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Radin Radpour
The paeans of spring
Part V
-A murder of crows-
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ACT III
-Bloodfang-
Chapter one
-The Rule of Three Things-
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> Prince Radin Radpour’s eastern flanking force
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> Early spring 195 NC
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> Around 450 Horse archers
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> Around five hundred Medium Cavalry
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> 180 Cataphracts
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> Leaders and prominent Cataphracts
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> Radin Radpour, ‘Bloodfang’ (companion/squire, the slave Tobro)
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> Masud-Rum, ‘Sarto’*, the ‘Beggar Cataphract’ (the freedman Amu)
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> Garai, ‘Vorea Olga’** (the ex-gladiator Bata)
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> Khafra, ‘Forya-Rochir’*** (the Cofol slave Sago)
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> Ramses, ‘Tuksa Lar’**** (the horse-archer leader)
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> Also Sibast and Jurka (Tirifort) and the brothers (from different mother) Senet and Hespu out of Yin Xi-Yan.
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> -
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> *from the archaic Cofol Imperial word for ‘steadfast follower’
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> **for ‘Enduring Malady’
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> ***a blood member of the northern Horselords tribe beyond Torbal
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> ****for ‘a hundred leagues’, the distance a young Ramses had travelled to escape the desert
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/z8Zcp4Mh/Pavilion-Radin-arc-low-res.png]
Morning 4th of Tertius, Merchant's Pavilion
Sultan, the Prince’s commanding, strikingly-black old warhorse, snorted near his ear to get his attention. Radin reached back over the shoulder to rub its long snout with his left hand and ease the stallion’s nervousness. Most warhorses didn’t appreciate being parked where the grass was scarce, or near other males.
“Easy now,” Radin murmured, his eyes watching the teams of scout Cavalry Khafra had deployed around the settlement coming and going. Tobro approached with a hard leather flask of water, but Radin didn’t want any.
“More black birds over the city great Pharaoh,” Tobro noted tensely and had some of the water himself, careful not to touch the bronze tip with his lips.
“We use birds too,” Radin replied and turned around to receive the approaching on his horse Garai that was followed by Khafra of Torbal, the late Malik’s brother and half a Forya Rochir, since their mother had been a Peninsula Cofol slave. A Northern Horselord. Everyone called the people of Eplas Cofols in general, but many different tribes and races existed in reality, just as they did on Jelin. Khafra had none of his mother’s looks but all her agility, as the other Cataphracts frequently jested.
“Many tracks lead west, following the road,” Garai said and climbed down from the saddle, giving the reins to Bata, his hardened slave had been a gladiator trainee in his youth and had cost Garai a fortune to buy, with Khafra doing the same, leaving his warhorse to Sago, a skinny Cofol with dark eyes. “Foot trails and wagons.”
“A local said the Queen’s army left,” Khafra added and coughed once to clear his lungs from the dust raised by many animals digging at the drying terrain. The spring had come with consecutive days of good weather and while it was a nice upgrade from the horrible winter they had to endure at the capital, the dry ground made cavalry visible again from afar, unlike the soft mud. “After the Foot probably.”
“The Foot is a day away,” Radin replied narrowing his eyes. “Elsanne has brought this rabble of thugs from Eplas and even her supporters don’t want them into their cities.”
“That’s not a city,” Garai rustled with a grimace. “It’s barely a village, maybe that’s why they couldn’t accommodate them.”
Radin eyed the experienced Cataphract sternly. “The Prince is correct in all likelihood,” Garai added with an unnerving smirk.
“Masud-Rum wants us to move after them Lord Radin,” Khafra intervened and Radin pursed his mouth annoyed.
“Masud-Rum is just the Prince’s friend, not the Prince,” Radin retorted and then shook his head forcing a smile on his lips as well. “A local thug and footprints are poor advisors for our next move.”
“Which is?” Garai queried with a crooked smile.
“Help Dhin-Awal and Putra,” Khafra suggested and Garai raised a dark brow looking at the Prince.
“Win the campaign,” Radin agreed vaguely, clenching his jaw at the taunt. Everyone was in a certain mood after they had learned about the extra forces the Issirs had in the field, but now wasn’t the time to start fighting amongst themselves.
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The lonely horse trotted near a group of Horselord scouts creating quite the stir, an alarmed Radin watched unfold from Sultan’s saddle and soon after a scout galloped anxiously near them.
“Tuksa Lar’s men fell upon soldiers inside the settlement,” the Horselord reported. He was referring to Ramses the Horse-Archer leader that had the overall command of the scouts as well.
“An ambush?” Garai grunted and the muscular Bata’s face was split by a mean snarl. Radin stared at the old Issir Stef Valk intently.
“It’s a busy road,” the former royal hunter retorted gruffly and shrugged his shoulders. “Too great a host of men, not to be spotted.”
Radin licked his lips thoughtfully. “How far is Hunter’s Cot?” He asked Valk.
“Thirty kilometers, a bit less than that.”
“Are there guards stationed at Hunter’s Cot?”
“De Braal’s Old Crows. It’s the Shield’s lands.”
Great.
“How many?”
“About a hundred. Retired men-at-arms mostly that bought property there to hunt where the king used to.”
Radin grimaced. “Masud-Rum should head to Hunter’s Cot, look to secure the road or warn us of trouble.”
“Who would inform them so soon?” Garai asked hoarsely. “We barely popped our heads out of the trees!”
Yeah, but that’s a lot of heads!
“Where does the road coming from the south lead to?” Radin asked Valk, not wanting to delve on the reasons but find a solution.
“Tail, it’s a small fort and village. De Jagger’s land.”
Radin had no idea who that was.
“Could this be him?”
“The road coming from Tongue also stops at the Pavilion. That’s a bigger fort, same family sort of,” Valk replied. “Also Rusted. Thirty thousand souls in the city. So this might be the Viscount’s men.”
For fuck’s sake!
“Weren’t they with the main army?” Radin probed crooking his mouth.
“It’s a town militia. The size varies. But people tend to enlist more, if they sense a win around the corner,” Valk retorted with a hint of razz and the Horselords murmured in annoyance hearing him.
“Tell Ramses to cut the road east from the Pavilion,” Radin ordered the scout. “Or see that we know well in advance, if more Issirs are coming. Garai,” he turned to the experienced Cataphract. “You’ll take half the lancers and find out whether the Queen is heading for Even Fork or not.”
“We should all be heading there my prince,” Garai argued with fake politeness.
“Elsanne is not a warrior,” Radin retorted with a grimace of anger. “If she’s here, then we could end this just by capturing her. Worst case, we use her as leverage to allow Putra to escape.”
“Why not win outright?” Khafra protested.
Because we might not be able you fucking donkey! Radin thought furious.
“We need to control this bloody settlement either way, disrupt their supplies and reinforcements,” Radin grunted. “Attacking the Foot blindly is not a matter of courage but pure stupidity! What if we can’t break through? We don’t have supplies, but I can see those warehouses from here. I bet you they are filled with food and fodder!”
“Secure the Pavilion,” Khafra said and stared at the settlement unsure.
“As fast as possible,” Radin agreed and sighed to get his thoughts in order. “Find Masud-Rum. He can use two hundred lancers for the job. Get moving people. The rest I want ready in half an hour,” he continued. “Send another party to scout those first buildings. Keep your eyes open and don’t approach in the bloody open. Use the darn bows!”
“It’s better to approach on foot my prince,” Tobro suggested and Radin nodded with a glance at the morning sun. A night foray would have been ideal, but he didn’t have time to wait for nightfall.
Then again, a horse-archer on foot isn’t exactly a Dimachaerus in the blasted arena!
“Issue swords and shields to all,” he ordered gruffly and stared at their horses quite miffed. “Um, and search the ‘Blood Raiders’ old camp for anything flammable.”
-
> Blackcrow’s Pilar’s elderly chamberlain Hubert Boss, who was kin to the then besieged for days at Boar’s Horn weapons mogul Desmond Boss from Castalor, talked after the war with vice admiral Faber (the latter in the process of compiling his hyperbolic memoirs) about the mysterious clash at Merchant’s Pavilion, the road market and merchant stop settlement near Rusted. This significant battle has fallen under the imposing shade cast by the larger, much more famous, battles fought near or around Even Fork at about the same time, or lumped with them as if it was part of the same battle for political or self-serving reasons.
