees.”
The gladiator stared at him furiously but got her bashing weapon out.
“I hate obstacles,” Samir admitted and hang his bow over his back, thought about it and then unclasped his quiver and tossed his bow over it.
If Samir expected any words for him, Emerson offered none but a short prayer to Tyeus and then just stepped out of the shade to block the mercenaries advance. They had a group of four leading them so given the open terrain, Emerson planted a foot down and swung his longsword at shoulder height without delay.
“Who—?” One of the mercenaries managed to get out, Emerson going through two necks afore biting the third man on the shoulder as the sword plunged lower.
“Watch out! The Jackal!” The fourth yelped and Emerson savagely hauled the sword back as one hauls a heavy chain to raise anchor, the blade sawing at flesh, tendons and bone ruining the arm’s joint before detaching.
The mercenary swung at him but got tangled up with his friend, the one screaming in the effort to keep the dangling left arm in place. He cursed and sidestepped to find a better angle, but Emerson had moved forward over the second decapitated corpse, boots sinking in the red muddy froth, the longsword’s point dipping low first afore whooshing high. It caught the first mercenary sprinting to get in the scrap at the helm’s jaw bindings and split his face into two equal parts, the blade detaching the helm from his thrashed skull and sending it flying up towards the forest’s canopy.
A red mist rained over the men following after him, the knight’s blade coming down without delay in a slanted arc that chopped an arm off and then came back to park under the groaning man’s ear. Emerson run the sharpened edge mid-length, going through cheek flesh, gums, tongue, lower jaw then gullet afore it stopped at the base of the spine.
He pulled the butchered mercenary grabbing him above the bleeding stub and hurled him on the next one’s shield. The Cofol growled bashing his slain comrade away with the shield and got cleaved at the top of his helm through the opening. The metal wrapped inwards, cranium splintering and pieces of bone penetrated the brain killing him instantly. He dropped mutely, people screaming, blades clanging on shields or other blades, the thudding of clubs and maces or Citata’s morning-star. Though the latter had a distinct crunching sound.
Curses and whines even pleads of desperation. The smell of blood mixing with that of mature fig fruits and the bittersweet as much as sharp aroma of crushed lotuses’.
----------------------------------------
“KILL HIM! FUCK’S SAKE!” The officer kept ordering his reluctant to approach Emerson men. Still, they had fared decently slaying three of the archers and two gladiators from Citata’s group for nine of them. Another archer went down, then another with a spear thrust through the neck. Five more mercenaries, for two gladiators, the exchange not favoring them but terribly costly for Chiliad, the second man killed from a bolt that struck him at the right ear going through his helm like a nail.
Ah.
Emerson eyed the charioteers that had entered the woods as well and looked to hit any distracted opponent.
“Hey!” Emerson barked to be heard and marched towards them clenching his jaw, a large tree between him and the armoured trio. Two of them turned their crossbows on him, the third reached for a Glaive he’d stabbed on the ground next to his right boot, a type of polearm like the halberd, lighter in weight with a two meter long shaft but with a simpler flat blade. The tang secured in a socket-shaft with a steel pin running through it.
“GEH!” The charioteer snarled, either part of a name or nothing at all and grabbed the Glaive, one crossbow clattering on a dropped shield the other two firing. One after the other.
TANG!
TANG!
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An alert Emerson stepped right behind the tree trunk, a bolt whipping past the space he’d been occupying a moment ago, hitting a mercenary between the shoulder blades. The other ricocheted off of the trunk breaking a large chunk of bark away before it disappeared from sight. As for the determined knight, he emerged from the other side of the large fig tree still moving. The two charioteers were now frantically reloading whilst the third raised the Glaive with both arms. He slashed at the advancing Emerson in an arc parallel to the ground.
Too heavy, Emerson warned himself and snapped with the longsword trying to get at the weapon’s shaft forsaking an attempt to block. He hit the compact base securing the tang instead, the shock rattling his arm and the protruding steel pin cracking his blade. The charioteer backed away half a step, the large rising weapon’s momentum almost toppling him and then downed the Glaive again. Emerson stepped out of the way this time, the bones on his knee making a crackling sound.
The blade smashed the ground, the knight turning with a grunt, an eye on the two crossbows furiously working the cranequin gears and put a hand on the rising hardwood shaft of the Glaive.
“Eh,” the smiling mask said then the ragged broken edge of Emerson’s sword sunk into his throat, slipping the armour’s collar opening. One of the other two charioteers dropped the crossbow and unsheathed a scimitar just as Emerson shoved the butchered man down, keeping the Glaive.
Nout’s man stepped forward and hacked at him furiously. Emerson parried with his sword. Once and sparks exploded when steel met steel. Twice and the knight’s sword snapped, the blade bouncing off of his shoulder pads.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY Geh-Ra!” The other charioteer roared, slotting a bolt into the cranked crossbow.
