Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Glen
The soft Spring of War
-Leopard at the Gates-
Part II
(A lord’s posting)
On the last month of Spring 189 NC, the Khan’s main force poured out of the mountain valleys and followed Yeriden’s first tributary all the way into the fertile Rida plains, where two of the mighty river’s branches merged. The second, or mid-tributary, split again six kilometers to the south, creating a thin lush and green strip of land that Prince Sahand Radpour, who’d just arrived from Desert Lake and the military center of Yin Xiyan to take charge of the main army, didn’t much favor as a spot.
The Third tributary traveled southwest back to its sources and was met -about halfway there- with yet another even smaller river, coming from Queen’s Oasis, parallel to Khan’s Lament Peaks. The Prince Heir, thinking that crossing two rivers and a smaller third one -in order to bypass the sturdy Threeriver Bridge and hit Rida from the south- was neither practical, nor wise, opted for a direct approach.
His first order though was a ‘reconnaissance in force’, a scouting mission down this roundabout route, while he waited for the slow-moving massive army to set up a permanent camp. The scouting force, around five hundred men strong, reached Threeriver Bridge early the next morning and either because they hadn’t understood their orders, or wanting the glory of taking a more famous landmark, attacked the Raoz’s force that guarded the bridge.
The scouts routed the small force and half of them crossed over in pursuit of the Duke’s fleeing men. The other half, finally came to their senses, realized they were in the wrong place and decided to follow their original plan, heading five kilometers to the south in search for smaller river docks and crossing spots. This force butchered everyone they came across without mercy, -mainly civilians, merchants and even whole families, as they couldn’t per orders take slaves- secured every raft available and went over the mid-tributary. Without delay the riders reached the third tributary later that day, attacked the private docks of the Dato family, killed everyone there too and crossed to the other side, entering the main Rida plains, directly behind Lilyana Fort.
The small scouting force –now completely exhausted, men and beasts barely standing upright- reached the Fort itself very late that evening, hoping for a quick victory that would have potentially allowed them to reunite, with their friends holding the Threeriver Bridge. As luck would have it, the situation had changed since the early morning hours dramatically.
It is written in military records of the time that Joep Van Durren, Lord of Batum and commander of High King’s First Foot, was informed that Cofols had taken the bridge while inspecting his troops around six in the morning. Other accounts say that Lord Joep was sleeping, or in the midst of a rich breakfast, when Sir Henry Winfield, the Duke’s son and commander of Raoz’s army, entered his tent and insulted him for his lethargy. The two men almost came to blows, calmer heads preventing an embarrassing duel and the insulted Lord Joep agreed to assist the livid Sir Henry, who in the meantime had reacted to the sight of his men running for their lives abandoning the bridge, sending all his heavy cavalry to charge at the Cofol scouts and retake it whatever the cost.
Sir Henry left to join the rest of his waking up and gathering army, leaving Lord Joep to get his own larger force moving. Birds were sent to Duke Gideon and Rida immediately and the Duke learning of the early morning’s events ordered Lord Joep to keep a part of his force back as reserve and wait for further instructions. Lord Joep, now fully awake, ordered his firstborn Sir Robert Van Durren to reposition closer to the Lilyana Fort with half his force and led the rest after Sir Henry.
The Duke’s son arrived at the Threeriver Bridge well before noon that first day, with the rest of Raoz’s army in tow –around three thousand men-at-arms, with sellswords mixed in- and found out that his heavy cavalry –numbering around four hundred- had already smashed through the Cofol scouts, killing most of them and retaken the bridge. Sir Henry went over the river and sent a scouting force of his own to learn of the Khan’s army position.
When the scouts came back, he learned the Prince was in the process of building a war camp and that while part of his supply train was there, much of his force wasn’t. The young knight seeing his opportunity, ordered his army to prepare for battle, which they did eagerly and then force-marched them on the Cofol’s still under construction camp, without waiting for Lord Joep to arrive, with his own more substantial force. He did sent a missive to him though to cover his flanks, as there was word that a part of the Prince’s raiders had headed southwest following the mid-tributary.
In a day of chaotic rush decisions and dodgy planning, Sir Henry’s boldness almost won a fifteen year war in a day. The soldiers of Raoz force-marched across the plains reached the Prince’s camp in the late afternoon and attacked without delay, despite the men being on their last legs. The Cofols themselves tired from the long journey across the desert and the climb over the mountains were slow to react. Their slaves and workers hard at work to build the camp did though. They run for their lives abandoning equipment, supplies and other valuables behind. Their panic caused a huge uproar, increased tenfold by the soldiers of Raoz entering the big camp. Big is an understatement, for the Khan’s army’s camp was massive in size. Well over three kilometers in length and three or four wide in the most conservative estimates –sources claim as high as twice that number- it sprawled like a small city before the forest.
Sir Henry’s men fueled by pride and righteousness managed to burn about a third of it and cause huge casualties to the slow moving and unready Cofols. But Sir Henry’s force was weary from having traveled a huge distance to fight an hour before dawn and slowly it lost steam. The men stopped moving forward and as more and more Cofols entered the fight coming from all sides, Sir Henry realized he was about to be trapped and lose everything. He ordered a general retreat and the men obliged orderly, managing to clear the burning parts of the camp and reach the open plains an hour later.
Sir Henry marched his men further away to avoid a Cofol retaliating attack and ordered them to prepare a hastily-built night camp. Lord Joep reached that camp and found the tired but intact force of Sir Henry, early the other morning, bringing with him two thousand five hundred spears, a thousand men-at-arms and eight hundred cavalry. A force of four thousand and three hundred men. This potent force, plus Sir Henry’s men, a combined total of seven thousand seven hundred men, was what a livid Prince Sahand encountered, when he charged his five thousand strong cavalry across the plains, before the sun had even come up fully on the sky, an hour later.
The Prince was beside himself with rage, as during Sir Henry’s initial attack, his spouse Lady Lenar, then commonly celebrated as the Moon of Dan, had almost gotten herself killed amidst the chaos. The Cofol cavalry crashed on the spears of the First Foot without hesitation -Lord Joep had them positioned at the tip of his army’s formation- and almost broke through. They might have even succeeded in the second attempt, as they retreated with heavy casualties and prepared to charge again the decimated row of soldiers, but Sir Henry -leading the High King’s heavy cavalry- counter-charged them from their left side and caused mayhem to their ranks.
The Prince perceiving the catastrophe unfolding and with most of his army still behind him in the valley, or not yet out of the forest, sent his mounted-archers wing to delay and harass the High King’s men, while ordering the rest of his force to fall back towards their still smoking camp.