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> But it wasn’t.
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> The insidious Prince Radin Radpour had managed to circumnavigate the river undetected –cutting a page out of his famed brother’s book, then followed the forest paths avoiding the Duke’s patrols with the help of collaborators –in the true spirit of his other brother Atpa, and skirted around Hunter’s Cot escorted by a highly mobile force, to appear half a kilometer from the Pavilion -right where Elsanne’s ‘Blood Raiders’ had been the day before.
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> Paying homage to his namesake.
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> Radin arrived soon after the Queen had departed and proceeded to attack Duke Ruud De Weer’s bodyguards, the ancient Duke was returning from a refugee inspection at Forestfort –resolved as soon as he departed with Legatus Merenda’s stunning triumph at the battle of Kaltha’s Great Lakes- after a brief stay at Scaldingport. Ruud had gotten word about the betrayal from ‘Valk’s kid’ according to Hubert Boss and immediately prepared for a defense of the ‘indefensible against a proper army’ tiny settlement, sending word to the nearest Lords to ask for assistance. The Duke had been loosely followed by Mitch De Jaeger’s rangers out of Tongue, but was to be reinforced by men under Hendrik De Jagger out of Tail, while he had heavy cavalry arriving from Hunter’s Cot as well –about twenty kilometers away- under his long-serving Shield Sir Stefan De Braal and later that day from the mobilized Viscount Ard De Moss of Rusted. All these local Issir nobles had returned to their castles during the winter months to see to their affairs and recruit more men.
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> While Radin didn’t have infantry or artillery with him, he did possess overwhelming advantage in numbers locally, which made Duke Ruud’s decision to stand fast at the settlement bizarre at first glance. The old Duke was forced to act since Elsanne’s newborn boy was present and in danger of falling into Radin’s hands according to Hubert, while leaving Radin alone could have allowed the Prince to hunt down the slowly-marching towards Even Fork rebel Queen and eventually bring a very mobile force to Robert’s rear.
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> Radin, not knowing any of this, guessed right and dispatched the experienced ‘Vorea Olga’, the well-known desert Cataphract Garai of Yin Xi-Yan (and his ex-gladiator servant Bata of Fu De-Gar) with two hundred and fifty of his lancers after Elsanne, who was less than seven kilometers away at the time.
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> Garai moved fast while scouting up ahead, located the ‘Blood Raiders’ columns and attacked within an hour that very morning. Garai’s brutal charge pulverized the shocked unsuspecting mob causing extreme casualties, but due to the elongated columns marching up the wide road, his attack lost steam and the Horselord had to pull back and regroup. Garai probably sent word to the Prince, by then busy attacking the settlement, but no report on the exchange survived. The ‘Blood Raiders’ regrouped in turn, as Garai had killed about half of them so fast, there wasn’t enough time for panic to reach the mid and front of the long procession, and coalesced around the Queen.
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> Back at the Pavilion, Radin’s second split up group of riders -two hundred lancers under Masud-Rum, praised as ‘loyal follower’ (sic. Sarto) in the ritualistic Imperial tongue of the desert knights for serving under both the Prince himself and Cephas Mirpur for years, or tauntingly the ‘Beggar’ for he possessed neither land nor slaves and was followed by a freedman named Amu- moved on the narrow northeastern forest road towards Hunter’s Cot. The two forces, under Masud-Rum and Sir De Braal respectively, clashed in the forest but while De Braal was pushed back initially –not expecting an attack so close to his lands- he quickly raised the alarm and every man over fourteen ‘who could pick up a spear or a bow’ came to his aide out of Hunter’s Cot. Masud-Rum was forced to give ground facing spears, lances and pitchforks, not to mention his cornered men receiving arrows, rocks and javelins, from locals hidden behind every tree inside the narrow forest road.
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> Radin didn’t initially fare better in his efforts to take over the settlement, but he kept trying using every trick and strategy he could come up with. The Horselords managed to slowly push their way inside, having to fight hand-to-hand combat for every building or warehouse. Attempts to burn buildings down brought limited success or return as the large stone and brick structures (mostly hostels, stables and warehouses) while built near a forest, they used stone from Tongue’s and Tail’s quarries instead ‘due to the forested lands being preserved for royal hunts in the country’, but for some of the stables rooftops.
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> The Horselords reached the center of the settlement, but the imposing three-story tall hostel owned by Florentine ‘Flo’ Madan, a rich businessman out of Rusted (called ‘Grand Hostel’), stood in their way blocking safe entry into the small square and anchored the Duke’s defense. With twelve large windows facing the square, balconies and thick walls made out of grey cut stone, the defenders could spot the Horselords from afar and direct their actions accordingly.
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> The building called for a frontal attack, but the nearby alleys and rooftops were packed with obstacles and determined Issirs ready to flank an attacker that stepped out into the open. Radin got frustrated at their slow progress, unable to fathom initially why the Issirs defended this lowly settlement so forcefully. Upon learning that the Duke of Scaldingport was present, Radin must have been very surprised, but it is disputed whether the Prince stood ‘mirthful at the opportunity’, according to some witnesses or ‘worried upon realizing the fiercely-defending Issirs were never going to surrender’ as he had initially thought, according to others.
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>
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(Ruud)
“Cut his darn balls off!” Ruud grunted, a glee in his eyes and the guard speared the injured Horselord in the face killing him. The Duke crossed the alley next, arrows whistling overhead and thick black smoke from the burning oil barrels inside the warehouse engulfing the men with him. He peeked inside the inferno and stepped back with a grimace of frustration. “Yep, best to write it off Madan,” he told the merchant. “What was it? Old blankets? Sure smell like dirty feet!”
“Freshly dyed, woolen rolls of cloth your grace. Ten wagons,” a distraught Madan grunted rushing after the moving fast across the alley old Duke. Ruud paused to eye a group of archers rushing Fliers men in the narrows, but the Issirs fought back and cut them down. Another group of Horselords armed with swords and round shields, charged the men, just as one of the street-facing windows of the warehouse exploded outwards sending flaming debris and scorching oil from the broken barrels to bombard both groups that had to retreat to save themselves.
“Any more olive oil left around for them to plaguing use on us?” Ruud growled, whilst smacking a half-burning half-smoking soldier on the back to douse the fire out. “Fucking hells. Anyone with piss left in the tank, spray this fool!” The Duke snapped with a grunt and pointed at the nearby warehouse’s rooftop, the one not burning. “Keep them off the top there you dumb cunts! Mitch, ye crooked wily rascal! What’s happening in the south?”
“Sire,” the dignified to Scaldingport court’s circles Mitch Jaeger rustled with a grimace, his bow in hand. “The men spotted Jagger’s ruffians rolling in. They are clashing with the Khanate’s mad dogs at the supply camp!”
Ah, there it is. Nobody bloody likes anyone! What times we live in!
“I don’t want another camp getting overrun,” Ruud warned Mitch Jaeger. “See to help if you can.”
“I can’t. Hendrik is on his own sire,” Mitch argued stiffly, as he’d rather eat his own bow than assisting his estranged kin. Ruud coughed violently in the attempt to chastise the minor noble, placing a hand on the hostel’s wall to stabilize himself and then spat a nasty splotch of phlegm down.
“Them sons of cut-rate harlots are trying to envenom us!” The Duke cursed, ogling about with his swollen, vein-filled, red eyes. “Let’s step inside Madan,” he grunted using the flat of his blade to snap the sniffling merchant out of his grief-induced stupor with a smack on the back.
Ruud returned inside the Hostel’s hall and walked briskly to reach the front of the large building facing the small square. The sounds of savage fighting, men screaming and cursing, followed by the ruckus of collapsing rooftops and walls.
“They are gathering to rush the front doors again sire,” one of sergeant Fliers officers reported when Ruud came to the double doors to look outside.