A name then, Emerson thought solving the small riddle. He switched hands on the Glaive, longsword dropping between his legs, the Charioteer stepping away going right, which was Emerson’s left. The knight swung with the Glaive, the heavy blade got the trying to jerk-away charioteer under the left arm, shattered two ribs and then sunk there mauling first, then rupturing the armour. It turned the adjoining flesh into paste.
TANG!
Emerson heaved the Glaive and the shuddering charioteer still connected to it aside and towards the third one that decided to go for his sword as well. The knight let go of the long weapon with a grunt, the bolt sticking out of his left forearm touching bone and unsheathed the heavy sword he carried on his back. The charioteer shoved away the gasping and spraying blood down his smiling face, ninety-percent dead Geh-Ra, to get at Emerson but got stricken with the spiked-covered steel ball of the morning-star just below the right shoulder.
The sound of bone shattering mixed with that of torn flesh and the man’s blade hitting the ground. A bit of muffled mumbling in there as well, as the Cofol had probably bitten his own tongue off.
“Mista Savar!” Citata yelled and then swung with the nasty weapon again at the turning away charioteer. It landed at the base of his helm with a solid thud and dropped him immediately. The Nord-blooded female was a big woman. “How serious?”
Emerson grunted and tried to locate the officer but the man had retreated back down the slope upon witnessing his men get slaughtered mercilessly. Samir appeared, followed by Cendar, seven gladiators and half a dozen archers.
Get the blasted chariots, he told himself appalled at the losses. He needs to break through.
But he’s running out of fodder.
Gods forgive me.
“Push it out,” Emerson ordered Citata hoarsely, a weight pressing down on his chest and tended his throbbing arm to her. He clenched his jaw, eyes turned to the field and the road behind the trees.
Nout had brought his Cataphracts forward through the landbridge but instead of charging the Chiliad they lined up and fired volley after volley on Asper’s and Tanus’ platoons.
“Samir,” Emerson grunted through his teeth. “Get every man you got and set the road on fire. Any pile you can torch. Do it!”
“We should warn Asper,” Samir protested.
“If he hasn’t figured out what to do by now,” Emerson replied through his teeth, Citata working the iron bolt out of the bloody forearm tapping it ‘carefully’ with the morning-star using it like a hammer. “Then he’s already dead.”
“Apologies,” Citata said apprehensively. “I go slowly to avoid hurting you,” she explained and Emerson retorted brusquely.
“Don’t lass. Just get it over wit.”
> There’s a story circulating in the Khanate by the current Khan’s enemies that Ramen-Toka, Prince Nout’s wife’s brother, supposedly revealed about the final stages of the battle. Since his whereabouts or even survival is a matter of contention for reasons not directly connected to this tale, one must take everything lacking a proper record with a grain of salt. According to that story Sir Emerson had doused the road with oil (along with a great number of other traps) brought by Que Ki-La’s thoroughly raided warehouses and set it alight trapping many men and animals inside the maze of death he’d prepared.
>
> Since Sir Emerson had fought in the ‘Warbands Rebellion’ and had been on the receiving end of the Northmen’s trickery to stop the Knights it is a plausible story. He would have used similar tactics to stop Nout’s chariots.
>
> Regardless of the manner, tactics and weapons were abandoned as everyone rushed to escape. Horses panicked and forced their way out over ‘un-cleared’ terrain succumbing to devastating injuries and maiming their riders. The Chiliad’s front was splintered in two, with the gladiators retreating inside the woods.
>
> Prince Nout ordered the frontal assault to cease immediately and debated whether to wait the raging fires out or not. Fearing another similar trap set a kilometer away with his force spread thin, he decided to send probing groups of chariots and riders forward the moment it was feasible. They were to proceed with caution and report back. In order though for an operation like this to move ahead he needed to clear out one side of the woods or both. Nout opted to attack east as the woods were not as thick away from the lake and the lake itself (and the woods near it) were very close to contested ground at the junction.
>
> He ordered Ramen-Toka to take some of his chariot force, most of the medium cavalry he couldn’t use inside the woods (about a hundred of them plus fifty chariots) and assist the hard-pressed Nis-Belu beat back Lord Sopat’s demoralized forces. Merehor, who was present in the meeting, assured the Prince that Phon-Iv had been killed the previous day. Whether he believed him or not it is not clear. What is clear and obvious, is that Nout wanted to defeat Sir Emerson who he probably knew as ‘Pale Jackal’, his arena moniker.
>
> ‘We either finish them off here,’ Nout supposedly said to his officers and close friends. ‘Or we have them harass us all the way to Small River. If we make it there and they escape, then we’ll have to fight them all over again. They can’t be allowed to leave this field with a sliver of hope. They are a formidable foe. Bring me the Jackal’s head,’ he ordered Merehor. ‘Or I’ll have yours.’