Sir Henry seeing blood, went after the horse archers and fleeing remnants of the Prince’s medium cavalry, unwittingly dragging with him almost all of Raoz’s riders. In the chaotic pursuit the Duke’s son managed to lose two men for every archer he killed. Realizing the Cofols attrition-based strategy, a worrying for his flanks Lord Joep – the Threeriver Bridge now kilometers behind him- rode in front of the soldiers ranks and raised his sword high, ordering a general attack.
Like a colony of giant ants the soldiers moved forward at a slow trot after the retreating Cofols and Sir Henry. Reached the site of the camp again, just as Sir Henry -his force decimated and injured at the thigh- was fighting for his life surrounded by circling mounted archers and Cofol soldiers on foot carrying long spears. Lord Joep led the charge on foot himself, running beside his men, through the smoking, or burning tents, the blackened corpses and still moaning injured men and women.
The battle in the Cofol camp lasted well-over an hour and the Cofols had to retreat yet again, this time abandoning the burning camp completely. They run to the forest and Lord Joep, now in total control of both armies, since Sir Henry had collapsed earlier, ordered his men to stop the pursuit and retreat.
It was a wise decision, as the bulk of the Khan’s army -his vaunted heavy Cataphracts and scythed chariots included- would arrive at the burning camp two hours later. Lord Joep didn’t know that, nor had any way to guess the real size of Prince Sahand’s army. He retreated in good order, although his own men were exhausted beyond the point of no return, towards their night camp at first and then, after a brief stop there, he decided to embrace the Duke’s original defense plan, and put the river and the bridge between him and the Khan’s army.
Lord Joep had reinforced Sir Henry that day, stopped the Prince’s attack and then won a great battle, saving whatever was left from their cavalry and Sir Henry. Alas the last part of his plan, while logical and perfectly sound, would undone all that he had managed, later that second day.
A woman was running after a man holding a bucket with apples, a manic smile on his face, another had collapsed against a wall, her dress torn, left breast bleeding from a cut and beyond her, three men were punching each other incensed, over the ownership of a goat. The rest of the crowd was as disorderly, people running, or rushing about mindlessly, animals laden with supplies led by families towards the city’s gates, stalls turned over and produce spilt in the streets. Everyone was screaming, as if doom was descending upon them, their cries of despair contagious and nerve-wrecking.
Glen was stunned at what he was seeing unfolding. While contemplating whether he should retreat back to his room and lock the door, Marcus reached him, his hand bleeding at the knuckles.
“What in Luthos arse, is goin’ on?” Glen asked him, moving aside to let a mule go past him.
“There’s word the Cofols took the bridge,” Marcus explained, wiping his bloody fist on his leather pants.
“That happened yesterday,” Glen explained, shaking his head. “The Duke’s men took it back. These retards have lost it, good grief!”
“They are at it again,” Marcus insisted. “A guard confirmed it, at the harbor’s gates.”
“You’ve gone there?”
“Aye.”
“Are there ships in the port?” Glen probed, thinking ahead.
“Some freighters mostly and some lighter merchant ones. Why?” Marcus asked.
“Well,” Glen started and spotted six guards walking their way, delivering a heavy-handed justice to anyone nearing them. Even those that behaved civilly. “I was thinking…” The guards, a mustachioed sergeant-at-arms leading them, stopped before them and stared his way with intent. “…we should relocate,” Glen continued, the eyes of the sergeant following his words, waiting for him to finish. “Yes!” He barked, letting his ire show. “What do you want?”
“Lord Reeves?” The sergeant inquired formally and Glen panicked for a moment thinking he was about to be arrested and thrown in the dudgeons.
“I’m him,” Glen croaked, sweating profusely.
The sergeant pulled a scroll out of a satchel he carried and offered it to a frowning Glen.
“My Lord, these are the Duke’s orders,” The sergeant announced energetically and loud enough for everyone to hear.
Glen pressed his lips into a thin line and snatched the scroll from him. He unfurled the small vellum after breaking the wax seal, making quite the show of it, the sweat running down his neck ruining his performance somewhat and checked the neatly written script for a moment.
He’d absolutely no idea what was written in it, the script too calligraphic and with too many unknown words to make sense of.
“Right,” He said smacking his lips and glared at the sergeant. “Anything else?”
“No, my Lord,” The man replied and saluted.
Glen sighed and stared at Marcus, but the ex-Decanus kept his eyes straight, watching the unruly crowd pleading to the gods for assistance. The atmosphere chaotic. Glen sighed and then noticed the Sergeant was still standing at attention, waiting for his orders.
Good luck wit that, he thought.
“What are your orders sergeant?” He asked him, absent anything shrewder.
Thankfully it worked.
“Escort you to Yeriden’s Bridge, my Lord,” The sergeant replied. “I believe it’s written in the Duke’s order.”
“Of course it is!” Glen snapped at him. “I was checkin’ to see, if yer up to date, sergeant!”
“Apologies, my Lord,” The reprimanded officer replied, a little red in the face.
“Right then,” Glen said again and stared at Marcus for help. The hale man shrugged his shoulders offering little assistance to a frustrated ‘Lord Reeves’. “Ahm, I will follow yer lead, sergeant.”
That’s just bloody great, Glen thought, as they cut through the panicked crowd, what has gotten into the Duke, ordering me around? Well, the Duke could order him around, obviously, but Glen had hoped to slip through the cracks sort of speak, escape any duties the old fool might had for him.
It took them an hour almost to reach the banks of Yeriden, the gates of the harbor on their right and the large street leading to the mist covered massive bridge, relatively free of civilians. There was a large contingent of guards posted there though, two carriages barring the approach to the mouth of the bridge for everyone.
“Stop right there!” One of the guards barked, as he could barely see them, the mist heavy and slow to lift that day. “The bridge is closed.”
“It’s sergeant Ottis, with the Lord of Altarin. Sir Glenavon Reeves,” The sergeant announced and the guards perked up at that, all ten of them standing up. “He’ll be taking over.”
He turned towards a frowning Glen and made a sign with his hand the way was open. “If your lordship, would like to say a few words,” Sergeant Ottis said, looking at him knowingly. “It would help the lads.”
Glen sucked air through his nose hard and held it, while pretending to stare at the gathered around him guards. He slowly turned red in the face, eyes ogled outwards, as try as he did, nothing of substance came to mind.
“Men,” Lord Reeves finally said, slowly letting the breath he held out. “We shan’t be ruled by panic.”