“How many crossbows do you have?” Ruud asked upon seeing a heavily armoured Cataphract on foot, getting peppered with arrows but continuing to advance across the open area about forty meters away.
“Ten sire.”
“Why not twenty or more for pity’s sake? You’ve a roster of a hundred ye cretin! Are ye fixing the wage lists on me boy?”
“Your lordship deemed them too-expensive sire,” the officer replied rigidly and signaled for one of those crossbow-wielding guards to step out of the large window and fire on the Horselord.
The guard fired a bolt but missed. He tried again and hit the archer walking next to the armoured enemy below the navel doubling him over.
“Right in them gonads! Ain’t no more visits to the brothels for him! Muah-Haha!” Ruud guffawed with enthusiasm briefly, only to then abruptly eye austerely the cracking under the intense scrutiny reloading soldier. “Lad,” the Duke started seriously. “What’s the matter wit you? You’re a nervous wreck!”
“Mason, take the god darn shot!” The officer grunted trying to help and Ruud rolled his eyes at the fools surrounding him.
“You plug him in the head Mason and our good mister Madan here, shall bequeath that hemp field next to the meat market to yer family,” the Duke offered and Madan blinked in stunned disbelief, but decided not to protest given the gravity of the situation and Rudd’s known tendency to follow a bad proposal with an even worse one in the haggle.
The first deal offered was always the best with Ruud.
The Cataphract stopped in the meantime, raised his own –smaller- crossbow and fired a bolt through the open window that hit the wall next to a recoiling Sigurd Bach, after flying over their heads. The Baron was covered in chainmail from head to toe and could barely walk, so managing to duck the bolt was pretty impressive, an amused Ruud thought.
“That motherfucker is a lousy aim,” Ruud decided, but the archers escorting the Horselord fired in turn and dropped a ranger from the nearby rooftop. “Oh, fuck off ye short-limbed Gnome!” The Duke cursed the naughty god of Luck irate just as the determined to get his hands on that hemp field Mason tried again.
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(Radin)
Things always change, or sometimes are not as they appear, Radin thought keeping any emotion from his face, upon seeing the Cataphract collapsing to his knees, the loud clang from the bolt penetrating his helm reverberating across the square.
“My lord Prince,” Tobro warned trying to shield the watching the new attack unfolding Radin. “This is dangerous!”
Yeah.
“Where is Ramses?” Radin asked turning his horse around, Sultan shoving Tobro’s smaller horse out of the way angrily.
“He went to check on the men attacking the road to Rusted your grace,” a horse-archer reported and followed the prince inside the alley. The side street they had managed to clear out was leading south to connect with the road coming from Tongue. The local villages, towns and settlements much bigger and numerous than they had anticipated. Jelin while smaller in size, according to the scholars that hadn’t gotten one thing right yet, wasn’t as thinly populated as Eplas. Every stream, every copse, mountain or flat area had people living near willing to fight for their land.
“What for?” Radin snapped, seeing the Khanate’s soldiers retreat again, as only the Cataphracts were properly armoured to withstand the barrage of arrows, bolts, rocks and javelins hurled at them from every nearby building. And he didn’t have enough of those, not to mention the Horselords hated fighting on foot inside the narrow streets.
“The men caught a caravan trying to escape,” the horse archer explained and Ramses himself rode inside the alley, navigating the turn masterfully. “We took prisoners, but the men are getting attacked from the nearby woods. Rangers. A bunch of kids armed with butcher hatchets came out of the meat market sire.”
“There are trees everywhere and this is a cursed spot to give battle,” Radin cursed and jumped from the saddle to speak with the experienced Horselord, who did the same. “What prisoners?”
“One of the carriages had the Duke’s personal insignia. A vulture of sorts,” Ramses replied hoarsely and took a flask of water from Tobro to quench his thirst. “We found a baby, a half-breed eunuch and an Issir girl inside.”
“The Queen?” Radin gasped, opening his eyes surprised.
“I wouldn’t know. The men don’t think so. But one of the injured called the baby little prince, so I got suspicious and ordered them to find out more.”
Elsanne has a child?
“It must be her!” Radin snapped and clenched his jaw. “Ask for a parley with the cursed Duke!” He ordered his men. “Ramses, you find a way to bring the kid here.”
“My prince,” Ramses protested. “My men rode through hostiles to cut the road off. We don’t control the area. There are roads heading north and east, more heading south! We have no visibility or knowledge of what’s behind the next forested corner! The next caravan might be a blasted military column! This might be a tiny settlement but it’s a huge trade hub!”
“Calm yourself down!” Radin snapped angrily. “We are smarter than these filthy brutes!” The Prince walked some meters away tensed and then came back determined. “Contact these accursed defenders. Tell them we are willing to talk, but also prepare an attack on the neighboring rooftop while they think about it,” he ordered. “They’ll either talk or we shall work around this conundrum another way.”
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Early noon, 4th of Tertius
Merchant’s Pavilion
The attack on Madan’s ‘Grand Hostel’s’ stables
Let’s fix this blasted mess, Radin thought and removed his metal mask, along with his heavy Cataphract armour. The prince wore a white cuirass out of hardened leather, reinforced with chainmail. He carried this second lightweight armour in his saddlebags and it was made for use in the arena by gladiators. Carrying his favorite warspear, Radin followed Ramses and his men, himself escorted by four Cataphracts. Sibast and Jurka from Tirifort, plus the two brothers of the Desert, the distant city of Yin Xi-Yan, Senet and Hespu.
They entered the narrow, smoke-covered, alley and approached the half-burned warehouse where several archers were exchanging arrows with the Issirs that had the high ground. Two of those archers carried ladders, they had found in the leather market and upon seeing the Prince approach they let out a loud ululating cry that was repeated by the nearby Khanate soldiers.
“Crossbow,” Radin told the working with the lever Sibast, passing his own spear to Tobro and the Cataphract gave the prince his now loaded crossbow. “Aim!” The Prince ordered the rest of his squad under the increasingly louder, protracted triumphant howls of the watching Horselords. He then get out of cover and into the open street, aiming the crossbow at the Issir rangers lurking at the rooftop.
An Issir stood up, bowstring drawn taut and arrow loaded, spotted Radin walking briskly out of the smokes and loosed that arrow on him. The Prince ducked away of it in a twirl using the tips of his toes, and then stood up to fire a bolt right into the Issir’s left eye. The steel-tipped bolt blasted out the back of the ranger’s head ripping out a gory piece of skull-bone along the hair.
“Ladders!” a tensed Radin roared and proceeded to sprint across the street, just as the dead man hit the cobblestone with a squashing sound, followed by two more killed sentries. The remaining Issirs on the rooftop of the two-story building sounded the alarm, but the prince scaled vigorously the -set up against the wall- ladder, reached the overhang narrow balcony of sorts half-a-breath later, and stood on the rails athletically two seconds after that. Radin opened his arms wide to find his balance, tip-toed on the narrow stone rail and leaped high to catch the lip of the terrace. He heaved himself upwards, and by the time the grunting and gawking Tobro reached the balcony two meters underneath him, Radin had already managed to stand up on the edge of the large rooftop.
Two rangers that had rushed to that side, after witnessing their friends drop dead from Radin’s men earlier volley, cursed his sweet mother’s origins and attacked him -each opting to do it in a different way. The first one had stopped abruptly to release an arrow from four meters away, but missed spectacularly. Radin had jerked aside with a sharp taunt and the grimacing Tobro that had climbed the edge of the rooftop a moment later, yelled a warning afore lobbing the spear towards him. Radin caught it behind his back without looking, span it around alike a windmill’s blade, whilst moving away sharply from the Issir ranger’s savage hack. The prince pivoted, the blade striking the plastered roof and then tripped up the stooping forward man. He used the long shaft with one arm to do it, and gave the faltering Issir a light shove on the shoulder with the other, to send him flying over the edge. The screaming man plunged to his death head first behind the Prince’s back and Radin jumped forward towards the second ranger, now gripping the warspear with both hands.
