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Glen
Leopard in the fog
-Battle of Hellfort’s Pass-
Part II
(Murky discourse)
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Earlier that day...
Now what? Glen mused, nervously fiddling with the ring on his finger. Surely we aren’t going to fight the Khan’s fuckin’ army, right? He glanced towards Sir Emerson, saw him none pleased and immediately turned his eyes on Marcus, the robust soldier returning his stare with a determined grin. Sir Solomon looked sick with worry and Dante and his mercenaries were edgy, to say the least. Lots of old men, Glen thought, inside this yard.
“Milord,” Sergeant Rolas Pontus droned, himself not in his prime as well. “My men will follow your command.”
“Aye,” Centurion Spurius said, not to be outshined from a subordinate.
“It goes without saying, for the Gallant Dogs,” Dante added, with a shrug of his shoulders. “We are kind of attached to the hip by now, Lord Glen.”
“We are?” Soren frowned, giving Glen an onceover. Zola gave him a smack on the arm to quiet him down.
“Listen,” Glen started, puffing his cheeks out, completely out of his depth and in no mood to go about fighting anything and anyone, right when things were beginning to look good for him. “Do we even know what they want?”
“Young Lord is correct,” Spurius agreed. “We need to find out more.”
Well, Glen thought, that wasn’t where I was leading…
“Maybe try talking to them first,” He tried again and Sir Emerson nodded in agreement.
“Stall for time,” He grunted, much to Spurius enthusiasm. “Prep as much arrows and javelins we can in the meantime.”
Which wasn’t again, what Glen meant.
“Who would talk with them?” Dante queried.
“I would do it,” Emerson replied. “Meet them beyond the barricade.”
“You can’t talk for Altarin, with Lord Reeves present,” Sir Solomon intervened, not happy with him. Glen grimaced, since he didn’t have a problem with Emerson assuming the heavy lifting.
“Well, I don’t mind,” He started and Sir Solomon clapped once energetically, proud smile on his face.
“Lord Reeves agrees!” The Knight from Altarin beamed.
Huh?
“It’s settled then. We talk with them, see where to go from there,” Emerson yielded, staring at Glen a little surprised. “The sooner the better. Prep the horses and a truce’s flag gentlemen. Dante you’re coming as well.”
“Aye, Sir Lennox,” The Gallant Dogs Captain replied, without much enthusiasm, with everyone dispersing to spread the news. Glen remained behind, a little puzzled with the outcome of their talk.
“What the fuck just happened?” He wondered aloud and Soren standing next to him, produced an egg from a pouch on his waist and cracked it on his teeth. He then sucked it all down and burped once thunderously, before replying, dead serious.
“Apparently, we’re attached at the hip.”
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“When you say an army,” Glen asked ten minutes later a wild-eyed and bluish from the cold, shivering Jinx, while he waited for Pale to finish up sharpening his sword. “How many are we talking about?”
“A lot. More than us, for sure.”
“I don’t see them attacking the barricade,” Glen said. “Not while getting shot in the face.”
He wouldn’t was his meaning.
“I saw a lot of bowmen,” Whisper pointed, warming her hands over the fire pit. “No end of carts following at the rear.”
“The Cofols don’t like charging a fixed position,” Zola agreed, securing her wooden quiver on a shoulder. She’d packed at least thirty bolts in there earlier. “Then again, no one ever fought them since ancient times.”
“So why did they come through here?” Glen queried curious on the strategy. “Why not send their cavalry straight for the Rida plains. Much better ground over yonder, if yer coming from the desert.”
The latter he’d heard from Marcus earlier.
“They probably did,” Victor Hook said, giving him his blade. “Only free approach though is through the Sadofort, else they have to cross Yeriden.”
It was the most Glen had ever heard him speak at once. He sheathed his sword, thinking on the man’s words.
“So you’re set on fighting?” Zola asked him. “Not an easy thing.”
What?
“That’s Lord Reeves’ orders,” Soren pointed to help him out, much as he understood it. “Nothing Glen could do.”
The last part making it clear he’d no clue himself.
Zola blinked in stunned silence, but Jinx chucked one of her leather gloves, smacked the tall Northman in the face hard.
“Glen… is Lord Reeves, shit for brains!” She guffawed hysterical.
Soren stared at her unfazed.
“Pfft. Yer clearly lying.”
“How am I lying? Yer truly stupid. Are ye not?”
Emerson walked in, just as the verbal fight turned physical. Soren charged Jinx, but she ducked under his arms and kicked a chair his way tripping him over. The large man went down, breaking the chair in several pieces, but grabbed the broken part of a leg and hurled it deftly at her, before the knight had the time to intervene, caught a still giggling Jinx on the chest and doubled her over in turn with a cry of pain, a bit too strong to be believable, Glen thought.
Not everyone caught on her though.
“That’s enough!” Emerson thundered, none pleased with the now laughing Northman. “Have you no shame? She’s half the size of you Soren!”
“I’m all woman though,” Jinx pointed rubbing a hand on her tits.
