> “Ah,” Liko sighed and stared at the emotional Bert Ottis. The two young mercenaries had located the old Northman, just where the departing soldiers had told them he was. “We’re too late.”
>
> The covered with a blanket Crafton had been cut open from armpit to hip and despite the medics’ efforts to patch him up, he couldn’t be saved. Maybe if a sorcerer was around, Liko thought sniffling and grimacing as he’d been hurt as well. His left knee was swollen and he could barely see from his half-closed right eye after the Charioteer’s blow.
>
> “That you… kid?” Crafton murmured without opening his eyes. Liko gasped and went to hug the pale Northman, who groaned in pain and cursed him.
>
> “Apologies…” Liko croaked. “Bert is here—”
>
> “I don’t… care,” Crafton spat and half-coughed half-moaned in a protracted manner as if he was dying right then and there. Then again, Liko thought. He is… damn. “Fuck…” Crafton cracked a foggy blue eye open to look at the sad teenagers. “Got any…”
>
> Crafton started coughing unable to finish his words.
>
> “Liquor?” Liko chanced.
>
> “Potion…”
>
> “What?” Ottis queried unsure.
>
> “Glen… has some.” Crafton explained and grimaced pleadingly. “There’s… still time.”
>
> Liko pursed his mouth down trying to keep the tears in but failed. He hated the Northman growing up, but also loved him because Liko had no one else to take care of him.
>
> “Glen isn’t here mister Crafton,” Ottis reminded the injured former thief sadly.
>
> “Look… again. Thought… you came here with a cure. Left with the dumb fucks… shit,” Crafton coughed and looked about him confused. “This is… a good spot. Eh… reminds me of home.”
>
> “It’s really nice,” Liko agreed sniffling and fixed the blanket that had dropped revealing a lot of bloody bandages. “It’s a great a spot.”
>
> “Yeah,” Ottis agreed and Crafton stared at both of them for a moment intently.
>
> “Last thing… I wanted,” he croaked with difficulty. “Was spending… me last moments…”
>
> “In the fields?” Ottis asked curious and Crafton grimaced in the attempt to smile. Then he closed his eyes again to reply sounding pretty unhappy.
>
> “Nay…” the former thief said hoarsely. “Wit you two idiots. I liked Glen the most. The kid has brains.”
>
> “Hah,” Liko laughed in between sniffles. “He don’t mean it,” Liko assured his friend and Crafton opened his eyes again with a pained gasp. He glared at them pretty pissed for a long moment and finally grumbled, barely managing to get the words out.
>
> “I fuckin’ do.”
>
> And then he died.
----------------------------------------
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Sir Gust De Weer
Raven of Dawn
Lord ‘Veer’*
Leftovers
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
*from the archaic pronunciation of the Ikete Issir noble name ‘De Weer’, a title all of late Duke Henk De Weer’s kin shared or were addressed by the common people, along with the later more- frequently used ‘Lord Crow’.
Early evening, 5th of Tertius of 195NC
Gust stopped the nervous Khanate Steppe stallion Hisan lugging at the reins, all the Desert Crows riders doing the same behind him and waited for the murky figure coming from the opposite direction to approach them. For a while only the clopping of hooves could be heard and then the rider came out of the thick mist of the chilly forest road. Just like Gust and Hisan, his warhorse and the man himself were covered in dark-brown mud. The man had the glaring Osprey of Forestfort sitting on a thick branch, engraved on his chestplate in grime-smeared silver.
“Sir Beren Kuik,” Gust rustled when the mid-aged knight came to a stop two meters away from him, Beren’s horse shooting vapors from its nostrils, illuminated in the yellow light from the burning torches Gust’s men carried. “Bit late in the evening for a stroll,” he added following Robert’s advice to be more-friendly with people, but it came out like a threat due to his baritone voice and gruff manner.
“Milord Veer,” the mid-aged Beren greeted him equally rigidly in turn, tired bearded face visible as he’d raised the face cover. A former man-at-arms, knighted from the Duke fifteen years ago ‘for services rendered’. “We be looking to clear out the road from Horselords.”