The Prince snapped his arms forward immediately –dropping the theatrics and the spear’s blade skewered the Issir through the mouth, shattering the teeth and distorting the lower part of his face. Radin yanked the spear back, spraying gore in a wide arc over his head, then lithely leaped sideways, landing on a leg alike a dancer and charged the group of Issirs guarding the other edge of the rooftop that had rushed in turn to attack him.
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“Oras’ cold embrace awaits,” Sibast declared hoarsely, “those touched by Bloodfang’s shadow,” and downed his scimitar to cut off the gored Issir’s head, finishing him off.
The heavy-breathing Radin stood near the other edge of the cleared out building to examine Grand Hostel, its taller sides separated by a three meter narrow alley, but had to step away as a ranger fired an arrow that struck the lime plaster rim and stuck in the brittle material.
“Bring the ladder!” He yelled to his men, pausing at the sight of Hespu bleeding-out from a nasty cut near the collar in the arms of his half-brother Senet. The Cataphract was trying to speak, but spat blood instead of any meaningful words.
“Great Prince stand back!” Tobro pleaded as more arrows screamed across the gap aimed at them. Radin picked a discarded shield up to cover himself, and signaled heatedly for Ramses men to get moving with the long ladder. Not long enough to reach the Hostel’s rooftop though. “Aim it at that second-story window!” He bellowed pointing with the spear, an arrow whistling angry over his head and another coming apart on his shield’s bronze boss.
The next shot was a bolt that punched through the shield and Radin had to twist away from it, moving away from the edge and into the smoke coming from the fires bellow.
“Prince Radin,” Ramses bellowed to be heard from ten meters away, while four Horselords carried a long ladder across the targeted from bolts and arrows rooftop. Two made it at the edge and heaved the ladder across the alley like a drawbridge. “My men have taken the stables! This is madness!”
The moving about not to give an easy target Radin grimaced and glared at the Issirs that had brought more of their heavy crossbows on the Hostel’s rooftop. The latter stood higher and gave their opponents a great vantage point to shoot at the scrambling for cover Horselords.
Desert Spirits, Radin cursed furious. Why would you defend this all-gods forsaken place with such vigor? Elsanne must be here.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Try another way.
“Get me that kid Ramses!” An incensed Radin growled and then moved away to safety. Behind him a brave Horselord trying to navigate the ladder to reach the open window of the nearby building, got shot in the face by two arrows from a couple of snarling Issirs rangers that had appeared there. The last horse-archer sprinted to make it across in great panic, but the accursed Issirs heaved the ladder left and then right dislodging it. Screaming man and silent ladder plunged down together, but the Horselord hit the pavement half a second faster.
-
Half an hour later
Madan’s Hostel grounds
The small square before the main entrance, facing the contested by Fliers and Ramses Pavilion’s main street, two hundred meters from the Meat Market to the North and the chestnut stands before the warehouses of the fruit market to the south.
“The Duke will parley. That’s what the prisoner thinks,” Sibast informed Radin. The Cataphract was bleeding down his right arm and he’d a piece of a bolt still buried in the flesh there.
“Ah,” a tired Radin grunted and wiped some of the grime from his face with a silk cloth. “Can we burn the building down in the meantime?”
“We are trying,” Sibast replied with a grimace of pain. “It would’ve been better if we had a couple of machines to collapse a wall your grace.”
“We could bring the horses and charge them against the doors,” Jurka suggested raspingly. “It worked at the stables.”
“The Hostel has stairs at the façade,” Radin retorted and had some water to wash his mouth. He spat it down with a curse. “We can’t risk losing the animals nor tire them needlessly. Speak,” Radin snapped spotting a messenger approach.
“Bata says,” the slave started and Radin remembered him. Darno was the ex-gladiator’s manservant. “Garai found the Queen’s scum, but he might need help to clear the road.”
“He can’t best a blasted rabble?” Radin retorted with a glare. “Some famed Horselord he is,” he pursed his mouth seeing the looks on the men’s faces. Somebody needs to usher in a new ethos, he thought sourly. We need to rid ourselves from these heavy shackles. These stupid parochial values of a bygone era and do as the Issirs or the Lorians. Be fucking flexible and diplomatic.
“Master Garai will clear the road great sheik,” Darno assured him. “But the scum have the numbers. It will take time. He asks the Prince to come soon. Valuable time is lost, Garai warns.”
Fuck him. Who does he think he is?
“Is the Queen with them?” Radin hissed.
“It is uncertain. The pirates fight under several unknown leaders and a pants-wearing woman named Anne Burton.”
Fuck her. Cunt-loving ugly harlot!
“These are truce colors,” Tobro notified Radin and pointed at the visible front of the Hostel where an Issir had appeared carrying a staff with a cloth tied at its top. Radin stood up and walked near the rear of Ramses’ men, busy repairing arrows. They were running low on war supplies. They had found fodder for the animals and raided the markets for foodstuff, but they were critically low on everything else. The prince’s force wasn’t built to lay siege or fight inside a settlement.
“Are they surrendering?” Sibast grunted and Radin sucked at his teeth, seeing another rider reaching them from the direction of the Leather Market.
“What is it?” Radin snapped at the Horselord, who bowed his head respectfully.
“Masud-Rum informs the Prince that enemies are pushing down the forest road. Out of Hunter’s Cot, your grace.”
Great.
“How many?”
“About a thousand. Not many cavalry or heavy infantry, but a lot of spears and bows. Hunting and farming tools aplenty,” the Horselord messenger expounded. “Unfavorable terrain. He can’t defend the road my prince. Masud-Rum is retreating towards us.”
“He must hold,” Radin grunted, his eyes on the Issir envoi discussing with Ramses.
“Masud-Rum urges the prince to regroup the army and strike west towards Even Fork,” the Horselord insisted. “What are we looking for here? These were brave Sarto’s words your grace.”
God damn it.
“We are looking for an end to this campaign,” Radin retorted hoarsely, still watching Ramses. The Horse-Archer leader finished up with the Issir envoi and dispatched a runner back towards the watching prince. “The task we were given is unfeasible. Something to buy the Khan time for a summer offensive and replenish the fleet. The plan for more failed, when Havor Dhin-Awal died without breaking through the Great Lakes.”
“Honor dictates we assist Lord Jorah and Lord Putra,” Sibast reminded the snarling Radin who glared at him. “Winning shall favor the brave.”
“Winning shall come to the smart,” Radin grunted irate. “We can cut off the head of the snake right here!”
“Great future Vizier,” the arriving young Horselord messenger –sent by Ramses- saluted and bowed his head. “Ramses informs the prince that the Duke wants to speak.”
“Surrender?” Radin asked hopefully.
“Just speak, your grace.”
Everyone is nigh difficult today, a sour Radin thought.
----------------------------------------
The Cataphract Jurka stepped forward to do the talking, since he was better learned and the son of a camel merchant. Ramses, who outranked him but wasn’t as educated in courtly manners, stood next to him, with Radin following some meters behind with Tobro. The three Issirs approaching the open area, were a heavy-set mid-aged sergeant-at-arms, probably Fliers, a well-dressed in a dark blue redingote with silver buttons austere old man and an even older, relic of a warrior that could barely walk, dressed in sturdy chainmail that incorporated a square, engraved chestplate depicting something between a crow and a vulture in dark silver, with hard-leather pants worn underneath. The skinny warrior had thinning, very dirty white hair, murky ogling eyes, a gaunt face with blemished dark skin -as wrinkled as a monkey’s arsehole and had a nasty foul-toothed smirk on his crooked mouth.
Fuck’s sake, they didn’t have any older dudes to send out? Radin wondered as the Issir trio’s youngest member was the officer and he looked in his fifties at least. The other two were over seventy in a conservative estimate and looked much worse than the sick Khan who was almost eighty.
“You are in the presence of Prince Radin of the house Radpour,” Jurka started in the rich Rin An-Pur accent, his words coming out muffled as he’d put his metal mask back on for the occasion. “Lord of Jade Lake and the east coast, champion of the arena both in Eplas and Jelin. The famed Bloodfang. You have lost this battle. Surrender now and you shall live a good life as subjects of the Great Khan Burzin Radpour.”
