>
>
> The Duchess, sends her regards.
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>
>
> -
>
>
>
> ‘Devious’ Dirk Curd’s famed response to Legatus Sula’s query during the battle of Islandport
>
> Winter of 194
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Dirk Curd
‘Devious Dirk’
Lorian Plains | Cold-skinned lady’s hand
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Summer of 193 NC
Oldtrees Forest
Somewhere near Unalen River
Unclaimed Far North lands
-
The direwolf kept his hate-filled yellow eyes on him, low-guttural growl emanating from the beast’s belly. A scarred belly this, the cut badly healed and pelt leaving a pale gush running across the large predator’s ribs. Dirk remembered that scar and the weapon that had caused it. The Direwolf remembered it as well but kept his distance looking for another opportunity to settle the old score.
Stubborn beasts they were, he thought returning the lone predator’s stare. Slow to forget and resolute in keeping a grudge for years.
Like people in a sense. Plenty of them were holding a blood grudge against Dirk as well.
Some for no reason.
Others justly.
Most probably.
“He’s been following us for weeks,” ‘Wicked’ Manfred rustled, dark beard protruding down his cracked from the weather face. Eyes like the wolf’s only darker.
Ye got to wait for yer chance, Dirk silently warned the lurking beast.
“Following me,” Dirk replied with a grimace and eyed ‘Rash’ Ludolf approaching from the river. The half-breed was Manfred’s cousin or some other relation. Dirk hadn’t asked but they were rolling together for years. Mostly robbing and killing merchants going back and forth from Krakenhall to Rockfort, much as people with their skillset do absent another legitimate task.
Even if they have one.
Manfred was sort of a named fighter and Ludolf had plenty of killings under his belt as well so they had a good thing going. Zofia had pardoned them to bolster Dirk’s ‘warband’ and Dirk had come to trust them sort of to do the jobs, Captain O’ Leary’s soldiers were reluctant to do.
Now, come to trust them, didn’t mean to Dirk exactly what it meant for other people. But Manfred feared Zofia since the outlaws that had refused her ‘amnesty’ call, the Duchess had skinned first, then beheaded and used the leftover material to dress the inside of her gloves and boots.
Zofia had no mercy for anyone going against her wishes.
‘Used it all up for yer likes,’ she frequently griped to him when in her cups and feeling all sentimental. ‘So they get to pay fer what ye did.’
Ah, damnation, Dirk thought. The love-hate relationship probably the best thing that ever happened to him.
“What the fuck is that?” Manfred cursed and got up axe in hand.
Dirk grimaced and turned to the west away from their camp, caught a glimpse of a pale arm brushing a tall branch away and then a hairy, wiry naked torso appeared. Long red beard flowing down his broad chest and wild curls of hair blowing every which way to the slight breeze. The crude spear he carried almost three meters long but not towering over the tall Nord by much.
“Frozen fucking testicles,” Ludolf agreed mouth hanging open.
Dirk put his hand on Manfred’s fist to sheathe his axe and stepped forward.
“Hey, ‘Big Svan’,” he greeted the Nord half-giant. “How’s the waters this time of year?”
“Plenty of hammerheads still,” Svan replied and looked at the half-breeds with interest. “But yer friends are eating everything, so Ulf is concerned.”
“We’ll pay for using the river,” Dirk assured him.
Svan pointed at Manfred’s axe and the half-breed furrowed his brows.
“Good metal this. Nice glow to it, eh?”
“Steel.”
“Pay wit steel ‘little Curd’?”
“As much as you want. Zofia rules in Krakenhall,” Dirk replied and two more impressively massive Nord warriors came out of the ancient whitebark trees.
“That’s ‘Bear’ Willard and ‘Old Trunk’ Willard, Ulf Willard’s friend and cousin,” Svan explained. He was a Willard as well. Ulf’s son.
“How many Willards are there?” Manfred queried eyes ogling comically.
“Everyone in Willard’s Clan,” Svan explained. “Is young Zofia important now?”
“She always was, reckon the lass is a bit more of that now,” Dirk replied nonchalantly. “We won’t stay long but I’ll make sure you get your steel weapons.”
“Where are Zofia’s men be heading?” Svan asked just as ‘Bear’ removed the axe from a nervous Manfred’s belt to have a better look at the blade.