The guards nodded along agreeing with him, for whatever reason and feeling emboldened, he added. “Proceed as if it’s just another day. Now, I’d like to see the bridge.”
“I’ll walk you to the mid-point gates, Lord Reeves,” Ottis volunteered with a sharp salute.
“That was pretty inspiring words there, lad,” Marcus noted, as they walked slowly on the stone-tiled roadway, the parapets right and left more than two large carriages apart. This was a big bridge, Glen thought and tried to see the river below, but failed as the mist was still too thick.
“It’s a twenty meter drop, my Lord,” The sergeant explained and Glen pulled back from the stone rail panicked. “Better ye keep your distance.”
“Why, thank you sergeant Ottis,” Glen replied, a little pale in the face. “Is the mid-point far?”
“Another three hundred meters, my Lord,” The sergeant replied casually.
Get the fuck out, Glen thought impressed and more than a little scared.
Has anyone… ever, repaired this thing?
The mid-point gates incorporated a barbican, built like an enormous pier, straight up from a small islet spouting out of Yeriden. Its base made of solid rock-blocks and reaching thirty meters in height and ending in a tower, eight meters above the roadway and the parapets. The opening left at its middle almost four meters wide, a five meter roofed corridor from gate to gate. The outer massive portcullis made of thick, heavy iron bars and its sturdy grille could barely fit a grown man’s head in. The inner one, was similar in size, but appeared newer. Both were closed, but Glen could see through the slits the six meter in length drawbridge raised and barring entry from anyone approaching from Altarin. Attacking through the Yeriden’s Bridge is indeed suicide, Glen decided, more than a little relieved at the assignment.
“What’s the number of guards posted here?” Glen asked, the well-mannered sergeant.
“Normally fifty, Lord Reeves,” Ottis replied. “In five shifts, so it’s a comfortable posting.”
“Call me Glen,” Glen urged him, forgetting himself, mostly because he kind of liked the young man. Ottis, a Lorian with a groomed light-brown mustache, and clever eyes, seemed to be in his mid-twenties.
Ottis blinked, taken aback. “Sir Glenavon,” He stumbled through his words. “You honor me sire.”
Ah, well… Glen puffed his cheeks out, unsure what to say.
“How many are posted now?” Marcus intervened, to help him work through his issues.
Ottis turned to him. “That would be thirty, not counting myself and you, Sir Marcus,” He’d wisely left Glen outside the fighting force.
“I ain’t no knight, lad,” Marcus corrected him, in his usual directness and Ottis even blushed a little this time. “Hey, was a Decanus in the Legion,” Marcus added, to help him out.
“I shall keep it, in mind,” Ottis replied and with a brisk salute, he left them to examine the guards posted inside the small barbican.
“I don’t like the look of things, lad,” Marcus commented, the moment Ottis was out of earshot.
“Well, a simple posting seems a small price to pay,” Glen replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his worn out boots very uncomfortable after a while. “I’ll need new clothes and shoes. New armor,” He told Marcus and the ex-Decanus snorted.
“You don’t agree, Marcus?” Glen queried.
“Ye’ll have to pay to get new things, lad,” The hale man explained, with another grimace. “So it’s not whether I agree, or not, but more if yer willin’ to part wit yer coin.”
The main branch of Yeriden kept increasing in size and width, as it calmly flowed through the fertile soft-soiled basin, gathering water due to the way Raoz’s sloped ground had formed, reaching well over six hundred meters near Rida -where the bridge was built ages ago- and over a kilometer and a half at its delta, where it poured into the Shallow Sea. While you could navigate it with river boats, flat-bottom ships and even barques, the banks were difficult to build upon, due to the softness of the soil.
Coming from Altarin, one should follow the large road leading to the old Imperial Bridge and most merchants and caravans went for that route. Another way was to travel from Altarinport, take advantage of the usually peaceful sea and then sail up the delta, until you reached Rida’s large harbor. It was faster and more expensive, but a good number of people picked it.
The westernmost part of Altarin’s plains was dominated by the big Redwood Forest. Perhaps the largest in Raoz, it followed the mountain range until it almost touched Yeriden. Almost, because the closer one came to the mighty river, the softer the soil became. The large Redwood trees -some reaching as much as fifty meters in height- couldn’t support themselves and toppled over, even if they somehow managed to sprout near it. The forest thinned and eventually disappeared completely, a lush noisy vegetation taking its place.
A huge marsh in reality, locals just called ‘the marshes’ in plural, was an untamed, snake-ridden and usually unapproachable wilderness, a patch of land bordering most of Yeriden’s First Tributary and about five hundred meters of the mighty river himself.
The mud poured into the river at that spot, marshy waters and loose soil mixing up, just beyond the spot where the three tributaries converged, but on the opposite bank. While it was close enough to the bridge to cause some concern, the land on the other bank wasn’t as bad and one could easily spot someone trying to attempt a crossing there and laugh as the fool slowly sunk into the deep boggy mud, a sopping quicksand trap, big enough to swallow a whole army and eat through metal. The deleterious marshes invasion of Yeriden at that spot, stopped about fifteen, or twenty meters from the opposite bank, the thick, gluey, black corrosive sludge, slowly washed away by the clear water, coming down from the mountains.
The locals had named that particular protrusion, Esterlams Crevice.
Prince Nout, an ardent student and scientist since a very young age, knew all this, as did most of the other Khanate strategists. So when he had proposed his plan to a stunned war-council, he was almost laughed out of the room. The Khan though, now unsure about his apparent Heir’s loyalties, paid attention to his younger son. He gave his permission, but a very small force, for such an undertaking. Prince Nout, a pragmatist with a sharp mind, didn’t balk at the challenge. He took the meagre force of a hundred Cataphracts and around two thousand horse-archers and left immediately for Xuski Fort at the edges of the Khanate steppe, where he spent a whole year preparing an army based on the Lorian Legion’s, city on the move doctrine, with a huge emphasis on engineers and crafters.
He brought all those with him, five hundred engineers in total and over three thousand slaves as workforce, a thousand carts and four thousand animals, stripping the large barricaded city almost bare.
After he broke through Hellfort’s Pass and destroyed Hellfort, he managed to rebuild the bridge across Teid River in five days, putting his highly skilled workforce to the test. The Prince then headed straight into the Redwood Forest, cutting down a straight and narrow road, working his men with such brutality that by the time he reached Yeriden three months later, more than half of his workers were dead.