The well-dressed Issir, presumably the elder lord of Scaldingport, stepped forward. His old adjutant, knight or Shield –Radin wasn’t certain- snorted at the nervous Jurka’s opening statement, but it turned into a hoarse cough. The uncouth knight cleaned his nose pressing a finger on each nostril in turn and then his throat, spitting down several times under the amused stares of the two opposing camps watching the meeting.
“The fight is undecided,” the Issir said with a peeved side-glance at his subordinate. “You don’t control the settlement and you are pressed from all directions Prince Radin. The Duke graciously offers you to surrender whilst you still can and spend the remainder of your days at Scaldingport’s dungeons. Many have opted to take the deal in the past for fear of the alternative.”
KRAA!
Is he serious? Radin wondered, under the murmurs of the Horselords behind them and glanced at a large raven that had landed on the square about twenty meters away to feast on a corpse. Good grief, Radin thought shocked at the size of the bird that stood twice that of a grown peacock, if not bigger and with none of the grace.
“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” The Prince snapped angrily, returning his attention on the rigid Issir. “You look to insult us Duke Ruud? Maybe the battle isn’t going as well as your tales suggest?” He queried with a confident grin that got the bewildered Horselords out of their stunned stupor. Half of it at the appearance of the huge raven and the rest because of the Duke’s insane, and insulting, counter-proposal.
“Your grace,” the well-dressed Issir replied stiffly, after clearing his throat in a more civilized manner than his knight. The man seemed to drift-away for a moment, the silence dragging in the small square, but then he came back with a jolt and continued. “I’m Lord Hubert Boss, Blackcrow’s Pilar Chamberlain and Castellan,” the revived Hubert pointed a shaky finger at the scowling knight scratching at the unshaved, coarse skin of his left cheek. “The Duke is present in person unfortunately for your lordship.”
Radin stared at the other smirking relic frustrated.
“Had I known you speak decent Common, or be here yourself,” the real Duke Ruud said in a raspy, unpleasant voice. “I wouldn’t have let our good Hubert do the talking. He’s as dull as an old and sleepy giraffe.”
Hubert perked up at the Duke’s words, but then assumed his rigid pose again without a comment.
Radin pursed his mouth. “Your situation is untenable,” he finally said recovering his wits. “I hold all the cards Duke Ruud. You are… an experienced man. See reason.”
“I’ve reason aplenty,” Ruud replied and crooked his head to the side, one eye marred by a violent tick. “Matter of fact, I hate the plaguing sun over my head. This meeting is over. I ain’t getting me brains boiled to converse with fools in the fucking open!”
Come again?
“You either lay down your arms within thirty minutes,” Radin snarled narrowing his eyes. “Or I’ll have the Queen dragged out here and make you do it! My men have captured her and the child trying to escape. How about it you darn relic?”
Ruud pressed his wrinkled mouth down tightly at first and then his lips split to show two rows of worn-out teeth that were surprisingly all there, but for a couple of gold ones thrown in the ghastly mix. Is that ischemic-stroke survivor, barely-functioning bag of rot grinning?
“There then huh… Come the clumsy lies to prove how desperate you are,” Ruud rustled jarringly. “Had ye gotten the queen all-shackled up boy, you’d be hightailing it out of here to save Putra and not look for old Ruud to give up the ghost.”
Radin furrowed his brows, teeth grinding and seriously considering to spear the obnoxious timeworn nobleman through the face, colors of truce be damned.
“How do you know?” He grunted hoarsely, a hesitant Jurka glancing at the angry prince nervously as they could hear horses and noise coming from the Leather Market. “That I don’t have her for sure? If the queen is with you Duke, then the boy must be hers and I have the boy.”
Ruud smacked his lips audibly, but said nothing.
“I’ll cut it up and let it bleed like a piglet, here in this very square,” Radin warned him with a hoarse hiss and felt the men standing around him tense up at his words.
The Duke shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “She’ll have another brat unlike you. Ye actually thought I’d just roll over you royal cunt? I rather fuck yer shitty face with me forearm! De Braal is thirty minutes away. Your men retreated from the woods.”
Radin snarled, a tick marring his face and the Duke started snickering annoyingly, tears running down his drooping, blurry, and red-rimmed eyes. He stared at Ramses and the Horselord grimaced, his painted eyes darting to Jurka. The Cataphract’s smiling metal mask left only the man’s tensed eyes showing.
“Where is the kid?” Radin growled.
“My lord…” Ramses croaked and Radin blasted him irate.
“You’ll answer your prince!”
“My men are bringing it here,” Ramses replied through clenched teeth. A rider had arrived near the injured Sibast and the grieving for Hespu helmless Senet, thirty meters behind them. The prince grimaced and turned around to hear the exchange, but spotted Amu and right behind him Masud-Rum. The Cataphract jumped from his warhorse and walked briskly towards Radin.
“Bloodfang, the Issirs are heading here,” Masud-Rum reported. “I left the men at the Leather Market to keep control of the main road, but they are too many to risk a battle. We need to gather the men and head west—”
“Where’s the kid and the eunuch?” Radin cut him off curtly.
Masud-Rum stood back not expecting the query. “We found some of Ramses’ men. They talked about a eunuch and a scrap near the Meat Market east of here.”
“Find out what’s going on,” Radin ordered Ramses hoarsely and turned to glare at the mirthful Duke. Hubert seemed barely conscious, but Fliers appeared rather nervous, which led Radin to believe that matters weren’t as the obnoxious ruler of Scaldingport presented.
“Does Elsanne agree with your decisions Ruud?” Radin asked tauntingly and walked up to the Issir delegation. “How about we put them to the test? I’ll tie the boy behind a horse and ride it around the square for a while. Eh? Did I strike a chord? Imagine the small guy bouncing off the stone-tiles like a bloody ball of hay. He might survive it, or he might not. I’m a betting man, I’ll take the first option. You should let her watch, but inform my wayward wife it was all your fault.”
KRAA!
A scowling Ruud pursed his wrinkled mouth and then wiggled a half-crooked nose around. A strange stillness had fallen on the square, with Horselords and Issirs watching from their covered positions at the edges or the Hostel’s windows.
“Stew on it,” Radin suggested mockingly and turned around to return to his men leaving the Issir delegation behind. He passed by the silent Jurka and the tensed Masud-Rum. The Prince had reached with an arm to usher the Cataphract along, when Duke Ruud’s rasping voice broke the stillness.
“The rule of three things,” Ruud grunted and Radin paused with a frown to twist around. “The Queen, the boy and this scrap decided the old way.”
“I’m not familiar with the custom,” Radin retorted unsure.
“What one wants must earn it in the field,” Ruud elucidated. “Times three, since you are a greedy cunt.”
Radin licked his lips thoughtfully. What’s your angle here old shit? Are you desperate? Why not wait to see if I have the boy for sure?
Is Elsanne watching?
Radin examined the large façade windows of the Grand Hostel, teeming with armed Issirs. He raised his eyes to the second and then the third floor but didn’t spot Elsanne anywhere. Hmm.
“No man fights three duels in a row,” the thoughtful Prince argued. Does the Duke think I’m stupid?
“Three challengers, for three prizes. You are good at that I hear,” Ruud said and stood back with a grimace of pain, his right arm shaking. “I reckon to put myself forth,” the elderly Duke continued and those Issirs and Horselords that heard him gasped audibly. “If you are, Prince Radin.”
-
Chapter two
-Sometimes things are not as they appear-
-
> Garai regrouped after dispatching a rider to the Prince to ask for reinforcements, or the army moving out of the Pavilion as he could sense the Blood Raiders wouldn’t withstand another attack. He kept Bata to the south flank and prepared a frontal assault in three waves to rout the pirates amassing in front of him. Before the attack was launched a large group of Issir cavalry arrived from the west under the banner of Sir Gust De Weer. The Crows should have galvanized the unruly crowd, but several groups and wagons appeared to retreating down the west road towards Even Fork instead. Garai, who had considered postponing the attack charged his whole force against the disorganized mob.