>
> His old friend Hora-Se, the Cataphract leader hailing from old Rin the birthplace of Radpur, a veteran of Nout’s campaigns, assumed the general leadership of the attacking inside the woods force. They were to bring the chariots as close as they could, unload the men, then create striking groups of ten that would work together. A group would make contact with the gladiators lurking there, lure them towards the second group that would fire a volley and then they would both attack in unison. Some of the remaining Cataphracts refused to leave their horses and it was agreed they would be used as scouts due to their superior armour. Merehor’s remaining mercenaries (they had suffered atrocious losses trying to break the Chiliad’s shield wall) were tasked with locating the Jackal since they knew him and finish what they had left unfinished.
>
> It is worth noting that according to Ramen-Toka, Prince Nout had ordered Hora-Se not to allow Merehor to leave the woods alive even if the latter succeeded. ‘A turncoat is like a revolving door,’ the Prince had commented echoing similar sentiments by King Lucius offered at a later date. ‘Opens one way today, another on the morrow.’
>
>
Act III
-Costly endeavors-
Early noon
“GET THEM INSIDE THE WOODS!” Samir of Ani Ta-Ne bellowed waving his bow over his head with one hand, lit arrow gripped with the other and covered in soot. “HURRY UP!”
Emerson watched as the last of the gladiators reached the trees, Mirka and Kelly following with the few civilians loitering behind their lines. He approached the bloodied, blackened Tanus and his own platoon.
“Asper?” Emerson grunted.
“Went the other way. He had riders on his back.”
“Toros is still near the woods?”
“Don’t know Mista Savar.”
“You head to our cleared out spots,” Emerson told him. “Breathe some fresh air into yer lungs son.”
“You think they’ll move on ahead?” Tanus asked tiredly.
“It’s one thing to leave a ruined city on your back,” he replied soberly. “Another entirely to leave a fighting-capable force on your flanks, especially if you don’t control the bridge at the end of it. Too much of a risk.”
“You think Troy is still breathing?”
“I don’t see Sartak anywhere,” Emerson replied curtly.
----------------------------------------
Samir’s archers had brought the mules with them, a lot of the Chiliad’s supplies taken from the city were inside the forest hugging Lotus Lane, though the bulk of them had followed Ib-Lurd’s supply train ten kilometers away.
“Fifty-six jugs of olive oil, a couple of Naphtha,” Samir reported holding his head. The white scarf on it bloodied “I could be mistaken there. Got bashed on the head with a shield.”
“Carry one yerself. Use that to block next time,” Emerson advised him and eyed their group. “Nout has about six hundred charioteers. Scratch fifty of them away. He had about two hundred Cataphracts and as many Lancers."
“Two fifty,” Samir corrected him since he’d gotten tangled up with them outside Palar. “But I don’t see them down there. Maybe some Cataphracts.”
“Mercenaries?” Emerson asked. He had spent the time trying to galvanize the men’s spirits. It wasn’t a difficult job. The Gladiators wouldn’t run away nor stop fighting until they were killed. No one wanted to retreat further inside the woods were it was thicker.
‘Best to die with sun over our heads and a view of the road,’ Tanus had commented. ‘A pleasant place, eh, until Ballard ruined it that is.’
“Some. One large group.”
“How large?”
“They break easily so it doesn’t matter Jackal,” Citata intervened. “Will they leave the chariots?”
“They have to,” Emerson replied and signed for those that were to come with him to start moving. He paused to glance at Tanus and the rest of the Chiliad’s battered platoons regrouping under the shade, the smokes and sounds from the burning road and fields reaching them.
Tanus gave a nod with his helmed head and Emerson returned it. Kelly made to come after them but her mother grabbed her and pulled the young girl back. The knight turned around, spotted the solemn-faced Citata watching Kelly’s protests and touched her steel encased elbow to let her know they were leaving.
Citata cleared her throat. “Can anyone fill the void Lord of Ballard?” she asked him hoarsely and Emerson thought of Ziba and his son. It’s dangerous to get caught in these kind of thoughts in the midst of battle.
“Maybe…” Citata said unsure, turning around as well. She tried to smile and then wiped some of the blood from her scarred chin. “After it’s over? Would Rubi-La approve it?”
“I’m not a Lord,” Emerson grunted but added, softening it a bit. “But I reckon, she would.”
----------------------------------------
The guard detail of Charioteers were staying in the shade to avoid the putrid black smokes and the sun that had come up fully and while it was a bit clouded, the day had turned hot. Hundreds of horses were grouped near those of the Chariots, not all of them tethered. The carriages gleaming when the sunrays touched them. Polished wood and bronze or silver details on the sides. Red-painted wheels and the now retracted blades standing upwards. A great war-machine, Emerson thought and got up the long Glaive in hand.
The closest charioteer, his masked helm resting on a wheel, saw the steel armour of the Jackal getting out of the woods and recoiled. Opened his mouth to yell a warning but the Glaive whooshed and send half of it flying sideways along with the upper part of his head. The half-head flew rotating like a misshapen ball emptying its contents on the rest of his friends and warned them just the same.