“Across the big fresh-water lake.”
“Why?”
“She gave her word to the Lord that helped her some seasons back. Now enemies look to hurt her friends.”
‘Big Svan’ nodded with his large head. They all listened for a while to the northern wind whistling through the ice-covered woods. Summer didn’t much penetrate inside the forest but it was a calm wind this, half-pleasant.
“The Oldtrees of winter heard yer words,” the Nord rustled in his baritone voice thoughtfully.
“Yeah? What did they say?” Dirk asked him curious, since this part he’d never figured out. Gods and trees just wouldn’t talk to him.
Curd didn’t give a damn about them, perhaps that was the reason.
“Assist the cold lady of Krakenhall for she would rule the North,” Svan replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders and Dirk decided that this sounded like something Zofia would do.
-
Six months later
Smuggler’s Beach
Canlita Sea south shores
Three kilometers from the Flooded Bogs, four from Islandport
The ‘Back Roads’ of Mandarin Forest.
Moored Pascor’s Fleet
“Fucking leeches,” Captain Veber cursed and used a small curved knife to cut one off of his calf. “You’d think the locals would maintain the facilities a bit better given the usage.”
“What usage be that?” O’ Leary asked, clad in his Krakenhall chainmail. The rest of his soldiers standing neatly in groups ready to march inland. Curd’s men were more loosely gathered on the beach with ‘Big’ Svan and his people cutting up fruits from the trees. The fruits were bitter and wouldn’t be eatable for several months but the Nords were munching on them with gusto, some even tasting the soft bitter leaves right out of the branch.
“The trading kind,” Veber replied keeping it vague.
O’ Leary frowned. “Why not use the docks facilities? This looks hastily built.”
Veber glanced at him seemingly disturbed at his query. “Mercator taxes the fuck out of everything. The Duke has the same nasty habits.”
“So what… What habits?” O’ Leary asked unsure, the Captain basically running a similar system in Krakenhall. Veber was talking to the police essentially. “That sounds… Doesn’t Pascor export or trade with Asturia officially?”
“Sure,” Veber replied eyeing the Captain of the Guards with a hefty dose of suspicion. “All the fucking time.”
“Can we cut through the woods?” Dirk intervened.
“In small groups,” Veber replied. “I have a couple of lads that are about to… move some stuff in the city. Given the circumstances we have to check first then deliver. You can go after them and get a feel of the situation.”
“Or use the road,” Dirk added.
“Sure. Just know the road has nosy patrols. They frown upon mysterious wagons sneaking about and I reckon they’ll behave in the same unreasonable manner to armed soldiers.”
“The Duke promised to support us,” Dirk reminded him. “He’ll get iron delivered at an excellent prize, well below market value.”
“We’ll be here. Supporting. We’ll douse your lads’ wit positive energy.”
“Manfred,” Dirk grunted. “We’ll venture towards the city, skirt around the bogs. O’ Leary will march up the road during the night. See you make good time Captain. We’ll meet you outside the city.”
“How do we tell friend from foe?” O’ Leary asked.
“I’ll head there first. See if we can skirt around or what not,” Dirk replied curtly. He didn’t like Zofia being friendly with the young captain. All this ‘old acquaintance from back home’ bullshit tales rubbed him the wrong way and he was going to address the mater at some point sooner or later. “You’ll know more when I do,” he added.
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“Well?” Manfred asked crooking his mouth -right then left- more than two hours later, the first huts leading inside the west side of the city a hundred meters away. A whole lot of ruckus coming from the lit up port and the plains surrounding it lively, to say the least.
Luc ‘Vender’, the smuggler they were following after had no relation to their Captain despite the names sounding familiar, thought about it. He had just returned from a meeting with some local ‘collaborators’.
“I have some conflicting reports from a ‘friendly’ tolls sergeant,” he finally said.
“What about?” Manfred grunted as he’d enough of the Pascor merchant’s bullshit.
“Another legion is in the city. It’s a warzone.”
“Didn’t you scumbags say back in Pascor that the King’s men have taken over and it’ll be smooth sailing?” Dirk rustled. “Which is why we got dropped in the back end of nowhere!”
“Mercator has taken his ships to Asturia, the Duke sealed the harbor and here, Scylla is running things now. Or was to be more precise.”