>
> Sir Gust De Weer, who had his eye on the Horselords all the time, counter-charged with Sir Jan Reuten at the speartip of the formation and angled a second group of riders south to cut off Bata’s flanking attack. The two forces smashed together, the lancers holding advantage for the first minutes of the brutal engagement dropping several knights and killing Sir Reuten’s horse from under him. Some of the lancers penetrated as deep as the fleeing wagons, but the Blood Raiders, now reformed and split in several attack teams, surrounded the Horselords and cut them down, killing men and animals alike.
>
> Sir Gust stayed on the saddle remarkably and stopped Bata’s riders advance. He got bogged down next in savage fighting from very close quarters, registering twelve kills in ten minutes and mauling Bata with a boot to the face that splintered the unhorsed ex-gladiator’s skull. In the violent scrap that erupted all about the blood-drenched road Axel Mudriver scored the next most kills and was praised for reaching the surrounded Sir Reuten to break him out. The very-experienced Garai ordered his men to pull back upon seeing the danger and the Horselords nearest him turned around managing to disengage.
>
> All twenty seven of them.
>
> Sir Stefan De Braal tried to catch Masud-Rum’s force inside the denser north woods near Hunter’s Cot, attacking from the flanks through the trees but he lacked horses and the Cataphract disengaged timely towards the Pavilion. Masud-Rum rode inside the Leather Market –to the northwest of the deceptively called ‘tiny’ due to its small permanent population, sprawling on both sides of the road trade settlement- and witnessed Ramses’ Horse-Archers retreating from the east, where the animal and meat markets stood. Near noon, Viscount De Moss’ spear militia arrived at the Pavilion force-marching from Rusted (about three hundred soldiers pressed into service earlier that month for the campaign at Castalor) and attacked Ramses Horselords that were already pressed hard from Hendrik Jagger and his rangers from the south. Jagger had reached the warehouses south of the Pavilion, and immediately attempted to cut both exits to the settlement. His men got pushed back by Khafra’s riders near the west supply camps, but fared better against Ramses’ men.
>
> A peculiar incident happened during that time or a bit earlier, which might have influenced the Issirs and Horselords’ fierce contest over this part of the east road, beyond the simple need to block reinforcements coming from Rusted. A small convoy of carriages carrying prince Reinut out of the settlement was ambushed by Ramses men. The little baby changed hands several times, with Issirs and Horselords fighting fiercely over it, but somehow survived the horrid ordeal with a nasty injury to his left leg. A stray arrow had killed his milk-maid and lodged in the baby’s calf poisoning the wound. The Queen’s eunuch managed to get baby Reinut away in the confusion, whilst hunted down inside the animals market by Ramses’ men and Jagger’s advanced parties of rangers, who mistaken him for a Cofol due to his strange appearance (the brave eunuch named Jasi, was actually of Lorian origins) almost killing him. The arrow hit Jasi on the shoulder, breaking the bone and ruining his arm for life, but due to his efforts little Reinut made it near a Tail animal Dottore following Jagger’s men. The little prince was saved, but had trouble walking henceforth.
>
> The other Prince present, was hard-pressed by his subordinates to end the siege and regroup on open ground out of the settlement, but Radin, who had managed to corner Duke Ruud and his entourage inside Madan’s Hostel, after taking over most of the surrounding buildings (two burning warehouses and Madan’s stables), perceptively realized he could save the whole campaign by getting his hands on the old Duke or the young Reinut.
>
> The first would have rattled Scaldingport (a duchy that hadn’t sniffed at a succession since the winter of 138 NC almost fifty-seven years in the past, but was notoriously difficult to rule having endured both short and long but bloodily disputed reigns in its past. Ruud II had taken over from his robust uncle Gust I, after having him murdered at the ‘Muddy Oaks affair’ –a moniker for the forested northern approach to Patience Plateau- in a famous bloody ambush that left eighty slain from both parties rotting in the mud. The unwilling to give up the throne Gust I, had succeeded the incensed Ruud’s ailing father Rik the second, after forcing the latter to abdicate by parking three hundred men-at-arms from Forestfort under ‘Blackcrow’s Pilar’ shade, seven years earlier) and perhaps coerce this major Issir duchy out of the campaign. The second would have brought the rebel Queen to terms theoretically, or used as a bargaining chip to get Lord Putra out of Boarsnout Peninsula.
>
> Fifteen years later, no one has any idea what exactly transpired inside Merchant Pavilion’s small square. The Khanate survivors avoid to speak about the matter for their own reasons and the controversial Pirate Queen of Kaletha’s two Shrines, and the South Seas -from Burrows Reefs and port, to the great Veer’s Gulf and sinister Krakentrap Straits, all the way to the fabled Sinking Isles, has her own problems to open another can of worms.
-
image [https://i.postimg.cc/xnGbhFfh/Pavilion-late-noon-low-res.png]
Afternoon
Radin lodged the tip of his tongue under his palate, trying to block out the noise raised by the reacting Horselords and Issirs present. Things always change, success and failure a clumsy acrobat attempting to balance on a tight rope, twenty meters above the circus’ gravel floor and the undulating packed auditorium’s hall.
What’s the catch old man? Is your pride urging you to get out in a blaze of glory?
KRAA!
> We’re in this together, a still injured Radin had told the teenage princess mere weeks before Hajot had crossed over to join the spirits of the Great Steppe, forever riding his favorite horse free of life’s constraints, and singing the desert’s heroes songs of valor.
>
> Where are you princess? Will you not watch this time?
“Hah,” Radin smiled shaking his head at the Duke’s attempt. “You expect me to fight against the corpse of a man? You are out of your mind Duke Ruud.”
“You, and two of your subjects,” Ruud retorted, blinking his irritated cloudy eyes that were tearing up continuously. This half-blind idiot is plagued by cataracts, Radin thought amused. “Reckon I have a good enough chance to pull it off and I’m pretty motivated. Ayup.”
“Uhm,” Radin said smacking his lips. “Not in this realm. This challenge is beneath me. You’ll come groveling to parley when I get my hands on the kid,” he added and waved the Duke off turning around.
“I’m already here,” Ruud grunted raising his voice and Radin stared at Masud-Rum’s and Jurka’s identical smiling masks that reflected the prince’s own face back at him. “Sword in hand and sound of mind to mandate vengeance Prince of the Emerald Lakes. You blinded my son and he now runs about an unwed cripple! Reckon you also have your own lofty reasons, else why lose all those men fighting over chestnut sacks, produce stands and provincial stables eh? Here then, I voiced my reasons afore the all-gods and the Others. Now, if I left something out, I’m too old to give a crap!”
Hubert made to correct the Duke on the correct number and name of Lakes, but decided not to with a spasm that distorted his aged face.
“He’s no challenge,” Radin explained to the Horselords that eyed him judgmentally behind the metal masks.
“The reasoning is sound my lord prince,” Jurka argued. “The old father’s challenge though poor, can’t be turned down.”
Damnation.
“Fliers will be my second,” Ruud added with a nod at the sturdy officer. “He’s the best blade this side of Veer’s Gulf, right Fliers?”
“Well,” Fliers started unsure, but the Duke stopped him with another curt gesture and a shake of his dilapidated head.
Radin murmured under his breath and turned around again to glare at the annoying nobleman. “I win this challenge of the three, and you’ll surrender the place and the Queen to me?”
“Um,” Ruud deadpanned with a grunt, a nervous flick in his eyes and Radin realized the Queen was not there after all. Son of a bitch, he thought.
“I’ll take Jurka and Masud-Rum,” Radin announced, deciding to finish off the old Duke and his guards leader, collapsing all resistance inside the settlement, afore the Duke’s reinforcements arrived. Then he would deal with De Braal and turning around, head west to hit Robert at the rear or force him to terms holding a knife under the boy’s chin.
Radin wasn’t going to harm the boy.
“My prince,” Masud-Rum protested and Radin turned his head to glare at his old friend. “That’s overkill.”
“I’ll take the Raven,” Ruud added before Radin could chastise the Cataphract.
CRAW? The large raven croaked raising its bloody beak from the corpse’s cut open chest.