Knowing his flanks were secure, as Altarin appeared paralyzed after the death of both Lord Reeves and his successor, Prince Nout set about utilizing the massive quantities of fine redwood he’d gathered creating raft-like platforms, men working diligently night and day and after one point even most of his riders lending a hand. Simple constructions, three meters wide and ten meters in length ‘Nout’s Platforms’ numbered in the hundreds by the time the young Prince got the message that the Khan’s main army had started pouring out of the mountain valleys and into the forests, between the tributaries.
Prince Nout’s army broke out of the woods, it had remained hidden for that last part of their journey and entered the marshes the next day. They set about creating another road, this time over the boggy terrain. Three days later they had reached Esterlams Crevice and half his army was sick and dying. Knowing he’d one chance only to make it work, Prince Nout asked his brother to create a diversion and give him the chance to use his rafts to cross that last part of the river. Whether the message reached Prince Sahand, or not, it is still disputed, with some even suggesting Prince Nout took a guess and got lucky.
Whatever the case may be and whether Luthos was involved, or not, the Gold Leopard, now covered in putrid mud and with boils all over his body, came out of the misty river and attacked Lord Joep’s guards like an evil spirit. Retaking the bridge allowed him to cross over and manage a surprise assault very late in the night, on the exhausted force Lord Joep had saved earlier and almost delivered to safety.
In the battle that followed, fought in the dark, with torches and oil lamps used as both weapons and tools, Prince Nout almost gotten himself killed twice, but managed to fight the High King’s stunned army to a standstill, as they had no idea, who, or in what force had attacked them.
When the light returned, Prince Nout’s men gathered around him and were barely a thousand. A pitiful force Lord Joep, while badly battered and having lost countless soldiers during the night fight, could overcome had he attacked immediately. He didn’t, trying instead to dress up the ranks, raise morale and secure mounts –the High King’s army lacked severely in that department after the previous two days of fighting- in order to create a flanking cavalry force.
While Lord Joep was busy with all that, the Khan’s main army appeared in front of the still smoking Cofol camp. Rows upon rows of warhorses. Five thousand infantry, eight thousand archers, three thousand horse-archers, a thousand and three hundred medium cavalry, a thousand gleaming masked Cataphracts and three hundred scythed chariots drawn by four horses each. Eighteen thousand and six hundred men, were much more than what Lord Joep had hoped to face that day.
It is said that when the first mass volley of arrows was released, it blocked out the sun.
It was a difficult day and an even worse night, not because the military cot Glen was offered was bad in any way, but because it wasn’t easy to relax, or enjoy a good shuteye, when you have a young beautiful wife at walking distance, yet too far to touch.
Also the sounds of a city worrying of what the morrow would bring and all the looting that had exploded during the night, didn’t help at all. Being away from Sen-Iv though, weighted more in Glen’s mind. If one had to measure it to a hundred, perhaps ninety to ten in favor of the Cofol woman.
When the news of Lord Joep’s defeat reached the city, chaos ensued. Those that had opted to stay behind the walls, now questioning the soundness of that decision. Duke Gideon ordered the gates closed and guards posted on the walls, but didn’t sent for Glen, probably still shocked and mourning for his son. Everyone had hang their hopes on the younger Van Durren, Sir Robert and the rest of his First Foot, who was either near the cut off Lilyana Fort, or rushing towards the city.
The whole plan, the Duke had hatched, had collapsed within three days and even the Second Foot’s arrival next month, now seemed impossibly late.
“What’s the commotion?” Glen asked, getting up from the hay mattress. Marcus handed him a cup of water.
“A guard spotted people coming from the bridge,” Marcus explained, while he slurped greedily at the cool liquid.
Fuck.
“More Cofols?” Glen asked and tried to find his dagger. He spotted it on the table and went to pick it up.
“Too far to tell, but everyone is jumpy.”
“Aye. Any news from the front?” Glen asked, following him outside the small room, the Barbican’s inner corridors narrow and the ceiling low, making the trip outside claustrophobic.
“We’re losing,” Marcus commented.
Down the narrow stairs they went, the tiles slippery, everything around them soaked and wet. The walls, the floors and even the roadway. The morning mist thick, but quickly breaking, as a light breeze blew luckily, just as Glen and Marcus exited the tower and walked towards the morning guard posted at the narrow space over the gates.
The young Lord walked to the edge of the battlements and put his hands on the crenel to look over the raised drawbridge.
“I don’t see anything!” He yelled at the guard and the young man offered him quickly a slim metallic spyglass, made of bronze.
Glen put it in his eye clumsily, almost blinding himself and flinching, switched to the other eye, leaving the hurt one, now tearing up, slowly come around on its own.
“Well?” Marcus asked, hint of a smile on his mouth.
Glen wiped the tears off with the back of his hand and sighed. “I can’t… I don’t know.”
“Here, let me have a look, milord,” Marcus asked politely.
“You know what? I think I see something,” Glen said, looking again through the narrow field of view, now realizing he had to lower it from the sky and point it to a spot he wanted enhanced. Suddenly a giant horse’s head appeared in front of him and he almost dropped the spyglass over the parapet.
He checked again more carefully and the dark grey of the roadway was replaced by a fuchsia red, so bright it hurt his eyes. What in Luthos hairy arse? Glen looked again, caught sight of a horse’s ear too large to be naught but an illusion, then what looked like a giant long beard and there it was that red again, but it was a striking pink now, he’d never mistake for anything else.
Oh, good lord.
“What happened?” Marcus asked, seeing him shaking uncontrollably, incredibly excited.
“Lower the drawbridge!” Glen ordered the guard, ignoring the ex-Legion man.
“Lord Reeves, we have orders—” But Glen stopped him unsheathing his sword.
“Drop the plaguin’ drawbridge!” He barked at the ogling guard, beside himself.
“Lad, put that down, have ye lost yer mind?” Marcus grunted, his jaw contorting in disbelief.
Glen turned and stared at him, big grin on his face. “Pretty is here, Marcus.”
“Who?” Marcus asked, standing back.
Are ye serious?
“Jinx,” Glen explained patiently, shoving the stunned guard towards the gate mechanism. “That Gish? Back in Hellfort?”
“Ah, yes,” Marcus at last got it and then narrowed his eyes. “How is she here?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Glen retorted, the last part coming out a bit like a squeal and started down the stairs leading to the bridge’s deck, clearing them two and three at a time. Thankfully for him and those tied to his fate, our young thief didn’t break his head, when he tripped and fell down the final eight of them and there was a closed door to bar him from tumbling out of the building, over the adjoining stone rail and squashing like a bug onto the rocky islet underneath.
Luthos had his hands full that morning.