Dirk had no idea what he was talking about.
“Fuck is he?” Ludolf grunted similarly confused.
“A Baron? Anyway, trade has been suspended for security reasons or some crap, but while those were the news we were privy back home, it appears that while we traveled the other Legion came inside the city,” Vender explained. He paused to light his pipe but Dirk grabbed his hand and crunched it audibly, corking it one away then the other. The smuggler dropped the pipe down with a pained cry.
“Continue,” Dirk urged him calmly, but it came out a threat. “See you make more sense this time.”
“Sula attacked but Ligur was expecting him so it’s a mess now,” Vender mumbled glaring at Dirk for the abuse.
“Sula is with Lucius?” Manfred asked a little confused with the names thrown about.
“Aye, but different legion.”
“Ligur has one as well?”
“Ayup. He supports the king. The other king.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Manfred cursed. “Now what?”
“Let me think about it,” Dirk retorted angry.
“What’s to think about?” Vender protested. “There’s fighting in the city and outside of it. Let them duke it out and we retreat to our cove until all this blows over! There’s a lot of fucking army in them fields Curd!”
Manfred looked at him, Svan coming out of the trees to see what the holdup was. Eh, Dirk thought thinking of Zofia’s orders. How am I supposed to figure this one out lass?
“Does this sergeant know the position of everyone in the field?” He asked Vender. The smuggler had stooped to pick up his pipe with a scowl.
“He might not want to tell for free,” Vender spat.
Dirk wasn’t worried about that.
“Just call him over,” he replied and turned to talk with the Nords that were about to enter the city. “We’ll see if we can reason wit him,” Dirk added.
An hour later
Ludolf tossed the sergeant’s mutilated body in a back alley and Manfred smacked his lips looking at the woman that was staring at them through her closed window. The small hut one of many at the edges of the city. The sight of hundreds of armed foreigners gathering at the outskirts of Islandport’s west district had spooked her.
“Leave her be,” Dirk warned the Northman.
“This Sula has a painted mountain on his shields?” Svan asked. “Why?”
“Let’s not dwell on that,” Dirk retorted. “They are situated in ‘em woods on the east side of the harbor. The other Legion is across from him at the road coming from Asturia. We have men from Sabretooth, that’s the wild dogs sigils and probably Alden troops in the city. That be Regulars with fancy red plate and tigers on their chests.”
“What’s the camp O’ Leary found on the road?” Manfred asked.
“That be the war-machines camp. They are with Ligur.”
“So O’ Leary takes over the camp?”
“Ayup and holds the road from Tenor,” Dirk replied. “So we can retreat towards the ships if this turns tits up. You Pascor motherfuckers are gonna help out or not?”
“We’ll guard the beach,” Vender grimaced. “We barely have the men for that.”
“You’ve almost two hundred marines snorting and farting on them ships,” Dirk retorted.
“I can’t commit the Duke’s men to such a foul business!” Vender protested and Dirk considered backhanding him. Shove that pointy jaw down his gullet.
“The Duke is fine with using them for smuggling stuff though,” Manfred pointed out gruffly.
“I wouldn’t use that term around Lord Dolf Northman!” Vender warned him and Manfred chuckled aloud.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“What term? That’s what yer darn beach is called fer pity’s sake!” Ludolf griped.
“Unofficially,” Vender elucidated setting that jaw.
“Right, be that as it may,” Dirk started thinking it through. “We’re here to assist the Duchess’ friends. So we need to crack open a path through the city and see if we can alleviate the pressure on Sula.”
“Then what?” Manfred asked and the closest of the warband listening in had the same reaction.
“What am I? A fucking seer?” Dirk admonished him soberly. “You’ll move towards the wheat fields, see if ye can catch the machines napping. Go towards the lights. If ye can’t, you’ll swing towards the city from the south. Give us a plaguing hand!”
“What are you going to do?” Manfred asked curious.
“Get Svan and his lads inside, see if I can break through towards the city’s center and the docks. Make contact with Sula’s men.”
“We should take the city. Men are experienced in this shite,” Ludolf argued thinking of the loot.
“Listen up you sons of whores,” Dirk grunted irate. “Anyone not following my orders I’ll shorten at the knees with a cleaver! No ifs or buts and no pleading fer mercy. I don’t do that shit! Ye get that? Then I’ll tell the Duchess all about it. You better pray yer dead from blood-loss afore we return!”
