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
Tales from Rida
Part III
(A matter of judgement?)
Siege of Rida
-Day Eleven-
Alix racing behind the young former thief yelled for him to turn right, but Glen wasn’t about to forget the second most important part of his plan, and he’d turned Outlaw just in time. The large warhorse swung right, hooves skidding on cobblestone, narrowly missing the collapsed wall with its left shoulder. Glen glanced back as the horse jumped forward, saw Alix turning as well, another bolt whistling over his head, a constipated look on his pink and red face.
“RIGHT AGAIN!” The Gish yelled and Glen turned his eyes to the front again, barely holding on the saddle, as Outlaw burst forward in what was a narrow side alley, running parallel to the harbor. In ten days it had turned into a maze of debris, piles of broken boards and smashed bricks. Rida’s houses were built one next to the other normally, with no room left between each building, some roofs interconnected. After some of the buildings in this chain had collapsed due to the bombardment, everything had become more chaotic. On the south, the fire that was raging uncontrolled, was relentlessly approaching this part of the city. If the wind turned on them again, everything still standing would be set ablaze in a matter of minutes.
Outlaw jumped over a broken up cart, just as the entrance of the alley behind them filled with horses and Cofols that quickly realized, they could only follow them two or three at one time and no more.
Glen saw the collapsed wall of the three story villa blocking the road completely and panicked momentarily, before realizing the turn Alix had found, was coming right before that. There was a short old woman sitting on the top of that huge pile of debris smoking a pipe, wrapped in a cheap dirty grey cloak, as bizarre an image, as one would ever expect during a chase. Glen pulled at the reins fearing he’d miss the turn, which was a mistake, but his horse found the opening itself and swung right again with an indignant neigh at the abuse. Former thief and mount managed to slid onto a wall this time, Glen’s thigh turning numb in an instant and by the time Outlaw charged again angry, shaking its great head right and left, Glen was half-way out of the saddle.
The mounted archer, long blade in hand, saw him entering this street -relatively in better condition, but also small and vertical to the previous one- and pushed the blackened man down. A scout standing three meters behind him, his own horse blocking the street, frowned and then yelled a warning in Cofol. Glen still riding awkwardly and leaning precariously on his ride side, reached for his sword, found it half-way out of its sheath and managed to release it with a hiss of frustration.
It was almost a comical mess, pulling hard with his left hand using the horn of his saddle, in order to rise back up again, while his arching blade almost sliced one of Outlaw’s ears clean off. The warhorse, realizing his rider wasn’t in control, went by pure bred instinct and charged headlong on the mounted archer between them and what was apparently the exit to the large avenue leading to the East Gates. The Cofol was in the process of reaching for his bow, before he realized Glen and Outlaw were coming barreling down on him.
The archer grimaced, eyes ogling in shock and went for his long blade again, while he kicked his legs to get his smaller horse out of the way. The Steppe Horse jumped nervously to the side, just as Glen dashed past them, swinging wildly with his sword and missing everything. The longsword swung in a full circle, first rising up and then coming down again in the next second. The young Lord’s torso dropped forward, his jaw bouncing off of Outlaw’s sturdier head, stopped himself from toppling over and breaking his neck on the rough cobblestone, by panic-grabbing at its rich mane with his left hand, all the while feeling his right shoulder popping out and back in again with a crack. At the tail end of it Glen miraculously downed his sword, just as he fell on the unmounted scout next.
The Cofol released the arrow bravely, burning a bloody red line on the right side of Glen’s neck, then lost his left hand in return, as the sword chopped it off right at the wrist and had his chest caved in, when Outlaw connected with him full force. The man was hurled senseless to the side and smashed on to the right wall, pieces of his broken bow inserted in his face and neck.
“GAH!” Glen cried, the pain from his shoulder blinding and barely holding on to the saddle, as both he and Outlaw burst into the big avenue, one of Rida’s four main roads. The flat cobblestone was used here as well, though three large carriages standing a foot apart, could fit with ease here. The empty space, marred by the fire raging to the large building across from him.
“Whoa!” Glen yelled, holding on with his thighs, while punching his right shoulder to get it going again. It wasn’t a remedy, just pure adrenalin reaction, without much thought put on it. Outlaw neighed and came to a stop in the middle of the large street and Glen twisted around to catch sight of Alix bleeding at the thigh, coming out of the narrow alley, the Cofol archer following right behind him, leaving the reins and reaching again for his bow, seeing Glen had stopped.
Ye piece of stinking shit!