“This plaguin’ ends here,” Emerson continued, casting a glare her way and then to everyone present. “We’ve a serious situation on our hands. Get your heads straight. Well?”
He was looking at him now expectantly, the latter question for him apparently.
Was he supposed to say something? It was nigh awkward.
“Well what?” Glen protested, a little uncomfortable. “I was against them fighting from the start.”
Sir Emerson rolled his eyes, almost on the verge of despair.
“Val’s outside. Get on her, milord,” The knight grunted. “We need to get moving.”
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There were so many clouds on the sky that the sunlight coming through, barely illuminated the narrow canyon path, the shades thick and dark. The wind though had died down since morning almost completely.
That was something at least, Glen thought, the cold still felt strongly from the moment they entered Hellfort’s Pass.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“If the wind don’t pick up,” Sergeant Rolas said standing about three meters behind them on a mule, himself fully familiar with the local climate. “They’ll be heavy fog on the morrow. Even later tonight.”
“I’ll take it over this cold,” Glen replied and Val agreed with a snort, shooting vapor from her nostrils. Duke neighed in turn, suddenly nervous and Emerson, who knew his horse better, pointed a gloved hand further ahead of them.
“Here they come,” The knight said.
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Glen couldn’t tell how many the Cofols were. At least fifty of them were mounted scouts, well ahead of the rest of their host. They all carried composite bows, their staves wrapped in birch bark and double-quivers on either side of their saddles, all dressed in white-painted leather armour. Seeing the white flag Dante carried on his mount, they stopped and sent a rider back into their ranks.
Ten minutes later three different riders appeared. Clad in atypical scaled armour like knights, with thick chainmail covering their warhorses almost fully, down to the plate Chamfron on their large heads, but for one of them, who had his warhorse covered in rich leopard hides sewn together over its body armour. This last rider wore a gold face-mask depicting a leopard and not a silver one, with the slightly freakish face of a smiling man, like the other two.
“Imperial Heavy Cavalry,” Sir Emerson murmured, so only Glen could hear as the impressive trio approached them, with a scout following holding a truce-flag as well. “Cataphracts.”
“Why Imperial?” Glen asked.
“The Empire had outfitted them first, drawing from the old Horselords and the Cofols kept the term, since then. See those engraved chariots on their shields and quivers? Only the Zilan ever fielded them alongside the Cataphracts, though the Khan is rumored to still have possession of many.”
Glen puffed his cheeks out, warry of the approaching knights, or whatever they were called. They seemed to carry a ton of weapons on those horses. Long lances and wicked sabres, composite bows and even war-hammers.
“How many are there?” He asked, feeling more intimidated the closer they got.
“I reckon they’re not that common, like knights,” Emerson replied with a grunt, eyeing one of the Cofol ‘knights’ taking the lead. “It’s an elite group, usually follows royalty around.” Adding with a pause. “Don’t say anything untoward.”
Stupid was his meaning.
“State your names, for the Prince,” The metallic smiling man said in common, coal black eyes piercing behind the face-mask, his tone less than friendly.
If Glen wanted to be honest here, the man sounded insulted.
Prince? What the slovenly fuck is going on here?
Emerson got everything sorted in a sentence.
“I’m Sir Emerson Lennox of Lesia, this is Lord Reeves of Altarin and that dashing lad over there, is Captain Blackwood, of the Gallant Dogs. Does yer Prince have a name?”
The Cataphract recoiled at the presumed insult. Glen had no idea what was considered bad manners near royalty. Himself being a nobleman, for about half a day.
Tops.
The ‘Leopard’ kicked his legs to push his horse forward and stopped next to his man, yellow-green eyes taking in each one of them before speaking.
“I’m Prince Nout.”
Rather laconically, leaving his man to take over again with a wordless sign.
Knot? What kind of name is that? Glen wondered, a slight grin on his lips that seemed to infuriate the Cataphract even more.
“Prince Nout,” Emerson started, in his non-nonsense voice. “You can’t move this army in Raoz.”
“Sir Emerson,” The Cataphract replied. “The mighty Khan decreed the Duchy part of the Khanate. There’s no part of the Khanate, the Khan’s army can’t go.”
“We can’t allow that. The Duke of Raoz is a vassal of the King of Kaltha,” Emerson explained, not missing a beat. “The High King will not give up land and titles here.”
“Where’s the High King then? I see you,” The Cofol said. “The Prince will allow you and the people of Altarin, to leave unharmed and return to Kaltha, if you so wish.”
“This is their home, where they were born,” Emerson insisted. “Where is the honor in driving people away?”
“Well, this isn’t your home, Sir Lennox. Nor their land. It’s the Khan’s domain. The Prince is magnanimous, but won’t be taken advantage of. You have until the morrow to vacate the tower and Altarin. If you don’t and you choose to stay, then the Gold Leopard will feast on your bones tomorrow.”
Luthos balls caught in a vice.
Apparently their talk was over.
Sir Emerson clenched his jaw and Glen could hear him grinding his teeth from where he was. Prince Nout paused, when the Cataphracts turned to leave their meeting and stared at him.