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Glen
The soft Spring of War
-Leopard at the Gates-
Part II
(A lord’s posting)
On the last month of Spring 189 NC, the Khan’s main force poured out of the mountain valleys and followed Yeriden’s first tributary all the way into the fertile Rida plains, where two of the mighty river’s branches merged. The second, or mid-tributary, split again six kilometers to the south, creating a thin lush and green strip of land that Prince Sahand Radpour, who’d just arrived from Desert Lake and the military center of Yin Xiyan to take charge of the main army, didn’t much favor as a spot.
The Third tributary traveled southwest back to its sources and was met -about halfway there- with yet another even smaller river, coming from Queen’s Oasis, parallel to Khan’s Lament Peaks. The Prince Heir, thinking that crossing two rivers and a smaller third one -in order to bypass the sturdy Threeriver Bridge and hit Rida from the south- was neither practical, nor wise, opted for a direct approach.
His first order though was a ‘reconnaissance in force’, a scouting mission down this roundabout route, while he waited for the slow-moving massive army to set up a permanent camp. The scouting force, around five hundred men strong, reached Threeriver Bridge early the next morning and either because they hadn’t understood their orders, or wanting the glory of taking a more famous landmark, attacked the Raoz’s force that guarded the bridge.
The scouts routed the small force and half of them crossed over in pursuit of the Duke’s fleeing men. The other half, finally came to their senses, realized they were in the wrong place and decided to follow their original plan, heading five kilometers to the south in search for smaller river docks and crossing spots. This force butchered everyone they came across without mercy, -mainly civilians, merchants and even whole families, as they couldn’t per orders take slaves- secured every raft available and went over the mid-tributary. Without delay the riders reached the third tributary later that day, attacked the private docks of the Dato family, killed everyone there too and crossed to the other side, entering the main Rida plains, directly behind Lilyana Fort.
The small scouting force –now completely exhausted, men and beasts barely standing upright- reached the Fort itself very late that evening, hoping for a quick victory that would have potentially allowed them to reunite, with their friends holding the Threeriver Bridge. As luck would have it, the situation had changed since the early morning hours dramatically.
It is written in military records of the time that Joep Van Durren, Lord of Batum and commander of High King’s First Foot, was informed that Cofols had taken the bridge while inspecting his troops around six in the morning. Other accounts say that Lord Joep was sleeping, or in the midst of a rich breakfast, when Sir Henry Winfield, the Duke’s son and commander of Raoz’s army, entered his tent and insulted him for his lethargy. The two men almost came to blows, calmer heads preventing an embarrassing duel and the insulted Lord Joep agreed to assist the livid Sir Henry, who in the meantime had reacted to the sight of his men running for their lives abandoning the bridge, sending all his heavy cavalry to charge at the Cofol scouts and retake it whatever the cost.
Sir Henry left to join the rest of his waking up and gathering army, leaving Lord Joep to get his own larger force moving. Birds were sent to Duke Gideon and Rida immediately and the Duke learning of the early morning’s events ordered Lord Joep to keep a part of his force back as reserve and wait for further instructions. Lord Joep, now fully awake, ordered his firstborn Sir Robert Van Durren to reposition closer to the Lilyana Fort with half his force and led the rest after Sir Henry.
The Duke’s son arrived at the Threeriver Bridge well before noon that first day, with the rest of Raoz’s army in tow –around three thousand men-at-arms, with sellswords mixed in- and found out that his heavy cavalry –numbering around four hundred- had already smashed through the Cofol scouts, killing most of them and retaken the bridge. Sir Henry went over the river and sent a scouting force of his own to learn of the Khan’s army position.
When the scouts came back, he learned the Prince was in the process of building a war camp and that while part of his supply train was there, much of his force wasn’t. The young knight seeing his opportunity, ordered his army to prepare for battle, which they did eagerly and then force-marched them on the Cofol’s still under construction camp, without waiting for Lord Joep to arrive, with his own more substantial force. He did sent a missive to him though to cover his flanks, as there was word that a part of the Prince’s raiders had headed southwest following the mid-tributary.
In a day of chaotic rush decisions and dodgy planning, Sir Henry’s boldness almost won a fifteen year war in a day. The soldiers of Raoz force-marched across the plains reached the Prince’s camp in the late afternoon and attacked without delay, despite the men being on their last legs. The Cofols themselves tired from the long journey across the desert and the climb over the mountains were slow to react. Their slaves and workers hard at work to build the camp did though. They run for their lives abandoning equipment, supplies and other valuables behind. Their panic caused a huge uproar, increased tenfold by the soldiers of Raoz entering the big camp. Big is an understatement, for the Khan’s army’s camp was massive in size. Well over three kilometers in length and three or four wide in the most conservative estimates –sources claim as high as twice that number- it sprawled like a small city before the forest.
Sir Henry’s men fueled by pride and righteousness managed to burn about a third of it and cause huge casualties to the slow moving and unready Cofols. But Sir Henry’s force was weary from having traveled a huge distance to fight an hour before dawn and slowly it lost steam. The men stopped moving forward and as more and more Cofols entered the fight coming from all sides, Sir Henry realized he was about to be trapped and lose everything. He ordered a general retreat and the men obliged orderly, managing to clear the burning parts of the camp and reach the open plains an hour later.
Sir Henry marched his men further away to avoid a Cofol retaliating attack and ordered them to prepare a hastily-built night camp. Lord Joep reached that camp and found the tired but intact force of Sir Henry, early the other morning, bringing with him two thousand five hundred spears, a thousand men-at-arms and eight hundred cavalry. A force of four thousand and three hundred men. This potent force, plus Sir Henry’s men, a combined total of seven thousand seven hundred men, was what a livid Prince Sahand encountered, when he charged his five thousand strong cavalry across the plains, before the sun had even come up fully on the sky, an hour later.
The Prince was beside himself with rage, as during Sir Henry’s initial attack, his spouse Lady Lenar, then commonly celebrated as the Moon of Dan, had almost gotten herself killed amidst the chaos. The Cofol cavalry crashed on the spears of the First Foot without hesitation -Lord Joep had them positioned at the tip of his army’s formation- and almost broke through. They might have even succeeded in the second attempt, as they retreated with heavy casualties and prepared to charge again the decimated row of soldiers, but Sir Henry -leading the High King’s heavy cavalry- counter-charged them from their left side and caused mayhem to their ranks.
The Prince perceiving the catastrophe unfolding and with most of his army still behind him in the valley, or not yet out of the forest, sent his mounted-archers wing to delay and harass the High King’s men, while ordering the rest of his force to fall back towards their still smoking camp.