It was a brief costly fight but by the time it was over a great portion of Nout’s parked fleet of chariots was burning. Had Emerson had more time, he’d torched them all but mercenaries came out of the woods and they had to stop pouring oil over them. Not wanting to fight them in the open and near the burning vehicles, the knight ordered his assault group to return inside the trees. The echoes of heavy fighting rumbling amidst the trunks and small openings.
----------------------------------------
“THAT’S HIM!” The officer from before yelled irate. “Someone get that accursed animal!”
Samir loosed an arrow aiming at him but he blocked it with his round metal shield. “Son of a bitch!” the mercenary leader cursed. “Motherfucker!”
Emerson stopped abruptly and turned around the moment he reached a relatively more open space. He took a deep breath, clenched the fingers from his injured hand on the Glaive and waited for the first mercenary to appear. The moment he jumped out of the foliage Emerson cut him down. Pivoted on a protesting knee and swung not five inches above ground chopping a foot off at the ankle, the blade arching upwards to carve a third mercenary from groin to sternum. Gore splashed out, a mess of red and white entrails spilling out and Emerson sidestepped, the scrap raging all about him.
He plunged the Glaive like a spear, allowing the shaft to slide in his hand and clasping it at the spiked butt, to skewer a mercenary fighting Samir through the sides. Samir finished him off but the officer hacked at the weapon and cut it in half afore Emerson could retrieve it.
“Hah!” The officer grunted. A Cofol with a six-leaved pattern on his leather and chainmail armour. “Now yer fucked!”
Emerson stepped back and unsheathed the heavy sword he’d taken from the Jackal all those years back. Its blade straight and double-edged. The officer snorted and grabbed a mercenary fighting Citata, shoved him against Emerson and went to fight the female gladiator himself.
The mercenary cursed but found his footing, stooped behind his round shield, fearful eyes peeking at the knight from above the metal rim, as he raised and lowered the shield to keep Emerson in sight. Emerson snapped the heavy sword forward and smacked the top of the shield. It banged the mercenary right at the forehead, splitting the skin from brow to brow.
“Errgh!” He cried out in shock and stumbled, blood in his eyes. He swung wildly trying to keep Emerson at bay but the knight rounded the raised shield, flipped the sword upside down and stabbed savagely with the sharp point on his boot. The mercenary yelped desperately and tried to get away, but the sword had nailed his foot on the ground. Emerson grabbed the shield just as he tried to slash him across the chest and shoved it sideways ruining his opponent’s attempt.
He got the blade out, elbowed the twirling mercenary at the nose and send him sprawling down just as Citata broke the officer’s shield with the morning-star. He cursed and made to retreat but Emerson cut him off.
“You could always surrender,” the knight cautioned him and the officer paused hopefully.
“Can I?”
“Sure,” Emerson replied and stepped aside as the approaching Citata had already swung with the morning-star again behind the officer’s back. “But I reserve the option to decline,” Emerson added turning his head away when the bashing weapon connected with the Cofol’s head. The skull exploded, bloody pieces of the shattered cranium splashing everything in a five meter radius and Citata faltered on the headless officer’s body losing her footing. She went down on a knee with a hoarse curse.
Emerson helped her up and stared at the others gathering around him. Cendar and Samir, another injured archer with a cut bleeding down his pants.
“There’s a chance of survival across the road,” he told them raspingly. “Through the flames and over the west side near the lake. Asper might be there or Toros. You make it to the shores, head west towards the desert and the Sopat camp.”
“Tanus is still fighting Jackal,” Cendar said gruffly. A bit of all races in him.
“Reckon he is.”
“I’m going back. I… have to,” Citata said and Emerson nodded, stared at Samir next.
The horse archer leader scrunched his swollen face, he’d received another blow to the head, then sighed wearily.
“Can we kill the Prince?” He asked Emerson. “Survive this?”
“Too many of them to kill Samir, but it’s possible,” the knight replied truthfully. “The moment Lord Sol died,” he added looking at him solemnly. “Our fates were sealed.”
“What are we doing here then?”
You were looking for revenge. Lost your appetite for it.
Because it is too costly.
There is only so much loss one can endure.
“Sometimes the Realms’ costly endeavors end with a compromise,” Emerson replied. “The men stepping on the sands are already dead the saying goes, but until they breathe their last they’ll fight. Do you not know why son of the Peninsula?”
“There’s always a chance,” Samir croaked pressing his mouth tight.
Mmm.
“Let us take it then,” Emerson said gravely and stooped to pick a dagger from the officer’s belt. “See where it leads us.”
> Cendar died with a spear to the face. Tanus lost an arm but fought with the other until he lost that too and he was cut in pieces from the charioteers surrounding him. Samir killed another Cataphract, his sixth of the day, a feat no other horse archer could ever hope to boast and unfortunately neither would he, as a stray arrow skewered his throat and the man died fittingly from it.
>
>
Act IV
- A meager slice of gratification-
Hours later
Late noon
Emerson was hurled back from the burned horse’s charge, found a foliage and rolled inside, breaking branches and squashing leaves until he exited the other side with a pained grunt. Nout had found a way inside the woods. Or knew it aforehand.