Glen clicked his tongue, to start a snorting Outlaw going again.
“Go boy, go,” He urged him and the horse rotated on its axis and started trotting again, giving Glen plenty of time to see the group of riders galloping towards his position, from further down the large street, three Cataphracts amongst them. It seemed some of the Cofols had guessed, where they were headed and had chosen to follow a roundabout, but easier route, to catch up with them.
“MOVE!” Alix yelled, his nose-less face looking utterly ridiculous, riding wildly by him and slapped Outlaw’s hindquarters once for good measure. Outlaw burst forward, an arrow stabbing its wooden saddle, after slicing open a smarting swallow wound on the left back of Glen’s thigh, ruining his pants.
The young Lord twisted around cursing and dislodged it, his hand coming back up bloody. One of the Cataphracts opened up to a full charge, thinking that he got wounded bad and started cutting at the distance between them fast. Fifty meters turned to forty in a breath, as they raced down the relative empty avenue and the rest of the leading Cataphract’s group, of probably a dozen Cofols, plus the stubborn mounted archer, started following his example one after the other.
Glen hopping up and down the saddle, his bleeding thigh messing up with his balance, followed behind an equally injured Alix, as they both galloped madly through Rida’s main artery towards the East Gates. Few people still trying to get away, heard the commotion and dashed out of the way, leaving their stuff behind. Truth be told, with the fire approaching and the wind shifting, they could run only to one side, the moment they abandoned the main street and that was to the north and the harbor. A side road could still lead them there, and it was the same road, hopefully Stiles and the dwarf were using to get away, before the Cofols attacked the undefended barricade.
Alix swung his head around and hissed, seeing Glen catching up to him and even pulling forward.
“Fuck,” The Gish snarled gravely concerned. Then glancing back again he repeated, twice as desperate. “Fuck!”
“Cut to the left!” Glen warned him, seeing the towers of the East Gate approaching in front of them, more carts now abandoned right and left, people’s bags and hemp sacks laden with supplies. Even a couple of corpses.
He looked back himself again, his spine feeling, as if it was cut in two, or completely broken, after the hectic galloping of the past ten-fifteen minutes. The Cataphract following them, now not even ten meters behind, his horse’s eyes glaring wild, under its metal Chamfron and froth covering its muzzle and traveling up its cheek-piece, went for his crossbow realizing that was as close, as he’d get.
Glen pressed his knees tight and cut Outlaw hard right, towards one of the burning mostly wooden two story buildings. Smoke got in his eyes and clogged his throat, but the Cataphract came after him, what he rightly considered the higher value target. Outlaw snorted and shook his head suffering from inhaling putrid black fumes, but Glen kept riding as close to the flames as he could, to keep his pursuer blinded. A minute later, the Cataphract pulled away and Glen glanced back, face covered in black soot, white toothy grin turning into a manic clench of his jaw.
The Cofols had cut the distance almost by two thirds, while he was playing hide and seek with their friend, because he’d slowed down, or… Outlaw was shot and running on fumes. Neither option very helpful.
“Come on!” Glen urged his mount and kept one eye on the approaching and now going for their bows Cofols and Alix, who despite being more injured and on a worse horse, had opened up two bodies on him. Of course the Gish’s pink head, barely reached Glen’s chest and Alix Walker seem to weigh less than fifty kilos soaking wet, so that surely played a role as well.
Glen didn’t even see the black flag waving, or the positioned wagons on either side, so Marcus had to get up from his cover, the smokes now covering the large street, as the wind had turned northwards and bark a warning as loud, as he could.
“YE BLOODY FOOL!”
Glen saw the taut hemp rope coming and stooped at the last moment, the line whipping over him like the executioner’s blade. Outlaw’s whole body shook, his front knees buckling, but managed to regain his footing, veered wildly to the left half-turning half-gliding, horseshoes sending sparks fly and stopped before an upturned tumbril, just as the leading Cofols following right behind them, met the lethal line that run the street from side to side, at full force.
Two Cataphracts and a light armored rider were decapitated immediately, crimson torrents of blood shooting upwards and another had his chest and face peeled off, skin, flesh and leather armor an unrecognizable mess. A further three attempted to stop, but were thrown off their horses, two of them tumbling down the hard cobblestone, breaking hands and feet, the third sent to crash on to a brick wall head first, the crunch of his neck snapping heard clearly, over the wild neighs, the screams of horror and utter shock of his friends.