“I thought Lord Reeves, was an older man,” The Prince said, his voice even, rather cultured and not unpleasant to the ear.
“He was killed,” Glen replied and the Prince sat back on his rich ivory saddle surprised. “My father too, so here I am.”
“Here you are,” Prince Nout droned and gave him a slight appreciative, but unexpected nod with his head.
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Kacie beamed at him on the return trip, still loitering next to her father’s stand and Glen returned it, despite feeling unease with how things were going.
“This is madness,” He told Sir Emerson, the moment they were back inside the castle.
“Aye, it is,” The knight agreed, crooking his mouth. “We need to send word to Altarin for reinforcements.”
“What happens until then?” Glen asked, understandably worried.
“We hold them. You’ve seen the men on the wall.”
“There’s more men on the other side of it,” Glen countered, not willing to let go.
Like, a lot more.
“Not easy to walk onto a fixed position,” Emerson argued stubbornly. “Fancy saddles, or not.”
He walked away after that, to pick up any slackers, as he said it and organize the men into groups with specific roles for the coming struggle. Glen hadn’t reconciled with the struggle part at all. Jinx saw him sulking outside the stable and approached, mischievous gleam in her eye.
“I’m not in the mood,” Glen warned her.
“Wasn’t lookin’ for a hump,” Whisper deadpanned.
“What do you want?”
“Live out the year?”
Glen puffed out hard, his lips flapping alike a horse’s, her quip hitting a nerve.
“Aye,” That was all he could say in response. “Same here.”
“Ask to be the messenger,” Jinx suggested, her head sank low in her furry coat. “Ye’ll need a ranger for that.”
“Why?”
“You’ve no idea where Altarin is.”
True that, he thought.
“Plus I’m not keen in gettin’ skull-fucked tomorrow,” The Gish added, deathly serious.
“Fuck’s sake, Pretty!” Glen snapped at her, more angry than shocked. He was getting used to her, was the long and short of it. Well that, and he was more than a little worried with their chances.
“Ye just realized, you can’t leave,” Jinx noted, perceptive as always.
“Aye,” Glen admitted, looking at the tips of his boots. “The optics are terrible, as Dante said.”
He’d discussed briefly with him on the return trip.
“He’s not wrong, on the optics,” Jinx agreed, searching in her pockets for something. “If ye ask me though. Screw the optics. We should run for that bridge, fast as we can.”
She had a small scroll in her hand and offered it, her eyes hidden behind a pink curtain. Glen took it and gave it a curious look.
“Don’t open it now,” Jinx said, looking at the wall of the stables, all ominously. “Only if something happens to me.”
“Why not? Is it a love letter?” Glen asked, mid-unfurling it.
“Why would I give ye one, after I’m dead?”
“How should I know? You’re weird?”
Whisper sighed pensively, then gave him a good hard kick in the shin, right above the end of his boot that almost sent him face first, in a hefty pile of horse manure next to the stable’s door.
“Arggh!” Glen cried hopping around on a good leg. “Have ye lost yer fuckin’ mind?”
“No love letter. No fuckin’.”
“Fine.”
“Sent someone with a fast horse, first thing,” Jinx advised him and walked away, giving her arse an extra wiggle on purpose.
Glen shook his head at her shenanigans and opened the scroll to read what she had scribbled inside. He’d no idea, what the three short lines of text meant, Jinx’s hand-writing atrocious, the only word he ‘recognized’ being the common scribbling for ‘egg’, spelled wrong.
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The fog came very early in the morning. Thick and heavy and hanging not even a meter above ground, it made it difficult to breathe and almost impossible to see beyond five meters. Not that you could even without it, Glen thought, rubbing his eyes to beat his drowsiness back. The sun had come up supposedly, but you wouldn’t know it staring in the abyss in front of them. They were torches lit on the wooden parapets, the five steps to reach them a chore, if ye did it more than a couple of times in a row and the men manning them silent, but tense. Very much awake.
“Everyone wit a bow, don’t fire before I give signal!” Marcus barked, after the last of the teams were set up. “Those wit a javelin same thing. If ye are better wit a bow, than a javelin, give it up and get yourself a bloody bow!”
“Shouldn’t I get one too?” Glen asked and Soren gave him a strange look. “I meant either bow, or javelin,” Glen explained.
“Ye know how to use one?”
“No. How hard can it be?”
“Well, I have another axe, if yer keen on learnin’ fast,” The Northman offered.
Glen opened his mouth to explain the difference between a throwing weapon and whatever Soren used, but one of the lookouts stopped him, his warning piercing the relative silence of Hellfort’s Pass.
“THEY’RE COMIN’!”
“Where?” Emerson asked rushing there, but not seeing anything. He was standing almost next to him, but a good fifty meters from where Glen was.
The young eagle-eyed lookout, a local lad; turned and bellowed twice as loud, almost in the knight’s face.
“FROM WALL TO WALL!”
Glen would’ve burst out laughing then, but that daft sucker was right.
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