The knight got up and stared at the quieting forest. Most of the fighting had died down. He picked the heavy sword from the ground with another grunt and put a hand on his swollen knee, the bracers creaking after the abuse they’d received. Emerson listened for sounds, thought about going to look for others but he realized it was pointless. Anyone that had come his way, he’d cut down but each hour meant fewer of them were left and the Khan’s soldiers kept coming.
There’s no infinite number of anything, he thought with a grimace. Maybe water.
He tried to find the sky over the canopy but not much could be seen. The sky too, aye.
Emerson started down the large forest path, many existed inside the forest, some even leading to the coast kilometers away. He limped, then dragged the leg behind him. The sun dancing over the distance amidst the thinning trees. On its way down from the mid of the sky.
He stopped hearing calls for help and the distant sound of horses.
Cursed horselords could navigate even a plaguing forest, Emerson thought sourly. The Khan lands on Jelin it’d be difficult to find proper ground to stop him. Not in Lesia for sure. Allgods help them. The thought of his sister having to deal with all this mayhem too difficult to bear. Ziba has to get my boy out of Fu De-Gar. Another unwanted thought sapping at his will. If Sopat failed to stop the Prince then it would all come down to Lord Tsuparin. He remembered the fires burning the slaves alive on Kuntur’s funeral and shuddered.
The cries were heard again closer now. The sound of wheels turning over rough ground and horses. Then came the sounds of fighting. Emerson stared at the smoking road and then south over the woods hugging it.
Citata and the injured archer from before came out of the foliage fifty meters from him. The gladiatrix paused to help the man forward, her head turned back towards the unseen danger. With a groan she paused again. She hadn’t seen him as he was standing across the opening in the thick shade of a tree. Emerson glanced at the wide trunk of the Lotus tree next to him.
Large enough to hide a person. Two even.
His father raised his bearded head from the campfire and glared his way.
What about poor Lila? Emerson snapped at the unforgiving face. Ziba? What about my son? He growled. Curse ye! You ran my mother to an early grave! Emerson accused his scowling father. I never heard her voice again!
Then heard a scream coming from a much younger woman and turned to watch Kelly burst out of the bushes, Mirka following after her. Mirka made two steps afore an arrow sprouted on her back and she went down with a yelp. A Cataphract’s armoured horse breaking out of the bushes, its rider reloading his composite bow with another arrow.
“No!” Kelly screamed and stopped. Citata stopping as well, letting go of the archer. The man dropped on his knees and fumbled with his quiver looking for an arrow. Citata turned around morning-star at hand, while the cursing his luck archer reached for a long dagger and tried to get up.
“Mother!” Kelly cried out and tried to get Mirka going but she was too heavy for her. Emerson could see blood on the front of her cheap tunic.
“Let her go!” Citata growled at the Cataphract and Emerson heard the wheels nearer now. The gladiatrix made another two steps closer to the two former slaves and the mounted horse, hefting her weapon tight.
That’s the wrong weapon lass, Emerson thought and sighed wearily decision made.
> A young Glenavon stared at him utterly confused but working for an answer. The lad was smart as a whip when cornered.
>
> “There’s a demon in ‘em woods,” Emerson continued giving him the time to figure it out for himself. “We’ll rest today, eat some, but tomorrow we go after it. Why?”
>
> “It’s very dangerous?”
>
> At least he got that part right.
>
> Hopefully.
>
> “Of course it is. That was a Zilan spawn,” Emerson spat down a fat blob of phlegm at the word. “Damn things almost killed the whole realm once,” Glen blinked slowly probably all this too much for him. Don’t overwhelm the boy, he scolded himself. Just give him the gist. “But since we are Knights of the three Kingdoms we will go after it.”
>
>
> I’m not a lord, Emerson had told Citata.
>
> But I’m still a plaguing knight.
>
>
> It is what it is, Lila whispered perceptively.
He stepped away from the tree and into the open.
No reach on that, Emerson thought. Ye got to get him off that horse first.
----------------------------------------
The Cataphract stared at the gladiatrix with his sinister smiling face and then loosed his arrow smacking the jerking away archer right at the ribs. With a pained groan of frustration the man went down.
“Eh,” he commented, cultured voice coming out muffled. “Good enough, I suppose,” he decided and hang the bow carefully from a hook on the decorated saddle. “I’m looking for the Jackal,” the horselord explained patiently staring at the shaking Citata and not seeing Emerson that was approaching with his jaw clenched. “We could have all finished this,” the Cataphract replied. “But Nout wants proof of death. Understandably, given the colossal cost of this endeavor. So… any helm, sword, the head?”
“Kelly run!” Citata growled.
“I can’t leave her!”
“Leave!” Her mother cried with all her strength and shoved the crying girl away with bloody hands.
The Cataphract exhaled at the drama unfolding reached for his lances, picked one and got it out of its sheath.
“You can’t run away,” he explained to the crying Kelly. “I like blond girls.”