Gust nodded and sucked at his teeth. “The Blood Raiders camp is empty. We just passed it by,” he informed the semi-retired knight that had property at Hunter’s Cot. Beren was Stefan De Braal’s right hand man, one of his squires in his youth. As with all the Duke’s loyal people, Beren was up there in years and approaching sixty now, but some of the Old Crows -themselves older than Beren, and Gust could see the half-concealed in fog men-at-arms standing silent on their horses behind the sturdy knight in order to watch the exchange- were still calling Sir Beren ‘the young Osprey’.
“Reckoned they’ll head north, up the forest path,” Beren replied, managing an even hoarser rustle than Gust. “I have men guarding the turn.”
The ‘turn’ was a narrow hunter trail through the thick forest a little ahead of them, to the east. They couldn’t be talking for the same Horselords though, Gust thought with frown.
“Who helped them find the roads?” Gust asked, although he could guess how Radin had pulled that off. Elsanne didn’t think Loes would ever betray her, but Loes Valk had probably thought Elsanne would never leave her behind at Dia Castle as well. More than one person could be right at the same time, or have their own legitimate reasons for reacting as they did, which was why Gust didn’t enjoy discussing matters too much.
Dig deep enough and all manner of confusing stuff might be unearthed.
“Turncoat scum,” Beren rustled a curt reply, pursing his mouth. “But we be looking to clear the woods from them as well.”
Um.
So Gust didn’t dwell on the old knight’s reasoning.
More often than not people just follow orders.
-
An hour later
Evening
Merchant’s Pavilion, the widened part of the main road called the ‘square’ before Florentine Madan’s Grand Hostel.
Half of the Pavilion’s buildings had been damaged. A couple of warehouses still burning, the Leather Market’s huts and stands thoroughly raided, smashed up and smoking. They had left the market behind and rode down the lightly populated road, mainly from returning merchants or locals, trying to salvage their properties, goods and spoiled produce.
The fight for the Pavilion had spilt to the North and South districts, but mainly in the center, around Madan’s tall building. Gust could see the dying flames and thick smoke polluting the square, coming from the collapsed stables east of the Hostel and the half-destroyed warehouse standing next to it. The alleys filled with debris, dead horses and people. Both dead and living. The dead were laid to rest -in the middle of the lit up with torches secured on tall poles square, one next to each other, right on its gore-covered, debris littered, stone tiles.
Horselords and Issirs alike were feasted upon from the crows that had either arrived from Rusted, or Gust’s own men had brought with them. Benches and blankets had been brought out of the damaged, but intact Hostel and many injured soldiers were trying to find some rest in close proximity to the corpses. Militia men from Rusted, some of Mitch Jaeger’s Rangers still guarding the large building’s approaches with weary eyes, with a group of Scaldingport’s heavy infantry guards gathered loosely around the Hostel’s entrance.
The arriving on Hisan, De Weer scion spotted Sigurd Bach and Katers talking with Flo Madan nearby and recognized Sir Stefan De Braal’s familiar all-black, engraved armour that had the same crest as Sir Beren Kuik’s at the front –but with the added grey crow landing next to it, carrying a small shield with its claws- who had his back turned to Gust. On the hide-covered bench in front of Sir Braal, right next to the large doors Gust immediately recognized his sitting father.
The scrawny Ruud’s torso was wrapped up with bloody bandages and the Duke had a dark-blue robe thrown over his crooked shoulders, his sword resting upturned on his right knee. The Duke’s left hand was covered in blood and was talking to a nervous crow that walked about at his feet.
De Braal heard the guards’ murmurs dying around him and turned to eye Gust soberly.
“The Queen?” Scaldingport’s ancient shield asked.
“Safe.” Gust retorted and glanced behind the armoured knight at his injured father. “She’s coming here.”
“Is the road clear?” Ruud asked tiredly from the bench without looking at them.
“I found Sir Beren Kuik,” Gust replied and stared at the illuminated open doors of the Hostel. “Why not rest inside? It’s cold out here,” he asked his father frustrated.
“Bugs wants a bit of privacy,” Ruud replied with a grimace of discomfort. “It’s better to endure a fever awake.”
Gust shook his head unsure if that was advisable. He then stared at the frowned De Braal intently for a brief moment. The Shield took a step back with a scowl, so Gust could approach the busy feeding the crow Duke. Ruud appeared frail and Gust could see he’d a cut on his forehead, a deep bloody gush added to the other wrinkles there. He gulped down nervously and then turned his head to take in the surrounding area. He noticed three of the torch poles were occupied and stale pools of blood had soaked the ground under them. The bodies roughly tied on the poles clearly deceased.