“We’re a long way from Krakenhall Curd,” Manfred replied gruffly.
Dirk reached for his axe. “That sounded awful lot like a challenge. Why, look at all them shields readily available to make a circle,” he told the grimacing Northman. “Yer in luck. I’ve just had me blade sharpened. I’ll test it on yer ugly head.”
“I’m just making a point Curd.”
“Me too. How about it? Get the muscles all worked up?”
“Ha-ha,” Svan guffawed. “Fight!” He roared.
Manfred took a step back and raised his hands. “Ain’t fighting ye,” he rustled nervously.
“Get yer sorry arse out of my face!” Dirk snapped angry and then glared at the rest of the warband. “Don’t even think of making a mess of this. I’ve enough of you motherfuckers boasting in me ear for months. There are enemies in them fields. Go kill them all!”
“Kill them all?” Bear asked furrowing his thick brows.
Eh.
Dirk glanced at the towering Nord. “Just follow me lead.”
[https://i.postimg.cc/fwLk7sp2/Lo-P-noon-15th.jpg]
morning-noon of the 15th
> With Sula’s tired men defending valiantly but retreating all across the forest line, Prefect Valens and Carbo’s large force that was holding out against Lord Scylla got cut off inside the city when Marlene’s warriors got smashed by Seneca’s attack the morning of the 15th. Ligur ordered Trifer and Slaurus (located in different spots on the battlefield) to disengage and reposition towards Mercator’s Inn to deal with the soon to arrive Lucius.
>
> Slaurus did, but was stalled for a couple of hours since despite Memon’s repeated assaults Fallon’s slingers and teams of cut off rangers defended inside the copse almost to the last man. Sir Gatrell was cornered between overwhelming forces (that were Sir Sylvan’s cavalry and the Scaldingport men-at-arms.) He retreated to save his command and the 4th’s remaining Cavalry that had joined with his Sovya riders, urging Fallon to break out across the road but the scouts’ officer refused initially.
>
> Glycia, who was pivoting east in the blasted part of East Coast Woods to wipe out Boston’s crews met with Regulus’ advancing Centuries. They discovered the spiked machines but not the engineers that had slipped away towards Canlita’s shores deeper inside the woods. Seneca had to stop as Sula counter-attacked with the help of Centurion Chad and ask for reinforcements. It was obvious to those in the field that the 4th Legion was performing a fighting retreat towards the flooded part of the forest and the shores.
>
> While Ligur considered how to disengage his legionnaires and navigate the King’s Council repeated interfering with his battle plan, things took a surprising turn that caught everyone flatfooted. Three or four platoons of Krakenhall’s Regulars under Captain O’ Leary (around three hundred plus soldiers), alongside two hundred hardened warriors under ‘named’ half-breed Dirk ‘Devious’ Curd who was oath sworn to the Duchess of Krakenhall Zofia O’ Dargan (rumored also her lover) and an unidentified number of members of Willard’s Clan -an obscure race of gigantic wild men living deep inside the massive Oldtrees Forest- perhaps between twenty and forty, landed at ‘Smuggler’s Beach’ outside Flooded Bogs some kilometers from Islandport.
>
> Dirk Curd had used Pascor’s Fleet to cross Canlita Sea after coming to an agreement with Duke Dolf a month earlier. They were supposed to land in Asturia but Dolf and the Grand Duke were in disagreement due to an incident that had happened in Bisonville during the summer and ordered Captain Veber to drop the Northmen (large number of half-breeds, Lorians and even Issirs were present) to Islandport. With the harbor closed Veber unloaded them at the frequently used by Pascor outlaws Smuggler’s Beach (it is difficult to differentiate officials from outright criminals in Dolf’s court) with the idea being that they’ll never see them again.
>
> Dirk forced the Captain to assist him to navigate the Back Roads and learned of the new developments probably that day. While we have no records of his plans, motives or anything concrete written about the life of the controversial enforcer today other than the absurd manner in which he died, it is generally agreed through the 4th Legion’s diaries that he decided to split his force. O’ Leary attacked the poorly defended artillery camp and took it over, while Dirk’s warriors collided with the pivoting Trifer who was (like Slaurus some kilometers away) trying to relocate towards Mercator’s Inn. Curd with the wild Nords entered the fiercely fought over city.