Then kicked his legs and send his warhorse forward towards the gladiatrix. Citata jumped out of the way despite her bulk, turning her torso mid-air to swing her weapon but couldn’t reach him. The horse galloped twenty meters away and turned in a wide circle inside the opening, the Cataphract snapping his head to the side spotting Emerson coming, but recovering quickly. He straightened his body on the saddle, lance lowering and charged at Citata.
“RUN KELLY! RUN!” Citata roared and timed her jump to hit the rider or his horse this time. She did, her strike landing on the horse’s plate-covered long neck but got skewered through the torso from the lance that broke on impact, leaving the blade and a piece of the shaft inside the gladiatrix.
Ah, lassie.
Kelly finally started running away in panic, stumbled and fell down, saw Emerson and headed towards him just as the Cataphract turned his neighing horse around. He cursed noticing blood dripping down from its neck and tossed the broken lance away afore spending some time soothing his mount with tender words.
“Tell me you didn’t find the armour in a ditch,” the Cataphract finally told the knight that gave Kelly a brief hug and pointed an arm behind the Lotus tree.
“Start running,” he advised the sobbing girl soberly. “Hide until dark and then run again.”
He then shoved her away from him abruptly and at last the teenager listened.
“No reply. I guess that’s an aye,” the Cataphract continued, pausing to listen for the sound of wheels. “That’s our Prince. You can tell from the sound,” he explained to Emerson. “They have coils on them newer chariots. You loosen them and you can navigate more difficult terrain.”
He got a warspear out.
Emerson set his feet and took a big breath, another Cataphract coming through the trees, a four-horsed chariot heard coming slowly up the slope after him.
“Dakurt!” The new Cataphract roared. His horse all black and even more decorated. The polished-silver smiling mask mended, the long crack visible and running down the face, glued with gold. “We reopened the road. What are you doing?” Then he spotted Emerson and pushed back on his saddle.
“That’s my kill, Hora-Se!” Dakurt barked irate. “I found him.”
Hora-Se stared at the corpse of Citata, the still-breathing very-injured archer and Kelly’s pale mother that was half-dead.
“A couple of women and an unarmed cripple,” he commented but shrugged his shoulders. “Let me see you best the Jackal.”
With an offended growl Dakurt charged at Emerson.
----------------------------------------
Dakurt went for a decapitation immediately and Emerson ducked under it with a grunt, stepped aside to circle around the rushing armoured warrior but Dakurt flipped his spear and went for his leg next.
Emerson pulled it away at the last moment, the knee protesting and Dakurt snorted. He faked, swinging the longer weapon but Emerson didn’t flinch at all and when the Cataphract pulled the spear to immediately thrust it in his chest, the knight turned his torso just enough to avoid it, the bones on his spine crackling and put his left hand on the shaft. He managed to grasp it behind the leaf-shaped blade.
“Ah,” Dakurt gasped not expecting him to dodge. He pulled savagely to free the spear from Emerson’s grip but the Knight yanked it right back the other way and took it out of his hands.
“Whoa,” Hora-Se commented from his horse.
Dakurt stumbled forward, saw Emerson’s blade thrusting and turned with a younger man’s reflexes sideways. Twirled around a hand reaching for his scimitar, the other extended to find balance. Emerson went for that hand.
He got Dakurt on the retreating gauntlet, the upper part and bright yellow sparks erupted. The Cataphract growled and tried to slash at him with the scimitar but Emerson’s blade read his reaction timely and cut him first across the wrist through the leather underside of the gauntlet.
Dakurt faltered loosing the grip on his sword, a chariot arriving behind Emerson that went on the attack blocking everything out. A slash and he broke through Dakurt’s weakened defense, his leg buckling and messing up his follow up.
Emerson growled and repositioned, Dakurt desperately switching arms to fight with the left, immediately overreacting to Emerson’s feint, so the knight flicked his heavy blade cutting him under the left armpit and then downed it brutally catching his slow to retract leg. The heavy blade cutting through scaled mail, flesh, arteries and lodging on thigh bone cracking it in four places.
“Finish this,” a croaking voice ordered and Emerson yanked the sword out in an eruption of gore to twist around. A bolt punched him in the chest. It felt and sounded like a long ship’s nail going through metal and wet wood.
Emerson stumbled back a couple of strides, blood flooding his throat, whilst Dakurt toppled backwards two meters from him with a pained groan.
“It’s the Jackal,” Hora-Se explained to the man with the gilded mask on the chariot. The smiling mask made out of gold, same as the details on his scaled polished armour but for the large parts covered in leopard’s dotted lavish hide that is. Same as the chariot with the white wheels. Emerson had seen the Prince afore back in 189, years ago.
He appeared thinner now.
----------------------------------------
Emerson kept retreating towards the Lotus tree, his eyes on the men alongside Prince Nout. The driver had a smiling mask on like a typical elite charioteer, but the other man looked like the official he’d seen earlier that morning.