The rather crowed for the time familiar road and square, still had a gloomy and tense atmosphere about it, reinforced by the signs of recent struggle.
“What happened?” Gust asked raspingly.
“The prince came here,” Ruud replied pursing his mouth. For a moment, Gust thought he was about to attempt a smirk, but the Duke just groaned with a glare to the nearby men watching them in silence. Gust spotted Sigurd Bach clad in chainmail under his robes, too big for him as it reached below the Baron’s knees.
“We had to fight for our lives,” Sigurd informed Gust.
“Fight my arse!” Ruud snapped hoarsely not of the same opinion. “Right Bob?”
CAW! The crow agreed, its head skirting right and left agitated.
“Where’s the boy?” Gust asked and Katers replied tensely.
“The heir is with Hendrik Jagger’s men,” the Baron’s man said.
Hendrik was Lode De Jagger’s uncle.
“Where’s Hendrik?”
“Camped on the road to Tongue, south of the Animal Market milord,” Katers expounded.
Gust breathed out to relieve some of the stress. Elsanne’s panic-stricken reaction to the news that Radin might be behind them had all but worn out the hale knight, more than the three straight days of constant riding and fighting.
“Radin wanted the boy,” Ruud said and tossed what looked like a cut-off gory middle finger to the crow that picked it up with its beak from the dirty tiles.
Gust licked his lips and glanced at the torch poles illuminating the corpses piled at the center of the square. He briefly examined the distant bloody torsos tied on the three poles nearest to the Hostel.
“Where’s is he?” Gust queried raspingly.
“Bugs had the best parts,” Ruud explained and eyed with a blurry eye the guilty-looking crow. “This cretin some others,” the weary Duke continued. “The rest of him is up there. You guessed right son.”
“It was a proper duel of old,” Sigurd added. “Nigh impressive thing I’ve ever witnessed. Poor Fliers was cut down Sir Gust.”
“You killed the prince?” Gust asked in disbelief. His father hadn’t fought in years. Not himself. He didn’t have to. A mirthful Ruud used to say to his teenage sons, whilst teaching them how to use a weapon that ‘all the good-fighting happened years back. Ayup. You kill yer enemies at a steady rhythm, eventually they run out. Don’t fret about it boys. Now, ye run out of good cunt, then life can turn right miserable!’
“Who are the others?” Gust grunted, crooking his mouth at the memories.
“Some Cataphract,” Ruud retorted a little annoyed and pushed back on the bench, clenching his fists to combat the pain. “Almost killed the Raven. Might have been a good thing even.”
What?
“Have you lost your mind?” Gust rustled and De Braal was heard shifting about nervously, the scabbard clanging on the thigh plate. Gust turned around, dropping a hand on the pommel of his sword and tossed a glare at the old knight. “Go find out about my son,” he ordered gruffly and the Duke’s Shield grimaced at his tone, but Gust was years removed from being intimidated by the mean pale-brown eyes anymore.
“See to find more about the kid Stefan,” Ruud urged tiredly and De Braal nodded his balding wrinkled head once. He turned around and marched down the square with a curt sign for a couple of loitering about guards to follow him to the horses. The Shield’s steel spurs clearly heard ringing on the stone-tiles with each stride taken.
“Bugs!” Gust barked at the open doors of the Hostel.
“You shouldn’t trust the raven,” Ruud said and tossed another finger to the crow. He’d a bloody open bag under the bench next to his right leg, where his sword rested, and dug inside with a hand to get another piece of flesh out.
“Elsanne can’t see this,” Gust grunted, grinding his teeth. “Get them off those poles Ruud!”
“Best to squash a girl’s fantasies early,” Ruud retorted barely getting the words out and wiped the side of his face with the back of a hand.
“Katers get the bodies removed from there!” Gust barked turning around. “And order the men to burn the corpses! Drive the god darn birds away!”
Katers nodded and called for the nearby guards to help him with the gruesome task.
“You can’t… drive the crows away son,” a tired Ruud said and stared at the chewing energetically crow intently. The crow raised its neck to swallow and then blinked its beady eyes at the scowling Duke.
“Oaks,” the crow said in a raspy croak, with another rapid blink and then shook its black head, looking from Ruud to Gust afore its black gawking eyes settled on the bloody bag.