Glen saw the last part of it, as he tried desperately to turn an exhausted Outlaw and lead him around the tumbril towards their lines, until he realized what Marcus was yelling at him, still waving like a madman, about twenty meters away and just in front of the open gates. Oh, crap, Glen thought, and pulled at the reins hard to stay his horse.
Behind him, the surviving Cofols had managed to stop and while some had started hacking at the rope, or just ducking under it, the rest had nocked arrows already from where they stood and aimed at the only half-visible target amidst the thickening smoke. Had they been able to see further ahead and right in front of the gates, they would have spotted the two large Scorpions pointed their way and the guards manning them.
TWANG
Glen didn’t even see the large iron bolt, flying down the street.
WHOOSH
He only heard it. It whistled over the mounted archer that had followed them from the alley, the Cofol flinching seeing it at the last moment, but remarkably maintaining its composure, as he was spared by pure luck.
Luck being what it was, switched sides the next moment. The wind turned, blew the smokes away and despite the flames now jumping over to some of the buildings, on the other side of the street, the Cofols saw Marcus and his machines waiting for them.
The Archer aimed and fired without thinking, kicking his legs to get his mount going, most of his remaining seven or eight friends, moving along with him.
“LOOSE ‘EM AT WILL!” Marcus bellowed, just as the first volley fired by the Cofols reached them, killing a hapless guard carrying a large bolt and injuring one of their horses and the laden mule standing next to it.
Damnit, Glen thought and clicked his tongue sending Outlaw forward, in order to return to their lines. The bolts whooshed past him and to his right. The first one missing again, but the other skewering a scout through his torso, lifting him two feet off the ground, as if he was weightless and then nailed him on one of the fallen riders, standing right behind him, killing them both.
“Charge at ‘em lads!” Marcus barked, seeing Glen heading their way. “We break them and then we’re out of here!”
The guards rushed with swords drawn to close the distance and Glen who had almost reached the heavy Scorpions placed before the gates and the lowered drawbridge, swung around to assist them.
The Cofols surprisingly didn’t run, those without a horse tried to stand and defend against the charging guards, while those that had one opted to charge using their sabres. Glen ducked under the horse archer’s blade, the edge of it sending sparks fly, when it met his iron shoulder pad. He managed to set his blade right and pushed half his longsword into his opponent’s belly, piercing through the armor and dropping him from his horse. The bulk of the damage done by the force of the onrushing warrior and not Glen’s strength.
“HAH!” Glen howled, overcome with excitement at the success and swung around looking for another target.
“BACK! WHITE LET GO! MARTEL!” Marcus yelled and waved his own sword above his head. With most of Cofols killed, it appeared they had their window of opportunity firmly opened.
No soon had Glen allowed himself to hope for an easy out, a devastating volley fell upon the guards, injuring several and sending the rest into a desperate retreat towards their horses.
Behind them and amidst the smokes now moving back and forth, as the flames were raging on both sides of the large street, making the long open road appear nightmarish, another group of riders had appeared. With a thunderous yell, this new group, charged at them.
“GET BACK DAMNIT!” Marcus bellowed shoving the lightly injured, or helping those that were worse off to their feet. “Lad, that’s enough!”
Glen agreed and turned around to head towards their horses, most packed in the space between the two raised portcullises, some of the guards already there and climbing on their mounts, when he noticed one of the two animals badly injured, was the mule with Jinx’s box.
Fuck it, he thought, remembering the Gish’s words. It probably ain’t worth it.
It does.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Glen griped, besides himself. Now ye plaguin’ talk?
Don’t take it then.
See, if I care.
“Marcus stop their charge!” Glen barked and jumped from Outlaw to run towards the collapsed and bleeding out mule.
Marcus turned his head to glare at him, saw him trying to dislodge the arm-sized box from its restraints and grunted, grabbed Ottis by the arm and shoved him towards one of the two Scorpions, himself manning the other one.
“AIM LOW!” He barked a last minute advice, pulling at the lever, veins popped on his muscular neck, while Glen kicking and cursing, sweat running down his face and bleeding down his left leg, at last managed to get that box out and placed it on the ground. Unsurprisingly, it still weighted a ton.
Damn ye Whisper, what in the slovenly fuck ye have in there?
You better run kid.
“Fuck you!” Glen snapped and heard the whoosh of the heavy war ballistae, followed by the desperate cries of despair from the Cofols cut down. He sheathed his sword and stooping, grabbed the wooden box to lift it, dropping it and twisting around on instinct, just as a shadow fell from the barbican walls above his head and landed a mere meter from him.