>
>
-
Dawn of the 15th
Islandport city center
Lord Scylla’s rear headquarters
Battle for control of the docks
Dirk walked nervously towards the guarded barricade, axe in hand and sweating like a fat pig. His boots were thudding on the paved ground of the square but the sound was drowning in the brouhaha coming from every alley and the ravaged city itself. While his steps were sort of muffled though, the Nords following him made a lot of god darn noise.
A sergeant saw them approaching, blinked in shock and the kid he was talking to -it had brought a cart with foodstuff to the sentries- shrieked at the top of his lungs.
“We are here to assist…” Dirk started raising his left arm in a friendly gesture but a monstrous spear made out of oldwood whipped past his head and skewered the sergeant through the torso alike a trout. It lifted him clean off the ground, over the cart and hurled him four meters back until he stopped on the timber wall of the barricade with a loud bang.
The kid fainted abruptly and collapsed cracking his skull open on the lip of the cart. He was dead afore he hit the ground much like the sergeant.
“Ah, unholy damnation,” Dirk gasped taken by surprise and a troubled by something Svan stopped next to him, while ‘Bear’ hurried to retrieve his ‘spear’.
“We keep the steel we find?” The Nord asked in his calm baritone voice and a numb Dirk nodded.
“Door is closed with a chain,” Bear informed them and pointed at the gates of the barricade that cut the square in two portions. A sentry patrolling the walls cried seeing them gathered under him.
“Hey! Who goes there…? What the actual fuck!” He cursed, then shouted as loud as he could. “TO ARMS! INTRUDERS!”
“What?” Svan guffawed just as Bear jumped upwards lithely and speared the sentry between the legs to bring him down over the passageway.
“Can you kick the doors open?” Dirk asked him while Bear lowered the skewered groaning soldier down to squash his head with a heavy boot. Two more sentries rushing towards them from the parapets.
“I may need ‘Old Trunk’ and yer help. Let Bear deal with the rest of them,” Svan admitted sadly and Dirk nodded still numb with how the whole matter had unfolded. He wanted to sort of sneak in initially.
“Sure. No problem,” he replied hoarsely, just as Bear grabbed a climbing down the stairs soldier by the foot and heaved his screaming body back over the other side of the walls.
Eh.
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A heavy-set armoured soldier came leaping through the air over an upturned wagon, mouth wide open and growling like a mad dog. Dirk saw him there, murky figure traveling in the air, heard the great roar in his ear, then Old Trunk’s custom made cleaver frayed into the soldier’s ribs and flung him back, gore gushing out of the cavernous wound like wine out a cracked flask.
‘Big’ Svan sprang forward from a beefy leg, crude iron blade whooshing as he hurled it with a drawn out cry putting his shoulder behind the mighty chuck. The blade tumbled front to back, zipping across ten meters in a gasp and disappeared inside a soldier’s chest, hurling him two meters back, the protruding blade nailing an officer’s arm to his stomach.
Dirk saw none of that as he’d ducked under a longsword, darn edge of the blade clipping part of his earlobe after going through his helm and hacked at an ankle in the blind, while screaming obscenities. He stopped to defend against the officer’s friends, turning his foot inwards to better grasp at the tiles, but found a half-rotted cabbage with his sole and twisted the wrong way instead.
“Eargh!” Dirk cried out and swung his axe back, catching a blade with a clang coming for his head. He arched the weapon on the return to keep the soldiers away whilst spinning about in full blown panic, eyes ogled wide and pale lips split in a gnarly snarl.
Just once he wanted a scrap to go smoothly.
Dirk longed for easy kills.
A quick-footed soldier parried his weapon, stepping closer and turned a sword to cut him across the face. Dirk wanted none of that so he grabbed him by the throat, snapping his left arm forward and got hit under the armpit instead, over the mail. Felt a couple of ribs move about and it made bile rise to his throat but he took it over the alternative. The soldier pulled his arm back to try again much as people do in these type of situations, the sharp blade sawing at the chainmail, while a ferociously snarling Dirk shoved his fingers deep into the man’s soft skin with a fresh surgeon’s enthusiasm but none of the skill, until it gave and hot blood splashed him in the face.