“Bob is older than me,” Ruud continued hoarsely. “So he knows. Right Bob?”
CAW! Bob the crow croaked.
“Ruud,” Gust growled. “You’re injured and feverish.”
“I’ll get better,” Ruud snapped stubbornly, but a violent cough ruined it for him. The Duke spat a mouthful of blood down, stooped between his open legs and then stayed in that strange position with everyone freezing for a moment, thinking he had died. “Give… me a hand… up,” a discomforted Ruud was heard after a while and Gust helped him to stand upright on the bench again.
The Duke closed his eyes looking completely exhausted, but then abruptly opened them again, veiny sclera almost red and foggy, to cast a mean glare at the men watching him.
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“Motherfuckers,” Ruud cursed raucously. “I ain’t dead yet! Fucking vultures!”
“God damn it Ruud,” Gust groaned in frustration. “Just get some rest.”
“All birds have a name,” Ruud grunted, pressing a hand on his bandaged wound. “They won’t say it, so you can’t call them all the time. They are like people. Bugs is not. He shouldn’t be here. Not all of him is. It’s a two way door, no one should ever use.”
“I know the raven is special,” Gust said and stooped over his father to check on the leaking wound. “How bad is it?”
“Half the chest is fucked,” Ruud explained. “But it’s the rib that gives me the most pain.”
“You shouldn’t move at all.”
“I’ll do whatever… the fuck I want.” Ruud coughed, some blood dripping down his chin. The Duke wiped it with his hand. “I earned… the fucking right boy!”
“Suit yourself.” A chastised Gust grunted and stood up.
“Ain’t nobody going to give you anything son,” Ruud said hoarsely staring at Katers untying the butchered torsos and depositing them inside open blankets.
“I know,” Gust retorted, too old to seek any advice from him and stared at the troubled Axel Mudriver, standing with the rest of his men about twenty meters away. Gust feared Elsanne might arrive sooner and he didn’t want her to have to face this. Not the mayhem, his father’s actions.
“Nobody is going to give her anything,” Ruud continued in his weakened voice. “They’ll slit her throat or chop her head off first. Kill yer boy too. Stab ye in the back, when yer celebrating.”
“Mael has told me all about that. He had to, with you missing all the time,” Gust grunted irate. “Visiting your whores!”
Ruud crooked his bloodied mouth and then tossed another piece of flesh to Bob. An ear with part of cheek still attached to it.
“All men lie. Mael was a sinner too, so he turned to priesthood,” Ruud murmured thoughtfully. “Gods most of all. They don’t like staying in their realm you see. It’s boring after a while. So they venture here wearing a costume fashioned out of flesh, but some rules they can’t break. Gods and people. Um.”
Gust grimaced not understanding where the Duke was going with this and stared at Baron Bach in a quizzing manner.
“The Dottore said the Duke just needs to survive the night,” the Baron explained. “Might be the fever.”
Ruud will make sure the Duke makes it to sunrise, Gust thought and sighed tiredly.
“Old ‘Stout’ Gust had a son with a mistress nobody knew about,” Ruud said and Bob stopped nibbling at the bloody piece of flesh to stare at the old Duke warningly. “Your great-uncle. The Raven had lied or was mistaken. I think he lied. Opted to shove me down a nasty path because it suited him.”
Gust clenched his jaw.
“These are good people. Loyal. Keep their mouth shut and follow orders,” Ruud explained. “Beren and Stefan, Fliers and his pops. Old Hubert, ayup. Some of them lost afore you grew up proper. Old Valk over there. What’s left of him… he-he… difficult to know who is who, all chopped up in them dirty blankets.”
For crying out loud!
“Why mutilate the old hunter? You’ve known Valk for decades for pity’s sake!” Gust queried in frustration and Ruud pursed his wrinkled mouth.
“I had to. A man does something he shouldn’t and then asks for clemency with words or actions,” Ruud started, pausing to draw a rugged breath in, he then let out slowly pressing at one side of his chest. “But the reason for the betrayal is still there. Still breathing. Unreachable,” the Duke continued evenly. “So the man would do it again if put in the same position, his close kin as well… um, unless proper example is given… or worse. Better to root everything out proper.”
“Elsanne doesn’t have to know that,” Gust grunted, but Ruud waved his protests off and continued.