Larn pushed the hood over his head, revealing his gaunt face and stared at him judgmentally, with his cold ashen eyes. Glen unsheathed his own sword and stepped back, his knee buckling and almost going down. The pain shooting to his brain, ten times worse than what it was a moment ago.
Larn sighed and stared at the box he’d dropped down.
“You’ve a bolt in your leg,” The assassin informed him and got out a long shafted war-hatchet with his right hand; flipped it once to get his attention and tossed a thin dagger on Glen’s face with the other.
Glen smacked it away with his sword, furious with himself.
“Ye don’t fight fair,” He spat at the Zilan assassin and attacked before the last word left his mouth, clenching his teeth to fight through the pain of his maimed leg.
Larn jumped away, reached and unsheathed a scimitar, not as curved as a typical one. A custom made weapon. Glen stepped back to keep him in his field of view and raising his hand behind his back, got Emerson’s blade out as well and tested its weight, in his left hand.
The assassin smacked his lips, as if assessing this new development, then made a casual step to the left, jumped off of it in the blink of an eye and attacked him, using both his war-hatchet and the longer blade at the same time.
Glen parried the iron-shafted hatchet away successfully, but missed the scimitar’s blade, as Larn switched his strike three times mid-move, cutting him right at the jaw superficially, as the young former thief, flinched away at the last moment. He almost went down, as his knee gave away, staying upright through sheer willpower.
He stared at the assassin with hated filled eyes, feeling the blood trickling down his neck.
“Impressive,” Larn commented and glanced back towards the covered in smoke street, much of it blowing their way.
“Lord Reeves!” Ottis yelled, running his way, with Marcus following. Seeing the black-dressed armed man, he unsheathed his longsword and made to come at them, but Marcus stopped him.
“Get the men out of here. Don’t stop before the mountains,” He ordered him and approached Glen and an unconcerned Larn.
“Move aside lad,” Marcus said, steel in his voice. “Get up that horse ‘n follow him.”
“No!” Glen snapped. “Ye need to leave now, Decanus!” He grabbed the bolt sticking out of his thigh and pulled at it hard, trying to get it out. Glen almost fainted. Marcus walked to them in the meantime, reached and got his square legionnaire’s shield off his back, cracked his neck right and left a couple of times and then banged his sword on the riveted metal hard.
He charged ahead right after that, a good head taller and twice the size of the much thinner, but sinewy Zilan.
Glen watched the fight with gawking eyes, teeth grinding to the point of breaking, trying to extricate the bolt from his leg. His fingers, slippery in his blood, sweat running down his stressed face, mixing with the soot and creating a black thick sludge.
Larn kept dancing around the charging behind his shield Marcus and just as Glen at last managed with a mighty yelp of pure agony, to get that nasty iron bolt out, the blood painting his torn leather pants a darker shade of tan, a large group of armed civilians attacked the carefully approaching Cofols and an all-out fight broke out in the burning street, before Rida’s East Gates.
Marcus bashed Larn back, but the Zilan assassin, who’d noticed what was happening, locked the top of his shield with the heel of his war-hatchet and pulled it down, despite the hale man’s enormous effort to resist him. Marcus seeing the danger, decided to let go of the shield and step away, but Larn moved twice as fast, twisted around the discarded shield, dropping his war-hatchet along the way and stabbed Marcus three times on his unprotected left side, with a shortsword he’d managed to get out. The assassin had used tremendous force, punching the thin blade through solid segmented armour, at three different spots. Kidneys, lungs and heart.
No, god darn it!
Glen stumbled forward, just as Marcus dropped to his knees, letting go of his sword. Larn heard him coming and turned calmly, sidestepping away from the fatally injured ex-Decanus, having the presence of mind to sheathe his shortsword, while switching hands to his scimitar.
The young Lord swung at him, but the Zilan dodged easily and went for a quick cut, as Glen was a bit slow to switch stances. He failed as Marcus, now bleeding from the mouth, grabbed the assassin’s right arm below the elbow and stopped him dead.
A livid Glen attacked him, just as Larn twisted around –again inhumanly fast- and getting a long sinister nail out of his waistband, thrusted it into brave Marcus’ left eye, killing him instantly. The young Lord’s blade came down with desperate force, but cut through air. Larn had moved away again, a good two meters away, where Marcus’ shield had fallen and stooping got his war-hatchet back.
Glen glared at him, breathing heavy, bleeding from a couple of wounds at least, barely standing upright and feeling empty and despondent, having just witnessed his friend getting butchered by this monster.