“The bird?” The confused Prince queried staring at the Duke’s wrinkled face. “You said subjects and will the bird even fight for you?”
“The Raven is my subject. A bad rash in the groin I can’t rid myself of,” Ruud replied over the huge bird’s loud protests. “Whether it fights or not, it’s my problem. And the bird’s I suppose,” he added with a sly smirk.
Is he terminally ill? This is suicide.
Then again, there might be something here, I haven’t figured out yet. These people train these birds and one of that size might provide distraction.
Hmm.
Radin stared at the black beady eyes of the Raven intently. “Masud-Rum is right,” the prince said loudly. “We don’t need three Cataphracts to best a couple of old men and a blooming bird.” The prince searched the faces of those around him and spotted the old Issir hunter Valk, keeping his distance behind the Horselords. “So I’ll take an old Issir as well. Valk, come here. Valk would be the third Duke Ruud. He’s my subject now as he helped me come here safely,” he added to burn Valk’s bridges with the vile Duke.
“Did he then?” Ruud queried. “Demeter told me all about it,” the Duke added and the old royal-hunter’s dark skin paled. “Live long enough and everyone shall eventually betray you, the young missus and a gaggle of old friends stab you in the fucking back. Then turn around and fuck their brains out alike rabbits to celebrate all about it! Right Hubert?”
“I reject the accusation my liege,” Hubert Boss argued civilly and added in a cautious manner. “You should perhaps reconsider.”
“Nay,” Ruud said simply and gestured for Hubert to get back to the entrance of the Hostel.
Fine, Radin decided and signaled in turn for Tobro to bring his warspear. “Bring me the good dagger as well,” the Prince added and stared at the uneasy Valk. “Just shoot the bird and it’ll fly away,” he told the ranger. “Or kill it, if you have to.”
“My Prince, this is unnecessary,” Jurka argued. “The old man is obviously not well.”
“Well or not, we bring down the vile Duke and this charade is over,” Radin retorted. “You raised your brows earlier to shame me, don’t back away now. Ah, get your crossbow also,” the prince advised and seeing the Cataphract’s eyes flare up angrily Radin added. “The hunter might be a lousy shot.”
----------------------------------------
KRAA!
The Raven croaked warningly when Valk aimed his bow at it. The old hunter hesitated and the impatient to get it over with Radin bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“TAKE THE SHOT VALK!”
Then rushed the scowling Duke, leaving Fliers to Jurka who had opted for a shield and a scimitar to match the sturdy sergeant’s weapons. Radin went in with his warspear, because he’d enough of Duke Ruud to give him more of a chance.
Radin danced on his feet in his lighter cuirass, spinning the spear around and tested the old Duke that waited for the attack, stooped over his sword as if it was a cane. The spear surged forward and the Old Crow reacted giving a light kick to his upturned blade that rose sideways to parry the heavy warspear away with a loud clang.
Eh, Radin cursed and leaped left into a dive. He used the butt of the spear mid-air as a vault pole to summersault three meters away, and landed on his two feet with a forced smile. He didn’t expect Ruud to manage even a single defense.
He span the spear over his right shoulder with ease, lowering his head to allow it to freely travel on his back and switched arms grabbing the shaft with the left. “Duck, old bones,” Radin forewarned the Duke and attacked again, jumping left and right before delivering a brutal wide arching slash at chest level.
The Raven snorted and then blinked its shining black, beady eyes.
Ruud dropped his sword vertically and Radin’s switching trajectory mid-air slash banged on the Duke’s lowered blade, the force of the blow shoving Ruud back on faltering knees. Radin sidestepped with a long deft stride and snapped his arm forward again nailing a glancing blow on Ruud’s plate that dented as the Duke was pushed back again with a snarling grunt.
Radin attacked again, closing the distance. An aimed high thrust that went sideways on the retreat to open a bleeding cut on Ruud’s forehead, when the old warrior managed to jerk away at the last possible moment. Ruud stumbled on his feet, the momentum dragging him forward but didn’t fall on his weakening knees somehow, showing great resilience.
Radin walked around him confidently, keeping an eye on Jurka’s much more equal sword-fight with Fliers, each man keeping safe behind his shield and attacking with careful thrusts. “You are a good fighter Ruud. I’ll give you that. You just met me a couple of decades too late. Might even be three or four.”
“Still… too soon for you,” an out of breath Ruud grunted hoarsely, his throat clogged with phlegm and half his face covered in blood.
“Mmm,” Radin murmured and thrusted the spear to cripple the old man’s right leg. He missed somehow and the Duke’s rising blade almost took his nose right off. The blade zipping past his face like an angry bug.
Fuck.
Radin jumped away alarmed and glared at the bleeding, heavy-breathing, but nastily smirking Ruud.
“What in the Spirits? That’s twice you dodged…” Radin cursed and glanced about him for the culprit. Someone was helping the Duke, but not in the regular manner you’d expect. The Prince’s eyes scanned the tense faces of those watching nearby and then at the windows of the Hostel for any duplicitous magic user. He’d been around sorcerers to know they could manipulate events. But nothing stood out.
KRAA!
The Raven croaked snapping Radin out of his stupor and spotted the grimacing with each stride Ruud, sneakily attacking him. The Prince parried the blade away, made two backwards steps and one sharp to the right, then launched forward from that leg, to thrust at the faltering Ruud from the sides.
The spear leveled and then lunged headlong at the turning to parry Ruud. Too fucking slow for the mighty Bloodfang. You wretched bag of rot! Radin bellowed inwardly, the momentum driving him forward, but the impact of the spear’s blade on the Duke’s ribcage never materialized. The spear found nothing but air instead and the arched Prince stumbled forward trying to find his footing, leather boots drumming on the stone tiles.
Boom.
Boom.
Crack.
For the first two strides that is, as then the sound changed when Radin stepped on softer ground and the noon sun bathing the square turned into a moonlit evening inside an old forest. Soaked black moss covered the huge tree trunks and falling drizzle touched his face from the outstretched thick branches.
A bewildered Radin cursed tripping on his feet in the half-dark, almost went down when his boot found a protruding from the earth old root, but just barely kept his balance using the spear to stop his momentum. The prince stared at the empty dark forest, feeling a shiver running up his spine and then spotted a raven resting on a low branch, next to a snoring monkey and a hissing snake. The bird stared directly at the gasping Prince, who despite the bird’s normal size recognized its mean expression.
“You,” Radin grunted clenching his teeth. “What the fuck is this place?”
The monkey jolted awake at the sound of his voice, opened its eyes and stared at the raven annoyed.
“Bugs, don’t do that mate. Big guy turns livid, when you stick your darn beak in his business.”
“Uh?” Radin gasped, equally shocked at the talking monkey and confused about the exchange. The Raven’s eyes blinked once and Radin heard its throaty voice delivering a cryptic response, just as the world changed around him and the prince found himself inside the busy square again.
“The Others Realm, beyond the big guy’s Desert of Souls,” the raven told the stupefied Radin.
----------------------------------------
Radin faltered on his legs, twisted around in panic feeling a blade grazing his ribs and just barely jerked away from it. Had Ruud been faster, he would have gutted the distracted Radin right there. The Prince swung the spear wildly to keep the cursing Ruud away and then retreated to gather his wits from the otherworldly encounter. Not a moment later, the prince turned his eyes on the procrastinating Valk and roared irate.
“KILL THE FUCKING RAVEN!”
“I missed—” Valk retorted but Radin would have none of it.
“DO IT! SHOOT THE BIRD!” The prince growled manically, spittle flying out of his mouth, still having the shivers from the creepy encounter. “KILL IT. FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”
Jurka glanced at the yelling prince and then at the bird. He hacked at Fliers’ shield to create separation and stepping back dropped his own shield to unclasp the crossbow he carried on his back. Radin cursed and swung at the limping Ruud that had approached again, a pained scowl distorting the Duke’s grotesquely smeared face.