“In them dirty blankets. Under the big Oaks shade,” Ruud said gawking at the soldiers piling up the corpses and dousing everything with olive oil to set them on fire. “Buried amidst them rotting roots… ayup.” Ruud paused to grimace in pain and then crooked his mouth stubbornly.
CAW! Bob snapped clacking his beak and jumping about very agitated.
“Leftovers. Skin and flesh covered in gore, you can’t make out.” Ruud said and coughed a couple of times to clear his throat. “Lies mixed in with the truth, shoveled under the mud. Aye. We had to do it. Needs some working, the vile bird had said. Some good fortune. Uhm. Never trust it fully. The Queen must know that, for the boy to know as well growing up. No dreams of fancy tourney tales, or glorious adventures of lying scum, pretending to be heroes. I told Rik all about it whilst you were away. He knows what to do and he’ll make sure Janneke’s kids know as well, but this is on you. The naked secrets of the realm, are always ugly son. Because the crows will never leave.”
“You have uncle Gust’s bones in the blasted Catacombs!” Gust growled and Ruud gave him a weary nod of agreement.
“Gust we brought back,” Ruud had replied and pressed his back on the wall of the Hostel to rest it properly. Ruud slept as he always had, one murky, tearing eye, half-open, and both hands clasping at the pommel of his sword.
-
>
>
> The Duke of Scaldingport survived the duel with Radin. Clinging stubbornly to life, despite suffering serious injuries in his advanced age, Lord Ruud recovered and relished in the rebel Queen’s affections and gratitude for the rest of spring. Elsanne thanked the Duke publicly for saving her son, perhaps a political move on her part, but also because she had somehow warmed up to him.
>
> In one such occasion, while publicly embracing the recovering Duke, when he first came down from his quarters on his own two legs in order to meet a band of bards that had arrived to play for the Queen, all the way from the distant Lord’s Burrow, Ruud got emotional. The public moment dragged, and the dressed in an ‘Eplas fashioned gown of sorts’ Queen became increasingly worried. So she queried the buried in her partially exposed, royal bosom Ruud, ‘whether he was feeling uncomfortable standing and wished to sit down.’ To which the tearing Duke famously had replied, ‘if our good Queen is willing, I’d rather prolong the embrace for a bit longer. This is the liverier I’ve felt in months!’
>
> The defeated Garai managed to slip away into the woods with his small force while most of Masud-Rum’s command followed after the Cataphract, while hunted by the Duke’s soldiers. While Garai made it near Lord Jorah with about twenty riders a week later, the bulk of late Radin’s force, close to four hundred men, perhaps more, didn’t for months. The Horselords lost their way inside the woods and wandered in the wilderness east of Boar Mountain during the summer. At some point, the worn-out Horselords, now missing most of their animals, came upon Granlake’s rocky west shores.
>
> Disoriented from months inside the thick forest, without knowing whether they had reached a sea, or a lake, half the Horselords headed south following the difficult terrain under Sibast never to be seen again, and the rest under Masud-Rum, Ramses and Senet traveled to the northwest also following the lake and trusting Ramses to ‘get them out of the forest, same as a teenage Tuksa Lar had gotten himself out of the Great Desert two decades in the past.’
>
> And the experienced Horse-Archer leader did.
>
> Robert Van Durren prepared to give battle with Lord Jorah, but the Horselord leader learned of Lord Putra’s fate from a bird sent to him afore the Lord general’s final action in the campaign and decided under heavy pressure to abort the operation. With no sign of the Prince, Lord Jorah couldn’t do much else and Robert had received reinforcements by the 5th from Castalor.
>
> Sir Walter Van Oord, had to beg twice with runners the Jang-Lu officers to surrender, but they refused his offers flatly. The Khanate’s elite infantry had been mauled trying to reach the road from the determined Castalor defenders and their machines. In a stunning, but needless display of tremendous bravery, Putra and the remaining Jang-Lu (Xener had died from his injuries a day earlier) fought to the last man. A shocked, but very impressed at the foreign men’s obvious prowess Sir Walter toured the gory field of battered corpses in search for Lord Putra, but couldn’t recognize him as the Khanate nobleman had perished wearing a common metal mask. Almost two thousand bloody, battered and cracked masks were retrieved from the gory battlefield and the woods from the looting locals.