Larn glanced towards Jinx’s stupid box and frowned.
“You have good fundamentals,” he told Glen casually, as if they were friends discussing their experiences at a tourney. “But poor judgement. That’s twice, you could have gotten away.”
“Did she sent you?” Glen asked and stumbled a couple of steps forward to approach him. He couldn’t run away with a bad leg, nor win this. But he wanted to cut him once.
Sometimes once is enough.
“I was conflicted,” Larn admitted, trying to pry the box open with his boot. “You see, she now wants you alive,” he sighed at the perceived foolishness and watching him moving closer, raised his scimitar in warning. “But unfortunately for you, I can’t allow it.”
He stooped nimbly and smashed the lock once hard with his war-hatchet, breaking it.
Glen hefted the sword in his hand, having decided to hurl it at the assassin, the moment he went to open the box. The cunning creature, stood up again and pushed it open, with the tip of his soft leather boot.
They both looked inside Jinx’s box at the same time.
Run.
Nah, it’s too late.
Good grief, Glen thought stupefied, disregarding its crazy mumblings. Is that a fucking egg?
Yay big, Jinx had said and that lunatic of a Gish was actually telling the truth.
Give it a good whack.
Could be a painted rock.
Eh, fuck it.
A great number of things happened in the next couple of minutes, in addition to the weird voice, now offering him its insane input.
Larn swung around alarmed, looking as if he’d seen his death and almost got it, as he got nailed twice, once in the chest and the other right through his left arm. The two bolts shot, from somewhere behind Glen. The multiple shooters not too far apart from each other.
The Cofols lost the battle with the much larger number of civilians and got slaughtered mercilessly inside the burning street, about thirty meters to Glen’s right. The many survivors run towards the gates intending to escape towards the Eastwatch Forest. Seemingly a crowd of about four hundred, but probably much bigger.
And right behind him, amidst the smoke and the shadows of the battlements, a short old woman appeared, as if out of thin air. She walked slowly towards them… that is only Glen, as the elusive Larn had managed to disappear the moment the young former thief turned his head away.
Would he make it out though? Surely, he is as good as dead.
Glen glanced again towards the short woman and found her now looking at the open box deep in thought. I got to get away, he decided with a heavy heart and headed towards Outlaw. The horse neighed recognizing him and Glen hobbling with difficulty, brought him and another horse wearing a Cofol saddle, back to where Marcus had fallen. Women, children and a good number of armed men, mostly citizens of Rida, watched him with weary eyes, slowly loading the heavy man on the horse and securing him, after many failed attempts.
Glen got blood on him and he was almost delirious with pain and at the end of his tether, but kept at it stubbornly, a determined look on his face. After finishing, he approached the short woman gazing at that huge egg in stunned silence and stood next to her, a little awkwardly.
It took him a moment, to realize he was staring into a Gish’s face. An old Gish, ancient almost, it’s wrinkled face resembling a sick fish, under all that makeup.
“Is it yours?” She asked him and Glen grimaced at the unexpected heavy male voice.
What in Luthos name is this bizarre shit?
“It is,” Glen replied, giving him a sideways hesitant look.
“Hmm. Ye better get it on your mount then, chop-chop,” the old Gish said and reaching got an expensive pipe out and lit it carefully, while watching the hapless refugees leaving the burning city, more than a little amused.
Right.
“Fine, how about it though?” Glen probed him, his legs quivering and on the verge collapsing and pointed at the large egg. The old Gish blinked, its washed-out and trimmed, but still pinkish eyebrows, meeting at the middle of his nose-less face. “Are you going to help?”
“A young fit lad like you? Haha!” The old Gish retorted with an annoying chuckle, blowing a rich aromatic smoke out of his nostrils. “You should be ashamed of yerself!”
Glen would have smacked the old crone in the face, had he got any strength left.
It is said, Rida burned for two straight days and as many nights. While the Khan’s army managed to win in the end, the battle of the Duke’s palace, what they got after the smoke had settled, didn’t resemble the famed city at all. The smoking ruins and the death toll still unknown to this day.
The tales from the siege of Rida though still survive. Tales of carnage and destruction. Of extreme bravery and cowardice. Of sacrifice and horror. From the old Duke’s stubborn resistance to the bitter end and the ghastly conclusion of his story. To a famed sorceress words coming true. No Winfield ever saw another summer. But it was the story of an obscure battle, fought at the abandoned East Gates, where an unknown young man then, led a daring escape out of the burning inferno, saving hundreds of civilians from a gruesome death, or the bonds of slavery that is still recited with fervor by his supporters today.