“What’s that?” Svan asked in his booming voice and a confused heavy-breathing Dirk turned his eyes on the rest of the square, a torn bloody piece of his opponent’s trachea still in hand.
Barely saw the iron bolt zipping towards them from the alley and spearing ‘Bear’ through the chest. The giant Nord took two steps back with a groan of pain, a look of surprise in his hairy face.
Well, fuck an ice-duck, Dirk thought sourly and started running towards the engineers that were heaving the heavy machine out of the alley to better aim at his group.
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Them kin of wolf-bitches are working fast as all-fucks, a sprinting Dirk thought seeing them setting the machine down at the mouth of the alley to try again.
“CU-RSE YER MO-THERS!” Curd growled, managing a doused in spittle syllable with every heavy stride and chucked his war axe to the crew surrounding the Scorpio. A soldier stepped in front of it wielding a heater shield he raised to protect himself and the screaming weapon wedged on it cracking the wood above the boss. Smacked him in the face next cutting his upper lip and breaking four teeth, the soldier’s head snapping back violently.
The soldier stumbled to his feet, the engineer right behind him reaching for the winch lever, another slotting an iron bolt inside the slider. Dirk arrived a second later just as the engineer’s fist closed around the tube and absent another plan –he was still fumbling to get his sword out- used the bleeding soldier with the shield to block the path of the projectile.
He crashed on him and the man was hurled back, the bulging sharp point of the iron bolt piercing his back right at the spine. The soldier shuddered, men cursing amidst the screams as the Scorpio nudged back with a creaking sound without firing and tried to hit Dirk with the shield that had his axe still stuck in it. Dirk got the nasty smack on his right shoulder with a grunt, pulled his numbing arm back and then punched the man right at his bloody mouth, knuckles loosening a couple of more teeth in the gory gap. The soldier’s legs gave under him, but the bolt still stuck in his spine kept him upright and Dirk stepped to the side to reach one of the crew that was thrusting with both arms on the injured man’s back to dislodge the hapless soldier from the machine.
“Ye rotten bastard!” the livid Lorian growled, nailing Dirk’s parentage even though he’d never met the man and got a shortsword out to knife him in the cracked ribs. Dirk put his blood-covered right hand on his opponent’s wrist, left still scrabbling to get his own blade out and the engineer retaliated punching him squarely at the jaw, sending Dirk’s helm flying. The named half-breed spat a tooth out, a cut on his gums bleeding, brains rattled and elbowed the engineer under the left eye breaking the cheek-bone there. Caved half his face in.
The engineer was hurled back with a pained cry and his friend kicked the soldier on the arse to dislodge him from the machine, reaching for the lever again when the latter collapsed to his knees dead. Dirk’s sword came down afore he could draw it and chopped his arm right at the wrist, the blade going through bones and tendons, then striking the mechanism sending sparks flying.
“MUAARRGH!” The engineer groaned, mouth opened wide to show the rotted molars, gory stub spraying blood like a broken hose and Dirk slashed him across the neck to shut him up yanking the sword back in an arc.
The momentum twisting him around and having spent himself rugged in the last twenty intense minutes of fighting, Dirk went sprawling down the granite tiles covered ground. He almost slashed his own face off with the sword.
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“Aah,” Dirk groaned in pain from the ground and felt a huge hand grabbing his hurt shoulder to lift him up. “Not the shoulder.”
Svan stared at him gravely. “The big arrow pierced Bear’s heart,” he told him and Dirk nodded grimacing, injured in too many places to concentrate. “Luthos hand eh?”
No, it was the fucking engineer. But he’d taken care of that hand.
“I’m not sure he could have survived anyway,” Dirk grunted and tried to get his axe back from the shield.
“He would have. I survived a tree falling on me. Got impaled by the branches. Not in the heart though.”
“Right,” a numb Dirk stared in the wild Nord’s face. “Apologies for yer loss.”
He got nothing to counter that.
“Svan needs to make this right. Old Trunk agrees. You stay here with ‘Little Bart’ and his warriors.” ‘Little Bart’ was a huge man close to six feet seven but that wasn’t as impressive for Willard’s closest kin.