>
> It was said that at the time Lord Putra marched out of the trees cover, close to three thousand crossbows, four hundred bows, fifteen Scorpios and eight catapults fired upon his men, in a barrage that lasted well over an hour. ‘Most of those present weren’t well trained,’ Sir Walter admitted after the war. ‘Just regular folk that took up arms to defend their homes, aye. Mainly Struder’s workers that got the chance to fire an expensive crossbow they had just made in the workshops. The best-trained men of Castalor Desmond Boss had with him and he lost most of them along with his son.’ The traumatized from the events Castalor nobleman (an old friend of Elsanne and Lady Marleen’s brother) had added. ‘It may sound strange to the ear and I may be mistaken, but I truly believe the best out of both camps didn’t survive the ordeal. Aye.’
>
> On the 7th of Tertius, vice Admiral Faber’s ‘genius plan to surprise the enemy’ according to himself, was realized although there wasn’t much need for it. The vice admiral was ordered in fact to turn the Castalor flotilla around –he was en route- as the army could reach the port at Krakentrap Straits in a week, but he claimed the bird never reached him and didn’t. So three hundred determined Issir Marines (from Castalor and Scaldingport) under Del Schalk that had been sardined inside the transports for five days, landed at Deadmen’s Watch at dawn, cleared out a small guard left behind, seized two small Khanate transports moored in the small port and recaptured the destroyed city.
>
> To Sergeant Schalk’s utter shock, almost six thousand people had disappeared, which was the majority of the small town-port’s surviving population and the port was unusable for a year. The Castalor army units under Lord Erland Van Oord marching towards the edge of the peninsula through Hunter’s Trap Forest road, discovered –passing by Putra’s abandoned camps- that most of those hapless civilians and many Cofols had died during the winter months mainly from disease and hunger.
>
> The half-blind Burzin learned about Radin’s fate a week later and was deeply aggrieved according to witnesses, but accepted Lord Jorah’s version of events ‘as a brave attempt that stood no chance to be successful, as Putra had made an unfixable mess of it.’ Garai’s version that is. Maluph-Sol and the survivors of Putra’s force were insulted, but they couldn’t dispute the reality of the colossal blunder. Cephas Mirpur did argue with the Khan about the vague report that smeared ‘heroes and longtime allies killed in battle whilst following the Khan’s orders, only to save the reputation of one man’ but he was dismissed after a tensed meeting, which caused a serious divide in the Khan’s Cataphract force. Cephas departed the Horselords main horse camp and created his own some kilometers away as a protest. About three hundred of the five hundred remaining Khanate very-heavy cavalry were men paid by the Mirpur family and followed him.
>
> It is said that at the time the sullen Mirpur scion was secluded in his tent, Maluph Erul-Sol arrived with Lady Marleen, her son Aswad, Horus’ slave girls and a Cataphract named Api-Nofre. Hearing their story, Cephas grieved with them for a night with the company of many Cataphracts that had come to listen how Ermin Suru had died and then asked Maluph Erul-Sol to return young Aswad to Eplas like he’d promised his late brother. It was also what their customs dictated and logic demanded. The women and the boy belonged to Lord Mirpur, but they were also a problem with rumors of traitors circulating inside the court. ‘This is a decision for the head of our house to make and my father shall make it,’ Cephas explained to the distraught Marleen. ‘My duty is to try and salvage our station with the Khan, or defend the family name. Staying here you could turn into a weapon used against me.’
>
> The destitute Maluph agreed to make the long return journey with the help of the slaver Cardus who could arrange for semi-safe transportation without raising suspicion. It was a big risk for Maluph, who was giving up his only chance to regain some of the riches and station he’d lost since the start of the campaign. By leaving the campaign and the Khan’s presence, the Chariot Leader couldn’t defend himself. Maluph and Marleen would eventually reach Rin An-Pur in the summer of 196 NC.
>
> Politics aside, according to the official records the Prince had attacked towards the Pavilion, but was killed by Issir forces that were expecting him. It is difficult to know for certain whether the prince was betrayed or not. Whether the duel with the Duke of Scaldingport was a real story and not a fabrication. And finally, whether the Prince had to attack towards the Pavilion or not. Masud-Rum’s group who was closer to the events wouldn’t resurface for months and their version never reached the public. In the meantime, Vynia Letakin brought young prince Nidar (sic. the Daring) to the solemn Khan and asked Burzin to accept ‘a son, for the son he lost.’