Jurka loaded the crossbow, using one of the spare bolts he’d inserted in his dagger’s sheath and made to take a shot at the large Raven that watched his moves diligently with gawking eyes. Fliers rushed the distracted Cataphract, just as the bird opened its wings and flew away. Jurka was forced to retreat, lowered the crossbow to reach for his sheathed sword, but Fliers stabbed the Cataphract with his longsword in the gut and dropped him.
Radin growled at this unexpected turn of events and sprinted near the rolling on the ground injured Jurka. Fliers hacked down savagely and got the flaying Horselord below the right ankle, severing foot and boot away, a torrent of blood thick as a drainage tube splashing two meters out.
Jurka growled badly maimed and injured, Fliers raised the sword to hack at him again but Radin’s spear stopped the sturdy sergeant punching through his back in an upwards trajectory and exploding out, creating a ghastly crater bellow his chin. Fliers dropped to his knees, gurgling and spraying blood, his sword clanging down. Radin yanked the spear back with a grunt, and the raven’s claws teared at the upper side of his head as it suddenly dived against him. Radin felt a piece of his skin detaching along with the hair and slashed at the flying low large bird, but missed it.
“Valk, you piece of shit!” The hurt Radin growled, blood trickling down his forehead and a part of his hairline missing, leaving a bloody strip of exposed flesh behind. He felt more than saw Ruud near him and rolled to the side under the Duke’s slash, kicking a leg out to catch the faltering Ruud at the left hip. Ruud went into a comical twirl, his blade swinging wildly the other way and Radin had to step away to avoid losing any valuable body parts, just as the large flying Raven, swung around and leveled to attack him again from about ten meters away.
Radin opened his mouth to release a frenzied growl of anger and some meters to his right Jurka, who was half-dead from blood loss, stood on an elbow to aim his crossbow at the incoming flying monster.
The Raven angled to avoid Radin’s raised spear, ogled a black left eye spotting Jurka’s bolt screaming its way and banked hard right in order to avoid it. He didn’t. The bolt ripped through the raven’s left wing, blowing black feathers and dark blood away and the large bird plummeted on the stone-tiles with loud pained craws of pure disdain. It rolled like a black ball on the stone tiles and came to a stop about ten meters behind the recoiling Radin.
Recoiling because the persistent, looking as healthy as Jurka Lord Ruud –and the Cataphract had just fainted into a death stupor- had attacked again while Radin was distracted. This time opening a deep gush on the Prince’s left shoulder, cutting through the cuirass’ outer leather and inner padding. Had the blade gone a bit lower, Radin would have lost the arm, as the armour he had on left his forearms a little exposed for better speed.
“The Prince!” Tobro yelled and made to hurl a spear at the faltering Ruud –the latter had received a backhand from Radin- but was stopped by Masud-Rum. The Cataphract shoved the slave away.
“Only those named beforehand fight!” Masud-Rum barked at the snarling Tobro and Amu stepped between them to prevent the furious slave from using his spear on Masud-Rum. Tobro did it anyway and skewered the shocked Amu through the torso.
Radin had attacked the visibly worn-out from the intense scrap Ruud, but had blood in his eyes and a hurting left arm so he wasn’t as effective. Still the Prince’s spear slipped the Duke’s weakened defenses and stabbed him on the chest once -breaking a rib, but not penetrating deep enough. Ruud faltered and hacked at the leaping forward like a viper Radin.
The still very nimble Prince jerked aside, twisting his torso to avoid the plunging blade and keeping the tired Duke’s sword arm away with the spear-shaft, moved in to stab Ruud above the fourth rib with his curved dagger, barely missing the heart -but ruining a lung. The injured Duke cursed, spitting out a lot of blood mixed with yellow phlegm, and Radin stepped back to find the room to use his spear properly, which he managed flawlessly, a smile forming on his bloody but handsome face.
> Ralnor’s other hand landed on a younger Radin’s nose breaking it, and turned the prince’s grin into a muffled groan of pain. The Zilan kicked the spear away and retrieved his own sword from the ground.
>
> ‘A good move ends with a kill,’ Ralnor explained, sounding bored out of his mind. ‘Ending it with a bratty chuckle is a tactic better used, when you respond to a jest. This was a duel.’
The next moment the Prince had doubled over with a groan of mind-numbing pain, as an arrow had penetrated so deep into his left thigh, the steel head had punched out the other way after grazing the bone. Radin faltered, almost going down and managed to stay upright with the use of his spear.
He glared manically at the reloading tensed Stef Valk, the old hunter’s eyes hollowed out from fear.
“Fucking ruffian!” Radin growled trying to extract the arrow unsuccessfully. With a curse he started limping towards Valk. The Issir hunter loosed another arrow, but the irate prince swatted it away spinning his spear around alike a windmill. “You’ll shoot me!” Radin roared, frothing at the mouth and Valk stumbled back to retreat.
“Lad,” a tired Ruud was heard, getting the words out with difficulty. “Ain’t no way… out of this. Ye go get him now. Think of yer family, all them young lads and lasses,” Ruud continued hoarsely, still trying to gain on Radin, who despite limping on a bad leg, was still moving faster than the old Duke. “There’s a good lad,” Ruud said, when a pale-faced Stef Valk unsheathed a shortsword to assault the injured Prince that was advancing on him.
Radin cursed, quickly realized he couldn’t allow the fresh Valk to approach -given his injuries, so the prince flung the spear upwards like the Hoplites of old, caught it deftly with his good arm and chucked it with a mighty roar against the charging Issir.
Bloodfang wins, motherfucker!
Caught him squarely on the chest from five meters away and impaled the man’s torso like a fish nailed on a harpoon. Radin saw none of that as Ruud’s sword had pierced his kidneys in the meantime, the sharp blade cutting through the hardened leather easily.
Ruud kicked the groaning Prince on the back to get the blade out and almost went down himself, stumbling about on shaky knees. The badly injured Radin, groaned desperately as he rolled away on the stone-tiles, trying to get away from the slowly approaching grimacing Duke.
This time though, the injured, badly limping and generally slow-moving Ruud, was faster than the Prince.
Damnation, a badly injured Radin thought, frantically trying to stand using his good arm, but failing repeatedly slipping on his own blood. He dropped back on the hard tiles with his back, his wound sending jolts of pain to his brain.
“You cheated!” Radin groaned through his teeth, at the blinking to clear the blood from his eyes Ruud. “Where’s your honor?”
“Lost it to yer mother.”
“You vile snake!”
“Listen, I picked… the raven,” Ruud replied hoarsely and spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm that had clogged his injured lung between his legs. It came out like gory vomit. “You picked… Valk.”
“The Raven… used magic, you fucking bastard!” The ravaged by extreme pain Radin growled furious, ogling his swollen eyes at the towering over him Old Crow.
“You dumb dead fool,” Ruud croaked, clenching his jaw tightly. “This is my sixth decade on the darn throne. You think that blasted bird… is all that kept me there?”
Radin opened his mouth to blast the insufferable relic of a ruler, but Ruud’s naked blade snapped abruptly and half the prince’s face turned into a gory mess.
“No more words for you,” Ruud rustled raspingly, then added with an amused stare at the shuddering in his death throes Radin’s ravaged face. “Shit. I was going for the ear, or the eye. Arm is all shaky from the plaguing exertion. Oh, well… was about to torture you anyways. Folk habitually die after the first session, so you didn’t miss much,” he turned around with a groan and eyed the frozen Horselords watching him with utter shock, those that didn’t have a smiling mask on that is, for a long moment.
He had to take a moment. Ruud was out of breath since the start of the duel.
-
> ‘Well then, there’s that matter dealt with. Uhm. Now, any of you fancy cunts has me grandson…’ the barely standing, injured, Lord Ruud had allegedly said all serious, after killing Bloodfang, the infamous Prince Radin of all people, in a bloody duel of the three. ‘Best you return him unharmed, afore I finish cutting this one up some more. I got to feed the bloody bird for lending a hand you see. Ayup.’
>
> The surviving Horselords took the first deal and retreated from the Pavilion either from shock at the prince’s unexpected and brutal demise, or because they remembered Hubert Boss’ words from earlier.
>
> And feared the timeworn ruler’s counter-offer.