Sir Henry seeing blood, went after the horse archers and fleeing remnants of the Prince’s medium cavalry, unwittingly dragging with him almost all of Raoz’s riders. In the chaotic pursuit the Duke’s son managed to lose two men for every archer he killed. Realizing the Cofols attrition-based strategy, a worrying for his flanks Lord Joep – the Threeriver Bridge now kilometers behind him- rode in front of the soldiers ranks and raised his sword high, ordering a general attack.
Like a colony of giant ants the soldiers moved forward at a slow trot after the retreating Cofols and Sir Henry. Reached the site of the camp again, just as Sir Henry -his force decimated and injured at the thigh- was fighting for his life surrounded by circling mounted archers and Cofol soldiers on foot carrying long spears. Lord Joep led the charge on foot himself, running beside his men, through the smoking, or burning tents, the blackened corpses and still moaning injured men and women.
The battle in the Cofol camp lasted well-over an hour and the Cofols had to retreat yet again, this time abandoning the burning camp completely. They run to the forest and Lord Joep, now in total control of both armies, since Sir Henry had collapsed earlier, ordered his men to stop the pursuit and retreat.
It was a wise decision, as the bulk of the Khan’s army -his vaunted heavy Cataphracts and scythed chariots included- would arrive at the burning camp two hours later. Lord Joep didn’t know that, nor had any way to guess the real size of Prince Sahand’s army. He retreated in good order, although his own men were exhausted beyond the point of no return, towards their night camp at first and then, after a brief stop there, he decided to embrace the Duke’s original defense plan, and put the river and the bridge between him and the Khan’s army.
Lord Joep had reinforced Sir Henry that day, stopped the Prince’s attack and then won a great battle, saving whatever was left from their cavalry and Sir Henry. Alas the last part of his plan, while logical and perfectly sound, would undone all that he had managed, later that second day.
A woman was running after a man holding a bucket with apples, a manic smile on his face, another had collapsed against a wall, her dress torn, left breast bleeding from a cut and beyond her, three men were punching each other incensed, over the ownership of a goat. The rest of the crowd was as disorderly, people running, or rushing about mindlessly, animals laden with supplies led by families towards the city’s gates, stalls turned over and produce spilt in the streets. Everyone was screaming, as if doom was descending upon them, their cries of despair contagious and nerve-wrecking.
Glen was stunned at what he was seeing unfolding. While contemplating whether he should retreat back to his room and lock the door, Marcus reached him, his hand bleeding at the knuckles.
“What in Luthos arse, is goin’ on?” Glen asked him, moving aside to let a mule go past him.
“There’s word the Cofols took the bridge,” Marcus explained, wiping his bloody fist on his leather pants.
“That happened yesterday,” Glen explained, shaking his head. “The Duke’s men took it back. These retards have lost it, good grief!”
“They are at it again,” Marcus insisted. “A guard confirmed it, at the harbor’s gates.”
“You’ve gone there?”
“Aye.”
“Are there ships in the port?” Glen probed, thinking ahead.
“Some freighters mostly and some lighter merchant ones. Why?” Marcus asked.
“Well,” Glen started and spotted six guards walking their way, delivering a heavy-handed justice to anyone nearing them. Even those that behaved civilly. “I was thinking…” The guards, a mustachioed sergeant-at-arms leading them, stopped before them and stared his way with intent. “…we should relocate,” Glen continued, the eyes of the sergeant following his words, waiting for him to finish. “Yes!” He barked, letting his ire show. “What do you want?”
“Lord Reeves?” The sergeant inquired formally and Glen panicked for a moment thinking he was about to be arrested and thrown in the dudgeons.
“I’m him,” Glen croaked, sweating profusely.
The sergeant pulled a scroll out of a satchel he carried and offered it to a frowning Glen.
“My Lord, these are the Duke’s orders,” The sergeant announced energetically and loud enough for everyone to hear.
Glen pressed his lips into a thin line and snatched the scroll from him. He unfurled the small vellum after breaking the wax seal, making quite the show of it, the sweat running down his neck ruining his performance somewhat and checked the neatly written script for a moment.
He’d absolutely no idea what was written in it, the script too calligraphic and with too many unknown words to make sense of.
“Right,” He said smacking his lips and glared at the sergeant. “Anything else?”
“No, my Lord,” The man replied and saluted.
Glen sighed and stared at Marcus, but the ex-Decanus kept his eyes straight, watching the unruly crowd pleading to the gods for assistance. The atmosphere chaotic. Glen sighed and then noticed the Sergeant was still standing at attention, waiting for his orders.
Good luck wit that, he thought.
“What are your orders sergeant?” He asked him, absent anything shrewder.
Thankfully it worked.
“Escort you to Yeriden’s Bridge, my Lord,” The sergeant replied. “I believe it’s written in the Duke’s order.”
“Of course it is!” Glen snapped at him. “I was checkin’ to see, if yer up to date, sergeant!”
“Apologies, my Lord,” The reprimanded officer replied, a little red in the face.
“Right then,” Glen said again and stared at Marcus for help. The hale man shrugged his shoulders offering little assistance to a frustrated ‘Lord Reeves’. “Ahm, I will follow yer lead, sergeant.”
That’s just bloody great, Glen thought, as they cut through the panicked crowd, what has gotten into the Duke, ordering me around? Well, the Duke could order him around, obviously, but Glen had hoped to slip through the cracks sort of speak, escape any duties the old fool might had for him.
It took them an hour almost to reach the banks of Yeriden, the gates of the harbor on their right and the large street leading to the mist covered massive bridge, relatively free of civilians. There was a large contingent of guards posted there though, two carriages barring the approach to the mouth of the bridge for everyone.
“Stop right there!” One of the guards barked, as he could barely see them, the mist heavy and slow to lift that day. “The bridge is closed.”
“It’s sergeant Ottis, with the Lord of Altarin. Sir Glenavon Reeves,” The sergeant announced and the guards perked up at that, all ten of them standing up. “He’ll be taking over.”
He turned towards a frowning Glen and made a sign with his hand the way was open. “If your lordship, would like to say a few words,” Sergeant Ottis said, looking at him knowingly. “It would help the lads.”
Glen sucked air through his nose hard and held it, while pretending to stare at the gathered around him guards. He slowly turned red in the face, eyes ogled outwards, as try as he did, nothing of substance came to mind.
“Men,” Lord Reeves finally said, slowly letting the breath he held out. “We shan’t be ruled by panic.”