“My friend,” Nout said grasping at the rail of his chariot with both hands. “We’ve lost enough on this madness. If it’s glory you seek, I shall bestow it upon you. My sister? You can have her. There are more campaigns coming in the near future. Across the Shallow Sea. Mark my words, we shall be called upon again to help the Khanate and when I sit the throne you’ll be a lord.”
Hora-Se shook his head and lowered his crossbow. He placed it on the bronze hook next to his bow and reached for a lance. Emerson kept retreating towards the edge of the opening until he realized it was too far away.
He stopped, coughed up a splash of blood that flooded the insides of the helm and turned to stare at the stooped over his chariot Prince. Then loosened the bindings on the Jackal helm and tossed it down. The knight couldn’t breathe that much better but the soft breeze on his unshaven face felt nice.
“Gods above!” Hora-Se who was much nearer him cried out in shock. “It’s him! I know you!”
Ah, now I remember you too.
“Cataphract, I gave you an order!” Nout barked raspingly and started coughing uncontrollably. Hora-Se wobbled his helmed head right and left in disbelief, then clicked his tongue getting the powerful warhorse moving.
----------------------------------------
Emerson knew he could only escape the lance in his condition by taking a very big hit. The chances of surviving it nonexistent. So if death was on either side of the coin then perhaps he could go for something unsportsmanlike and ruin his opponent’s day.
He gathered, right arm left hanging loose on the sides not to tire it, gulping down blood and seeing red mist spraying out of the hole on his plate. More trickling down the protruding bolt. The right hand he angled, the heavy sword pointing down and set his black eyes on the horse’s that was coming towards him, hooves digging at the soft ground. Down the metal covering its snout to the open frothing mouth, the red tongue and mauve lips pulled back to reveal the large teeth.
Swing afore it connects, he told himself and the previous Lord of Ballard got up from their campfire and tossed his family sword on the scorching embers, the leather on the handle immediately starting to smolder. The blade turning a glowing red.
Bury that old blade son or make one that’s yer own. Yer blade, yer rules. Let the past die and the family start anew, his father advised him curtly and then vanished.
Hora-Se lowered his lance, fixing the angle of approach to time the strike and a potential last second dodge, but Emerson stepped in front of the warhorse at the last moment. He’d swung with the heavy sword half a second afore that.
The lance entered Emerson’s right shoulder, angled going through the shoulder steel pad, snapped destroying the clavicle bone and then the warhorse crashed on him, breaking his right leg in two parts and almost detaching the weakened left. It catapulted him five meters away, across the opening and right under the Lotus tree where he stopped with a broken back and missing an eye.
The gored up to the back molars of its snout warhorse following after him for a meter or two, but then it dipped abruptly, both its front legs broken and sent Hora-Se tumbling to the ground like a ball of hay, breaking his arm and dislocating the shoulder.
Lucky bastard, Emerson thought, not feeling anything from the shock.
“Good grief!” The official cried and jumped from the chariot to run towards the injured Hora-Se. “Good knight are you… oh, the horror. It’s broken.”
Hora-Se groaned in horrible pain and Nout barked at his driver to go help him. The Prince got down from the Chariot himself and walked towards his crashed friend. With a shudder Hora-Se relaxed and the official started crying until Nout ordered him to stop and asked what had happened.
“A broken neck oh glorious strategist,” the official said sobbingly and Nout grasped his shoulder to console him.
“Now, Ibn-Robet you see why I warned him,” he said sounding saddened for the –apparently- not that lucky Hora-Se. “There are no games or sportsmanship in war. Eh, I really liked him, but there’s a reason I sent Ramen-Toka against Phon-Iv. He has more skin in the game. We are not kids anymore,” Nout paused and started coughing again. Paused to listen for anyone approaching and then stared at the withering away Emerson.
He frowned seeing Emerson up close, but the knight was too mangled up to recognize him immediately, half his face covered in gore, with more dripping down his missing left eyeball.
Then Nout did.
He reached and removed the mask from his face, releasing the metal clasps, what appeared behind it hideous to look at. The flesh had melted from his cheeks, turned grey and white, the right cheek having a hole in it patched up with cotton. He’d no hair on his head but thin bandages to cover more leaking boils.
“I know. Nowhere…” Nout said stopping near Emerson but not near enough. Not that the knight could move at all, but one has to respect a cautious man. “Near glorious…” the sick Prince admitted bitterly, keeping the mask in his veiny scarred hands. “How did you make it out?”
“Frgkh.”
“Was that an uncouth word?” Nout asked.
Emerson gave a slight nod, spraying blood on the Prince’s fine armour.
“Why help them?” Nout asked trying to stave off another bout of heavy coughing. “They are unfaithful creatures. Lustful and greedy.”
“My Prince,” the driver reported. “We need to rejoin the men.”
Nout nodded and got up with difficulty.
Emerson thought the Prince looked almost as dead as him.
He didn’t feel sorry for him at all.