This they declare, is the most important story of all. For it was in Rida, where the journey of the Onyx Wyvern started.
As all things in history, even this celebrated tale, is heavily disputed.
Lord Sirio Veturius
Circa 206 NC
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter XI
-epilogue-
(Tales from Rida,
The Onyx Wyvern’s escape,
First month of summer,
189 NC)
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
Tales from Rida
Part III
(A matter of judgement?)
Siege of Rida
-Day Eleven-
Alix racing behind the young former thief yelled for him to turn right, but Glen wasn’t about to forget the second most important part of his plan, and he’d turned Outlaw just in time. The large warhorse swung right, hooves skidding on cobblestone, narrowly missing the collapsed wall with its left shoulder. Glen glanced back as the horse jumped forward, saw Alix turning as well, another bolt whistling over his head, a constipated look on his pink and red face.
“RIGHT AGAIN!” The Gish yelled and Glen turned his eyes to the front again, barely holding on the saddle, as Outlaw burst forward in what was a narrow side alley, running parallel to the harbor. In ten days it had turned into a maze of debris, piles of broken boards and smashed bricks. Rida’s houses were built one next to the other normally, with no room left between each building, some roofs interconnected. After some of the buildings in this chain had collapsed due to the bombardment, everything had become more chaotic. On the south, the fire that was raging uncontrolled, was relentlessly approaching this part of the city. If the wind turned on them again, everything still standing would be set ablaze in a matter of minutes.
Outlaw jumped over a broken up cart, just as the entrance of the alley behind them filled with horses and Cofols that quickly realized, they could only follow them two or three at one time and no more.
Glen saw the collapsed wall of the three story villa blocking the road completely and panicked momentarily, before realizing the turn Alix had found, was coming right before that. There was a short old woman sitting on the top of that huge pile of debris smoking a pipe, wrapped in a cheap dirty grey cloak, as bizarre an image, as one would ever expect during a chase. Glen pulled at the reins fearing he’d miss the turn, which was a mistake, but his horse found the opening itself and swung right again with an indignant neigh at the abuse. Former thief and mount managed to slid onto a wall this time, Glen’s thigh turning numb in an instant and by the time Outlaw charged again angry, shaking its great head right and left, Glen was half-way out of the saddle.
The mounted archer, long blade in hand, saw him entering this street -relatively in better condition, but also small and vertical to the previous one- and pushed the blackened man down. A scout standing three meters behind him, his own horse blocking the street, frowned and then yelled a warning in Cofol. Glen still riding awkwardly and leaning precariously on his ride side, reached for his sword, found it half-way out of its sheath and managed to release it with a hiss of frustration.
It was almost a comical mess, pulling hard with his left hand using the horn of his saddle, in order to rise back up again, while his arching blade almost sliced one of Outlaw’s ears clean off. The warhorse, realizing his rider wasn’t in control, went by pure bred instinct and charged headlong on the mounted archer between them and what was apparently the exit to the large avenue leading to the East Gates. The Cofol was in the process of reaching for his bow, before he realized Glen and Outlaw were coming barreling down on him.
The archer grimaced, eyes ogling in shock and went for his long blade again, while he kicked his legs to get his smaller horse out of the way. The Steppe Horse jumped nervously to the side, just as Glen dashed past them, swinging wildly with his sword and missing everything. The longsword swung in a full circle, first rising up and then coming down again in the next second. The young Lord’s torso dropped forward, his jaw bouncing off of Outlaw’s sturdier head, stopped himself from toppling over and breaking his neck on the rough cobblestone, by panic-grabbing at its rich mane with his left hand, all the while feeling his right shoulder popping out and back in again with a crack. At the tail end of it Glen miraculously downed his sword, just as he fell on the unmounted scout next.
The Cofol released the arrow bravely, burning a bloody red line on the right side of Glen’s neck, then lost his left hand in return, as the sword chopped it off right at the wrist and had his chest caved in, when Outlaw connected with him full force. The man was hurled senseless to the side and smashed on to the right wall, pieces of his broken bow inserted in his face and neck.
“GAH!” Glen cried, the pain from his shoulder blinding and barely holding on to the saddle, as both he and Outlaw burst into the big avenue, one of Rida’s four main roads. The flat cobblestone was used here as well, though three large carriages standing a foot apart, could fit with ease here. The empty space, marred by the fire raging to the large building across from him.