“Yeah, I need to reach Sula’s lines. We stay together big guy,” Dirk grunted, blood covering his jaw. “Damnation. I think a rib just came loose.”
“There’s fighting coming from this paved path. Where do you think it is heading?” Svan asked, a sad-looking Old Trunk moving Bear’s body near the square’s oak trees in the background. Around thirty soldiers slain around them, broken tables, maps and chairs tossed about, plus the sentries they had to kill to get through the gates twenty meters away.
Dirk cracked his pained neck left and then right. The scarred warrior spat a bloody blotch down next, pieces of tooth mixed in and tongue lodging in the gory gap in his gums afore he replied all serious.
“I’ve no blasted idea.”
He was supposed to land in Asturia for crying out loud.
Dirk knew fuck all about Islandport.
> Dirk Curd with his relentless warriors (one wouldn’t be remiss to mistake them for ‘Hulking’ Layton’s close kin) penetrated Lord Scylla’s rear lines overrunning his headquarters and butchering his staff taking no prisoners. It wasn’t a fluke as with the exception of Captain O’ Leary no other unit in Dirk’s force took any prisoners. At any rate, he reached Prefect Valens, the latter had been gravely injured earlier that morning (he would barely survive the battle but lose another brother before everything was over) and helped the 1st Century under Gratian to secure the docks in a brutal fight.
>
> Then Centurion Gratian’s fierce forty-eight hour dogfight (along Pike’s house to house tactics) inside Islandport’s narrow streets and neighborhoods is required reading for officers coming out of Anorum’s academy today.
>
> Lord Scylla had to retreat towards the northwest and the bogs effectively getting out of the fight for hours as he tried to regroup his scattered forces. This gave the 4th Cohort the chance to connect with Carbo’s cut off 2nd when it turned south to break out of the city. Carbo was still breathing but was seriously injured as well and without supplies for two days. Gratian kept two centuries inside the city to defend against Lord Scylla and prepared to strike at Seneca’s larger force that was advancing inside the East Coast woods. Since he had no recent knowledge of the developments in the battle or contact with the Legatus’ staff, Dirk agreed to leap through the wheat fields to locate Marlene’s warriors that were still defending near the edge of the woods.
>
> ‘Wicked’ Manfred who was leading the bulk of Curd’s warriors (O’ Leary along Kent De Vent was with Krakenhall’s guards two kilometers west of the city on the road to Tenor) mauled Trifer’s artillery catching them on the move and killed everything that breathed be it soldiers, crews or animals. The fate of the Lorian officer of engineers is not known. The Northmen in their frenzy didn’t even destroy the machines but turned towards the city where they stumbled upon a rangers detachment guarding another camp (probably a rear hospital according to most sources) butchering anyone they found there also.
>
> Manfred slew fifty nurses (the number is disputed), several army dottore, communication officers and rear personnel, putting to the blade even civilians (at least seventy locals are still unaccounted today) from Islandport that worked with the 1st Legion.
>
> Ligur who had ridden south before noon to meet with Prefect Betto and coordinate the clearing of the south plains facing the road from Asturia with his aide Centurion Memon wasn’t aware of the development. Everyone assumed the silence coming from the city or Trifer himself as natural given that the engineer had been ordered to redeploy like Slaurus (the latter was further to the east and also running late for different reasons) and was probably on the move.
>
> With the seriously battered Sula (the Legatus had been ill with fever for days and had suffered paralysis on the left side of his face) forced to retreat deep in the woods and getting bogged down near the coast, Ligur was focused on moving his units on the battlefield to tackle the next crisis missing the one unfolding behind his back. He ordered Regulus to leave a century near the road on Sula’s east flank and bring the rest of the 2nd Cohort south towards Worm Lake forest. Glycia pivoted the intact 1st Cohort and started marching towards the fortifications built west of Peaceful Pond at the north exit out of Mercator’s Inn. The intention was to join with Prefect Betto’s remnants of the 3rd Cohort, Sorio and Celsus creating a front that was to attempt to stop Lucius.
>
> Seneca was ordered to halt his advance on Sula, coordinate with Scylla to secure the city and then detach at least half his force to reinforce Ligur’s west flank near 1st Legion's massive war camp. The latter order given at the end of the missive sent to Seneca was to break the news of something catastrophic happening to their rear, along the disaster that befell upon the 2nd platoon of the King’s Guard marching under orders from King Jeremy to reinforce Commander Betto. The latter regrouping behind Seneca unaware of the buildup of enemy forces to his north flank about ready to burst out of the city.