>
> While an obvious attempt at manipulating the aging Khan, it worked. Burzin was moved and asked for the young boy to be put on his best stallion’s saddle. Nidar was placed on the saddle, managed not to fall off and break his small neck when the horse was ordered to move and the invigorated Burzin declared him ‘Prince of Princes’ and the Khanate’s heir. Whether it was Nidar’s skill (at two years old) or Vynia’s charms (it was rumored she slept in the Khan’s quarters, though this could have been propaganda spread from Eplas), the news infuriated Prince Atpa. The ‘Lurking Asp’, had been twice passed over for the throne by his father, despite resolving the war with the Three Sisters and the King beyond the Pale Mountains.
>
> An incensed Atpa considered raiding Rin An-Pur’s East Tower, the ‘wives palace’, and rape one of his unmarried half-sisters Mirin out of spite, but his close advisor Lemus-On of Wotcheki Castle managed to calm him down. Lemus-On suggested that the Prince should marry his late brother’s very young daughter Princess Sitamun -the ‘Golden Nimra Lioness’, who was living at the time at Yin Xi-Yan with her mother and Prince Nout’s widow Tamun-Toka -the ‘Daughter of Dinar’, under the protection of Lord Har Khemet and her brother, the famed general Ramen Toka. Two of Gold Leopard’s closest friends and supporters.
>
> Atpa sent an envoi to the desert city to ask for the girl, a demand that infuriated Tamun-Toka that wanted the man ‘killed, skinned and fashioned into a saddle she could ride on’. Ramen intervened to appease his still grieving sister and then turned the proposal down himself, telling Atpa’s messenger that they stood ‘wary of serpents’ in the desert, which were almost verbatim Nout’s last words to him personally.
>
> Prince Atpa –now doubly insulted- ordered his close friend Aquila-Dor of Shao Na-Lan to march with his riders against Yin Xi-Yan and take the girl by force, but Aquila-Dor didn’t have the manpower to attack the large desert-lake city, since the remnants of Nout’s veterans had coalesced around the late Prince’s close family and its ruler was Nout’s ally. Aquila-Dor was probably aware -from leaked messages out of Lord Admiral Ohahar’s Palace in Shao Na-Lan- that a new heir had been named in the east and was hesitant to attack another Lord’s city.
>
> Distant Khanate intrigues aside, on Jelin Burzin reinforced Lord Jorah’s force -now heading towards Colle- with more infantry, while posting a blocking army between Kaltha’s Lakes fearing the Legion’s advance. Burzin had more than halved the force he’d landed on Jelin with already, after suffering two very costly setbacks in quick succession. The worst of it was that the news of Khan’s defeats (and Elsanne’s triumphs) had reached the ears of Lord Anker beyond the Red Bridge and the High Regent felt obligated to answer. So Lord Anker ordered his generals to prepare for an attack that summer with the intention of retaking the capital before Elsanne made her move.
>
> A series of fortunate events gave the High Regent the opportunity to attempt it, although some might paint them in a more negative hue.
-
Sir Beren Kuik
2nd week of Month Sextus
Summer of 195 NC
West Great Greenforest
Duchy of Scaldingport and Barony of Colle ‘disputed’ royal lands
Valk’s Lands near the settlement of Hunter’s Path
“Easy now,” Beren grunted hoarsely, keeping the reins taut to keep old Earl on the forest path. A squirrel had run in front of his warhorse and made it jerk to the side scared. “It’s alright boy,” the knight added in a soothing voice, rubbing at the animal’s rich black mane with a gloved hand.
Janus Boult came to stop next to him, the seventy year old man-at-arms stooped on the saddle with a permanent scowl on his wrinkled Issir face. Boult had a rotten tooth pulled out the other day and kept his mouth close, biting on a piece of cloth to stop the bleeding. He hadn’t been able to sleep from the pain and was in a bad mood for the second straight day.
“Just beyond the turn. Them dead trees.”
“Umm,” Janus murmured and looked at the rest of the men.
“I’ll ride ahead,” Beren continued the one-sided conversation. “See if I can spot anyone. It’s still early.”
“Umm.”