“Whoa!” Glen yelled, holding on with his thighs, while punching his right shoulder to get it going again. It wasn’t a remedy, just pure adrenalin reaction, without much thought put on it. Outlaw neighed and came to a stop in the middle of the large street and Glen twisted around to catch sight of Alix bleeding at the thigh, coming out of the narrow alley, the Cofol archer following right behind him, leaving the reins and reaching again for his bow, seeing Glen had stopped.
Ye piece of stinking shit!
Glen clicked his tongue, to start a snorting Outlaw going again.
“Go boy, go,” He urged him and the horse rotated on its axis and started trotting again, giving Glen plenty of time to see the group of riders galloping towards his position, from further down the large street, three Cataphracts amongst them. It seemed some of the Cofols had guessed, where they were headed and had chosen to follow a roundabout, but easier route, to catch up with them.
“MOVE!” Alix yelled, his nose-less face looking utterly ridiculous, riding wildly by him and slapped Outlaw’s hindquarters once for good measure. Outlaw burst forward, an arrow stabbing its wooden saddle, after slicing open a smarting swallow wound on the left back of Glen’s thigh, ruining his pants.
The young Lord twisted around cursing and dislodged it, his hand coming back up bloody. One of the Cataphracts opened up to a full charge, thinking that he got wounded bad and started cutting at the distance between them fast. Fifty meters turned to forty in a breath, as they raced down the relative empty avenue and the rest of the leading Cataphract’s group, of probably a dozen Cofols, plus the stubborn mounted archer, started following his example one after the other.
Glen hopping up and down the saddle, his bleeding thigh messing up with his balance, followed behind an equally injured Alix, as they both galloped madly through Rida’s main artery towards the East Gates. Few people still trying to get away, heard the commotion and dashed out of the way, leaving their stuff behind. Truth be told, with the fire approaching and the wind shifting, they could run only to one side, the moment they abandoned the main street and that was to the north and the harbor. A side road could still lead them there, and it was the same road, hopefully Stiles and the dwarf were using to get away, before the Cofols attacked the undefended barricade.
Alix swung his head around and hissed, seeing Glen catching up to him and even pulling forward.
“Fuck,” The Gish snarled gravely concerned. Then glancing back again he repeated, twice as desperate. “Fuck!”
“Cut to the left!” Glen warned him, seeing the towers of the East Gate approaching in front of them, more carts now abandoned right and left, people’s bags and hemp sacks laden with supplies. Even a couple of corpses.
He looked back himself again, his spine feeling, as if it was cut in two, or completely broken, after the hectic galloping of the past ten-fifteen minutes. The Cataphract following them, now not even ten meters behind, his horse’s eyes glaring wild, under its metal Chamfron and froth covering its muzzle and traveling up its cheek-piece, went for his crossbow realizing that was as close, as he’d get.
Glen pressed his knees tight and cut Outlaw hard right, towards one of the burning mostly wooden two story buildings. Smoke got in his eyes and clogged his throat, but the Cataphract came after him, what he rightly considered the higher value target. Outlaw snorted and shook his head suffering from inhaling putrid black fumes, but Glen kept riding as close to the flames as he could, to keep his pursuer blinded. A minute later, the Cataphract pulled away and Glen glanced back, face covered in black soot, white toothy grin turning into a manic clench of his jaw.
The Cofols had cut the distance almost by two thirds, while he was playing hide and seek with their friend, because he’d slowed down, or… Outlaw was shot and running on fumes. Neither option very helpful.
“Come on!” Glen urged his mount and kept one eye on the approaching and now going for their bows Cofols and Alix, who despite being more injured and on a worse horse, had opened up two bodies on him. Of course the Gish’s pink head, barely reached Glen’s chest and Alix Walker seem to weigh less than fifty kilos soaking wet, so that surely played a role as well.
Glen didn’t even see the black flag waving, or the positioned wagons on either side, so Marcus had to get up from his cover, the smokes now covering the large street, as the wind had turned northwards and bark a warning as loud, as he could.
“YE BLOODY FOOL!”
Glen saw the taut hemp rope coming and stooped at the last moment, the line whipping over him like the executioner’s blade. Outlaw’s whole body shook, his front knees buckling, but managed to regain his footing, veered wildly to the left half-turning half-gliding, horseshoes sending sparks fly and stopped before an upturned tumbril, just as the leading Cofols following right behind them, met the lethal line that run the street from side to side, at full force.