>
Eh, that’s a mighty bulky woman, Dirk thought, a savage cough moving his innards about dangerously, a bandage covering half his jaw, another wrapped around his neck and the left ear. He’d opened his hand at the knuckles where he was missing a couple of fingers so Dirk had to bandage that too.
With the sun strong above his sweaty head, he sort of missed his helm the most.
‘Big’ Svan pursed his lips at the sight of the clad in plate armour, ugly and covered in layers of lard and muscle female standing at the edge of the woods and glaring their way. The massive Nord looked quite impressed with the sword carrying ‘big’ woman. Dirk spotted an axe sheathed on her back along two daggers. Red hair cut short which made her ears pop out alike a mule's.
Had someone told him this was a female troll, he wouldn’t have been surprised at all.
“Fuck yer ogling at, ye blasted hillock of stupid?” She snapped angrily at the leering giant.
“Valkyries bring the summer sun out,” Svan replied all bucolic lyrics and shit. “Warm a man’s cock also is the word.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, she had a scar on her face from nose to forehead badly stitched. “All that muscle but no brains. Yer not exactly a looker mate.”
“We’re looking for brave Marlene,” Dirk sugarcoated his query figuring it was her.
Why, how many big, ‘fleshy’ warrior women could be roaming about in the woods of Islandport?
Or any port?
“Ugly is me moniker,” Marlene retorted eyeing Dirk like a bug as if taunting him to make a joke about it. Curd had no intention of doing that. “Who are ye? Run through a door or something?”
“Something,” Curd rustled and waved for his men and Wilard’s Nords to calm down. There were armed Northmen getting out of the trees now behind Marlene. “Name’s Dirk Curd.”
“Only Dirk Curd I know is a piece of murdering scum and a turd,” Marlene hissed with a frown that seemed to arouse Svan who smiled showing two rows of donkey-sized teeth.
“Reckon that’ll be me,” Dirk replied honestly and she whistled.
“Yer not as tall as the tales,” she noticed raising a brow tauntingly. “But yer friends are, what gives? Are ye lads any good or is that a lie too?”
“I’ll tell ye another time,” Dirk grunted and put a hand on Svan’s broad chest to stop him from going after the woman. Whether to wrestle or bed her right there amidst the trees Dirk didn’t know but was pretty sure Marlene would have taken issue with the big Nord’s advances.
Folk are not as nonchalant about stuff as the Nords in Willard’s Clan.
“I need to talk wit Sula. Inform him that Gratian has control of the docks and we’ve a path opened towards the city,” Dirk added and the warrior woman nodded sobering up.
“Follow after me plump arse. See ye don’t get lost or stumble over a trunk. Plenty of that in the forest,” she grunted and ‘Old Trunk’ who had been sulking after Bear’s death, found her words hilarious. His manic roar put the fear of Uher in Marlene’s warriors but thankfully nothing came of it.
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Dirk remembered Sula from Rockfort a minor officer then, but the compact Legatus of the 4th Legion seemed like a different man now. He still had that washed out blond hair, but his face was all messed up, his left eye half closed as if he had been kicked in the jaw by a mule. Still Sula stood up, planted both feet solidly on the ground despite being shorter than Dirk and examined the approaching group solemnly.
All things considered Sula was much wider in the shoulders than the wiry half-breed and built like a solid square dresser.
His eyes were shining, forehead covered in sweat. The Legatus stared at Svan and his people unfazed for a moment, then at Curd’s armour and sigils afore asking in a rasping tired voice.
“What are these squids doing here Marlene?”
Dirk pressed his mouth tight and stepped forward which caused the officers near the Legatus to tense up.
“This is Dirk Curd. He’s here to help,” Marlene explained edgily stepping away from the looming over her leering Svan.
Sula nodded as if it made sense somehow, a bitter expression distorting his face even more and then returned his haunted blue eyes on Dirk.
“The Duchess,” Dirk rustled hoarsely, trying to sum up everything that had led to this moment after months of traveling and lots of killing, in as fewer words as possible. “Sends her regards.”
And that was that.
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/