Beren shook his head and pressed his thighs to get Earl going. The warhorse trotted forward and seconds later they had cleared the trees and entered a flattened, deforested part of the woods. A couple of farm houses could be seen at the distance, the sun had just appeared on the horizon, despite the heavy mist. The cool air inside the thick woods had turned warmer inside the large clearing.
The land nicely cultivated and Beren spotted smoke coming from the farmhouses, as their occupants had started waking up. Had this been another time, Beren could hope to be welcomed with a cup of tea, even have a decent bucolic breakfast.
But it wasn’t.
Earl brought them near the fence of the first farmhouse and it stopped there to graze at the rich grass growing around the wooden fence. Beren pushed back on the saddle to stretch his hurting spine. Had this been twenty years earlier, ten even, he wouldn’t have even thought of the long ride. Any ride.
But it wasn’t.
“Uher’s Light upon you sir.”
The local Issir girl had surprised him. Beren hadn’t heard her coming out of the farmhouse and approach him. He turned her way annoyed, not with her really… eh, it was the bones in his back bothering him with the change of seasons. Beren could feel the same discomfort in his other bones as well that’s how he could tell.
Knees, elbows.
It was as if he was coming apart with each passing year.
Beren would have given up riding altogether, but running errands for the Old Crow on foot was even more bothersome.
“We have a big cow in the sycamore trees,” the girl explained shyly. “I have to milk her early, because the stable is the other way. We keep her separate from the sheep, because their calls sour her milk.”
Uhm.
“You’re Stef Valk’s daughter?”
“His niece.”
“Um,” Beren murmured and heard the other Old Crows slowly coming out of the woods following the narrow path.
“Yer cousin around?” Beren asked crooking his mouth, and eyed the door of the farmhouse that slowly opened. A mid-aged Issir farmer appeared there holding a wood axe.
“Demeter went to the Pavilion after my uncle,” she explained. “We haven’t seen either of them in months.”
Aye. Reckon no one has.
“Get inside Dorothy,” the nervous man ordered from the door. “These are the Duke’s men.”
“The land belongs to the Duke,” Beren rustled, trying to think of something to say, to justify what was about to happen, but he couldn’t find any good line. With a sigh he reached for the pommel of his sword, deciding that it didn’t really matter. They were about to clear out the farmhouses anyway, return the land back to nature.
Best to get it over with, he decided.
“Look,” Dorothy said startled and turned to point with an arm, the other trying to hold on to the carafe of milk she carried. “A crow.”
Beren stared at the crow that had landed on the wooden fence near the young girl.
“Dorothy come inside!” The man growled from the door sounding really scared. You know they are desperate when they don’t even think to plead for their lives.
It’s pretty pointless either way, since you can’t kill the father without cutting down the girl, and then move on to their neighbor, not to leave any witnesses. You shovel the earth next to dig a big enough hole for all the bodies, toss them inside wrapped in a blanket and that’s it basically.
CAW!
“It has a scroll,” an aged man-at-arms told him, taking his time to climb down from the saddle. “Ah, can’t read these scribblings in this light sire. Best to read it later.”
NAY! The crow croaked angrily.
“Bah,” Janus grunted, barely getting the words out with the cloth in his mouth. “Gimme… the darn thin… ye blind… sack of shit.”
Beren sighed and unsheathed his longsword, keeping his eyes on the man with the axe. Somewhere at the near a bow was surely aimed at them, but to get a man from thirty meters away you need great aim, and if he has good plate on, opt for a headshot. Most hunters didn’t go for the head and it ain’t easy to change habits under pressure.
“Eah… Oras hells. That’s… Stefan’s writing,” Janus cursed ineligibly and Beren had to turn on the saddle –not an easy thing to do or absent a certain discomfort- to glare at him irate. “See… at.” The devastated Janus croaked and it made Beren really worried, seeing his old comrade like this.
“Ugh? You don’t make a lick of sense damn it! Is it the tooth?” Beren cursed, feeling stupid and unprofessional discussing such private matters in the open, with his sword drawn and Valk’s relatives looking at them with gawking eyes.
“Sheathe that blade young Osprey,” the looking like a corpse and much older than him Janus grunted hoarsely and then spat his bloody cloth down to get the next part out. He sounded just like he did when that tooth had been pulled out. “The old vulture…” the ancient man-at-arms had told Sir Beren. “…is gone.”
Such was Sir Beren’s shock at the news, his longsword hit the ground without the knight realizing it.
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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/