The guards nodded along agreeing with him, for whatever reason and feeling emboldened, he added. “Proceed as if it’s just another day. Now, I’d like to see the bridge.”
“I’ll walk you to the mid-point gates, Lord Reeves,” Ottis volunteered with a sharp salute.
“That was pretty inspiring words there, lad,” Marcus noted, as they walked slowly on the stone-tiled roadway, the parapets right and left more than two large carriages apart. This was a big bridge, Glen thought and tried to see the river below, but failed as the mist was still too thick.
“It’s a twenty meter drop, my Lord,” The sergeant explained and Glen pulled back from the stone rail panicked. “Better ye keep your distance.”
“Why, thank you sergeant Ottis,” Glen replied, a little pale in the face. “Is the mid-point far?”
“Another three hundred meters, my Lord,” The sergeant replied casually.
Get the fuck out, Glen thought impressed and more than a little scared.
Has anyone… ever, repaired this thing?
The mid-point gates incorporated a barbican, built like an enormous pier, straight up from a small islet spouting out of Yeriden. Its base made of solid rock-blocks and reaching thirty meters in height and ending in a tower, eight meters above the roadway and the parapets. The opening left at its middle almost four meters wide, a five meter roofed corridor from gate to gate. The outer massive portcullis made of thick, heavy iron bars and its sturdy grille could barely fit a grown man’s head in. The inner one, was similar in size, but appeared newer. Both were closed, but Glen could see through the slits the six meter in length drawbridge raised and barring entry from anyone approaching from Altarin. Attacking through the Yeriden’s Bridge is indeed suicide, Glen decided, more than a little relieved at the assignment.
“What’s the number of guards posted here?” Glen asked, the well-mannered sergeant.
“Normally fifty, Lord Reeves,” Ottis replied. “In five shifts, so it’s a comfortable posting.”
“Call me Glen,” Glen urged him, forgetting himself, mostly because he kind of liked the young man. Ottis, a Lorian with a groomed light-brown mustache, and clever eyes, seemed to be in his mid-twenties.
Ottis blinked, taken aback. “Sir Glenavon,” He stumbled through his words. “You honor me sire.”
Ah, well… Glen puffed his cheeks out, unsure what to say.
“How many are posted now?” Marcus intervened, to help him work through his issues.
Ottis turned to him. “That would be thirty, not counting myself and you, Sir Marcus,” He’d wisely left Glen outside the fighting force.
“I ain’t no knight, lad,” Marcus corrected him, in his usual directness and Ottis even blushed a little this time. “Hey, was a Decanus in the Legion,” Marcus added, to help him out.
“I shall keep it, in mind,” Ottis replied and with a brisk salute, he left them to examine the guards posted inside the small barbican.
“I don’t like the look of things, lad,” Marcus commented, the moment Ottis was out of earshot.
“Well, a simple posting seems a small price to pay,” Glen replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his worn out boots very uncomfortable after a while. “I’ll need new clothes and shoes. New armor,” He told Marcus and the ex-Decanus snorted.
“You don’t agree, Marcus?” Glen queried.
“Ye’ll have to pay to get new things, lad,” The hale man explained, with another grimace. “So it’s not whether I agree, or not, but more if yer willin’ to part wit yer coin.”
The main branch of Yeriden kept increasing in size and width, as it calmly flowed through the fertile soft-soiled basin, gathering water due to the way Raoz’s sloped ground had formed, reaching well over six hundred meters near Rida -where the bridge was built ages ago- and over a kilometer and a half at its delta, where it poured into the Shallow Sea. While you could navigate it with river boats, flat-bottom ships and even barques, the banks were difficult to build upon, due to the softness of the soil.
Coming from Altarin, one should follow the large road leading to the old Imperial Bridge and most merchants and caravans went for that route. Another way was to travel from Altarinport, take advantage of the usually peaceful sea and then sail up the delta, until you reached Rida’s large harbor. It was faster and more expensive, but a good number of people picked it.
The westernmost part of Altarin’s plains was dominated by the big Redwood Forest. Perhaps the largest in Raoz, it followed the mountain range until it almost touched Yeriden. Almost, because the closer one came to the mighty river, the softer the soil became. The large Redwood trees -some reaching as much as fifty meters in height- couldn’t support themselves and toppled over, even if they somehow managed to sprout near it. The forest thinned and eventually disappeared completely, a lush noisy vegetation taking its place.
A huge marsh in reality, locals just called ‘the marshes’ in plural, was an untamed, snake-ridden and usually unapproachable wilderness, a patch of land bordering most of Yeriden’s First Tributary and about five hundred meters of the mighty river himself.
The mud poured into the river at that spot, marshy waters and loose soil mixing up, just beyond the spot where the three tributaries converged, but on the opposite bank. While it was close enough to the bridge to cause some concern, the land on the other bank wasn’t as bad and one could easily spot someone trying to attempt a crossing there and laugh as the fool slowly sunk into the deep boggy mud, a sopping quicksand trap, big enough to swallow a whole army and eat through metal. The deleterious marshes invasion of Yeriden at that spot, stopped about fifteen, or twenty meters from the opposite bank, the thick, gluey, black corrosive sludge, slowly washed away by the clear water, coming down from the mountains.
The locals had named that particular protrusion, Esterlams Crevice.
Prince Nout, an ardent student and scientist since a very young age, knew all this, as did most of the other Khanate strategists. So when he had proposed his plan to a stunned war-council, he was almost laughed out of the room. The Khan though, now unsure about his apparent Heir’s loyalties, paid attention to his younger son. He gave his permission, but a very small force, for such an undertaking. Prince Nout, a pragmatist with a sharp mind, didn’t balk at the challenge. He took the meagre force of a hundred Cataphracts and around two thousand horse-archers and left immediately for Xuski Fort at the edges of the Khanate steppe, where he spent a whole year preparing an army based on the Lorian Legion’s, city on the move doctrine, with a huge emphasis on engineers and crafters.
He brought all those with him, five hundred engineers in total and over three thousand slaves as workforce, a thousand carts and four thousand animals, stripping the large barricaded city almost bare.
After he broke through Hellfort’s Pass and destroyed Hellfort, he managed to rebuild the bridge across Teid River in five days, putting his highly skilled workforce to the test. The Prince then headed straight into the Redwood Forest, cutting down a straight and narrow road, working his men with such brutality that by the time he reached Yeriden three months later, more than half of his workers were dead.