“They’ll betray you, you know,” Nout said pausing, his scarred face dark. “Weigh your value on their little golden scales and sell you. Or your loved ones. I don’t want them, so they are safe. We are enemies in war Sir Lennox of Ballard. Yes, I still have my mind intact. It’s all I need. Others will though, when I’m not around. Enemies in war as I said. Not after it. This battle is over. I won again. If it’s any consolation you caused me great harm but you where the one that kept them all together all along. It makes sense. Who would do it now? So this is a complete victory. With Phon out of the way, Don-Iv will do what he’s told and I’ll deal with that scorpion in Fu De-Gar for my own reasons.”
Emerson coughed up half a lung out at the news.
Nout walked towards his chariot and climbed up. Paused afore putting the gold mask back on and stared at the laid under the tree Emerson. Then he turned to his driver. “Ibn-Robet will drive me down the road. Bring me his helm and his head,” he added. “Make it humane. Finish him off first. Bury the body properly. Use Dakurt’s horse to catch up with us.”
Emerson wished him to find a hole crossing the slopes and land upside down on the chariot, which was a silly thing to wish.
Why are you still alive? He asked himself.
The last thing he needed was getting eaten from an old-crocodile fit enough and adventurous in spirit, to make the trip from the distant lake.
“Shitty jobs,” the driver commented walking towards him. He stooped to take his helm from the ground, glanced at the dead horse and went to search that too. Found a heavy purse of coins left there since Nout wouldn’t loot his own friend and pocketed it. Then walked up to Citata and searched her too. Even opened her armour to stare at the dead woman’s breasts. Then moved to Kelly’s mother, now well dead. Stared at the still archer, decided he was deceased and too poor to search. The still living man watching him with a half-closed eye trying not to breathe.
The charioteer returned to Emerson, picked up his sword and worked it in his hands.
“Are you dead yet?” He asked unemotionally. “I have to move you a bit to sever the head—”
He never got to finish the sentence.
A hurled rock the size of a ripe orange had stricken him on the side of the head, the ringing penetrating Emerson’s ears.
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Emerson tried to turn his head but couldn’t. He willed himself to speak but just coughed up more blood, a couple of coagulated pieces in there, which helped the knight breathe a little. The charioteer groaned and started moving. He’d lost his helm and had a tear at the side of his head. He tried to stand up, blood pouring out of the wound freely, mumbled something incoherent and collapsed on his face again.
“Is he dead?” Troy asked limping fast towards him. Emerson couldn’t believe his eyes, then remembered the Prince was near. “I can’t see that well. Everything is spinning at times.”
Fucking idiot!
“Are you dead?” Troy asked and tried to move him. Emerson spat in his face. “Hey! What… damn it Ballard. You got run over by a horse or something? Shite, yer missing an eye!”
Troy looked run over as well.
“Can you move?”
“Grglr!”
“What?”
Emerson pointed with his eye at his mangled left arm. The vambrace had opened and Ziba’s scarf could be seen under it, wrapped on his bloody wrist.
“Get…” Emerson growled hoarsely giving it is all.
“I can’t take that,” Troy said his swollen face darkening. “I’ll carry you to the horse—”
Emerson had managed to swing his left arm to smack him once upside the head.
Got his money’s worth.
“What in Allgods Ballard?” The gladiator protested grabbing at his ear.
“Get… my son… out. Bring him home,” Emerson rustled, voice crackling and Troy stood back horrified for some reason.
“I can’t… she won’t.”
Emerson ogled his eye on the bloody scarf, it was a godsend he was paralyzed else talking to this fool would probably had finished me off.
Troy puffed out exasperated and then puffed out again. “Don’t do this to me… fuck’s sake old man. I can’t face her,” he protested. “Let me get you on that god darn horse. We can slip away.”
“Do… it.”
“I’ll never make it there,” Troy said hoarsely, his blond hair covered with dirt and blood, some of it missing at the top. “I don’t know where to go. This isn’t for me…” he was about to start crying.
Emerson stared at him with understanding.
“I’m not a good man,” Troy sobbed. “I’ll fuck it up man.”
“Reckon… ye’ll do… The right thing,” he whispered to him meaningfully.
Troy got up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You fucking bastard,” he croaked. “Let me hide you at least.”
If you move me an inch I’m dead, Emerson’s sole bloodshot eye told him. This is a good spot. I could see the sun set beyond them trees. It reminds me of home.
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The sun moved on the sky slowly, its light dipping lower but still coming through the thin tree line. The forest peaceful again. The road mostly clear on this part, the destroyed portion of it further away where all the heavy fighting had occurred. Emerson thought he might see the sun setting for a last time but quickly realized he was losing consciousness too swiftly for that. So he decided to turn his blurring eye on the sky. There was a spot at the canopy Emerson could see through and it happened to be clear of clouds there.
A nice light blue.
Pure.
It is really nice.
A meager slice of gratification.
Be good, he told his son. It’s all that matters.
Just before he faded away an unnatural dark shade went over his private part of the woods and covered what little he could see of the sky. By the time the knight realized what he was witnessing the large wyvern had passed him by. It would return again not much later but by that time Emerson’s brave soul had moved on.
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