Knowing his flanks were secure, as Altarin appeared paralyzed after the death of both Lord Reeves and his successor, Prince Nout set about utilizing the massive quantities of fine redwood he’d gathered creating raft-like platforms, men working diligently night and day and after one point even most of his riders lending a hand. Simple constructions, three meters wide and ten meters in length ‘Nout’s Platforms’ numbered in the hundreds by the time the young Prince got the message that the Khan’s main army had started pouring out of the mountain valleys and into the forests, between the tributaries.
Prince Nout’s army broke out of the woods, it had remained hidden for that last part of their journey and entered the marshes the next day. They set about creating another road, this time over the boggy terrain. Three days later they had reached Esterlams Crevice and half his army was sick and dying. Knowing he’d one chance only to make it work, Prince Nout asked his brother to create a diversion and give him the chance to use his rafts to cross that last part of the river. Whether the message reached Prince Sahand, or not, it is still disputed, with some even suggesting Prince Nout took a guess and got lucky.
Whatever the case may be and whether Luthos was involved, or not, the Gold Leopard, now covered in putrid mud and with boils all over his body, came out of the misty river and attacked Lord Joep’s guards like an evil spirit. Retaking the bridge allowed him to cross over and manage a surprise assault very late in the night, on the exhausted force Lord Joep had saved earlier and almost delivered to safety.
In the battle that followed, fought in the dark, with torches and oil lamps used as both weapons and tools, Prince Nout almost gotten himself killed twice, but managed to fight the High King’s stunned army to a standstill, as they had no idea, who, or in what force had attacked them.
When the light returned, Prince Nout’s men gathered around him and were barely a thousand. A pitiful force Lord Joep, while badly battered and having lost countless soldiers during the night fight, could overcome had he attacked immediately. He didn’t, trying instead to dress up the ranks, raise morale and secure mounts –the High King’s army lacked severely in that department after the previous two days of fighting- in order to create a flanking cavalry force.
While Lord Joep was busy with all that, the Khan’s main army appeared in front of the still smoking Cofol camp. Rows upon rows of warhorses. Five thousand infantry, eight thousand archers, three thousand horse-archers, a thousand and three hundred medium cavalry, a thousand gleaming masked Cataphracts and three hundred scythed chariots drawn by four horses each. Eighteen thousand and six hundred men, were much more than what Lord Joep had hoped to face that day.
It is said that when the first mass volley of arrows was released, it blocked out the sun.
It was a difficult day and an even worse night, not because the military cot Glen was offered was bad in any way, but because it wasn’t easy to relax, or enjoy a good shuteye, when you have a young beautiful wife at walking distance, yet too far to touch.
Also the sounds of a city worrying of what the morrow would bring and all the looting that had exploded during the night, didn’t help at all. Being away from Sen-Iv though, weighted more in Glen’s mind. If one had to measure it to a hundred, perhaps ninety to ten in favor of the Cofol woman.
When the news of Lord Joep’s defeat reached the city, chaos ensued. Those that had opted to stay behind the walls, now questioning the soundness of that decision. Duke Gideon ordered the gates closed and guards posted on the walls, but didn’t sent for Glen, probably still shocked and mourning for his son. Everyone had hang their hopes on the younger Van Durren, Sir Robert and the rest of his First Foot, who was either near the cut off Lilyana Fort, or rushing towards the city.
The whole plan, the Duke had hatched, had collapsed within three days and even the Second Foot’s arrival next month, now seemed impossibly late.
“What’s the commotion?” Glen asked, getting up from the hay mattress. Marcus handed him a cup of water.
“A guard spotted people coming from the bridge,” Marcus explained, while he slurped greedily at the cool liquid.
Fuck.
“More Cofols?” Glen asked and tried to find his dagger. He spotted it on the table and went to pick it up.
“Too far to tell, but everyone is jumpy.”
“Aye. Any news from the front?” Glen asked, following him outside the small room, the Barbican’s inner corridors narrow and the ceiling low, making the trip outside claustrophobic.
“We’re losing,” Marcus commented.
Down the narrow stairs they went, the tiles slippery, everything around them soaked and wet. The walls, the floors and even the roadway. The morning mist thick, but quickly breaking, as a light breeze blew luckily, just as Glen and Marcus exited the tower and walked towards the morning guard posted at the narrow space over the gates.
The young Lord walked to the edge of the battlements and put his hands on the crenel to look over the raised drawbridge.
“I don’t see anything!” He yelled at the guard and the young man offered him quickly a slim metallic spyglass, made of bronze.
Glen put it in his eye clumsily, almost blinding himself and flinching, switched to the other eye, leaving the hurt one, now tearing up, slowly come around on its own.
“Well?” Marcus asked, hint of a smile on his mouth.
Glen wiped the tears off with the back of his hand and sighed. “I can’t… I don’t know.”
“Here, let me have a look, milord,” Marcus asked politely.
“You know what? I think I see something,” Glen said, looking again through the narrow field of view, now realizing he had to lower it from the sky and point it to a spot he wanted enhanced. Suddenly a giant horse’s head appeared in front of him and he almost dropped the spyglass over the parapet.
He checked again more carefully and the dark grey of the roadway was replaced by a fuchsia red, so bright it hurt his eyes. What in Luthos hairy arse? Glen looked again, caught sight of a horse’s ear too large to be naught but an illusion, then what looked like a giant long beard and there it was that red again, but it was a striking pink now, he’d never mistake for anything else.
Oh, good lord.
“What happened?” Marcus asked, seeing him shaking uncontrollably, incredibly excited.
“Lower the drawbridge!” Glen ordered the guard, ignoring the ex-Legion man.
“Lord Reeves, we have orders—” But Glen stopped him unsheathing his sword.
“Drop the plaguin’ drawbridge!” He barked at the ogling guard, beside himself.
“Lad, put that down, have ye lost yer mind?” Marcus grunted, his jaw contorting in disbelief.
Glen turned and stared at him, big grin on his face. “Pretty is here, Marcus.”
“Who?” Marcus asked, standing back.
Are ye serious?
“Jinx,” Glen explained patiently, shoving the stunned guard towards the gate mechanism. “That Gish? Back in Hellfort?”
“Ah, yes,” Marcus at last got it and then narrowed his eyes. “How is she here?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Glen retorted, the last part coming out a bit like a squeal and started down the stairs leading to the bridge’s deck, clearing them two and three at a time. Thankfully for him and those tied to his fate, our young thief didn’t break his head, when he tripped and fell down the final eight of them and there was a closed door to bar him from tumbling out of the building, over the adjoining stone rail and squashing like a bug onto the rocky islet underneath.
Luthos had his hands full that morning.