Two Cataphracts and a light armored rider were decapitated immediately, crimson torrents of blood shooting upwards and another had his chest and face peeled off, skin, flesh and leather armor an unrecognizable mess. A further three attempted to stop, but were thrown off their horses, two of them tumbling down the hard cobblestone, breaking hands and feet, the third sent to crash on to a brick wall head first, the crunch of his neck snapping heard clearly, over the wild neighs, the screams of horror and utter shock of his friends.
Glen saw the last part of it, as he tried desperately to turn an exhausted Outlaw and lead him around the tumbril towards their lines, until he realized what Marcus was yelling at him, still waving like a madman, about twenty meters away and just in front of the open gates. Oh, crap, Glen thought, and pulled at the reins hard to stay his horse.
Behind him, the surviving Cofols had managed to stop and while some had started hacking at the rope, or just ducking under it, the rest had nocked arrows already from where they stood and aimed at the only half-visible target amidst the thickening smoke. Had they been able to see further ahead and right in front of the gates, they would have spotted the two large Scorpions pointed their way and the guards manning them.
TWANG
Glen didn’t even see the large iron bolt, flying down the street.
WHOOSH
He only heard it. It whistled over the mounted archer that had followed them from the alley, the Cofol flinching seeing it at the last moment, but remarkably maintaining its composure, as he was spared by pure luck.
Luck being what it was, switched sides the next moment. The wind turned, blew the smokes away and despite the flames now jumping over to some of the buildings, on the other side of the street, the Cofols saw Marcus and his machines waiting for them.
The Archer aimed and fired without thinking, kicking his legs to get his mount going, most of his remaining seven or eight friends, moving along with him.
“LOOSE ‘EM AT WILL!” Marcus bellowed, just as the first volley fired by the Cofols reached them, killing a hapless guard carrying a large bolt and injuring one of their horses and the laden mule standing next to it.
Damnit, Glen thought and clicked his tongue sending Outlaw forward, in order to return to their lines. The bolts whooshed past him and to his right. The first one missing again, but the other skewering a scout through his torso, lifting him two feet off the ground, as if he was weightless and then nailed him on one of the fallen riders, standing right behind him, killing them both.
“Charge at ‘em lads!” Marcus barked, seeing Glen heading their way. “We break them and then we’re out of here!”
The guards rushed with swords drawn to close the distance and Glen who had almost reached the heavy Scorpions placed before the gates and the lowered drawbridge, swung around to assist them.
The Cofols surprisingly didn’t run, those without a horse tried to stand and defend against the charging guards, while those that had one opted to charge using their sabres. Glen ducked under the horse archer’s blade, the edge of it sending sparks fly, when it met his iron shoulder pad. He managed to set his blade right and pushed half his longsword into his opponent’s belly, piercing through the armor and dropping him from his horse. The bulk of the damage done by the force of the onrushing warrior and not Glen’s strength.
“HAH!” Glen howled, overcome with excitement at the success and swung around looking for another target.
“BACK! WHITE LET GO! MARTEL!” Marcus yelled and waved his own sword above his head. With most of Cofols killed, it appeared they had their window of opportunity firmly opened.
No soon had Glen allowed himself to hope for an easy out, a devastating volley fell upon the guards, injuring several and sending the rest into a desperate retreat towards their horses.
Behind them and amidst the smokes now moving back and forth, as the flames were raging on both sides of the large street, making the long open road appear nightmarish, another group of riders had appeared. With a thunderous yell, this new group, charged at them.
“GET BACK DAMNIT!” Marcus bellowed shoving the lightly injured, or helping those that were worse off to their feet. “Lad, that’s enough!”
Glen agreed and turned around to head towards their horses, most packed in the space between the two raised portcullises, some of the guards already there and climbing on their mounts, when he noticed one of the two animals badly injured, was the mule with Jinx’s box.
Fuck it, he thought, remembering the Gish’s words. It probably ain’t worth it.
It does.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Glen griped, besides himself. Now ye plaguin’ talk?
Don’t take it then.
See, if I care.
“Marcus stop their charge!” Glen barked and jumped from Outlaw to run towards the collapsed and bleeding out mule.
Marcus turned his head to glare at him, saw him trying to dislodge the arm-sized box from its restraints and grunted, grabbed Ottis by the arm and shoved him towards one of the two Scorpions, himself manning the other one.
“AIM LOW!” He barked a last minute advice, pulling at the lever, veins popped on his muscular neck, while Glen kicking and cursing, sweat running down his face and bleeding down his left leg, at last managed to get that box out and placed it on the ground. Unsurprisingly, it still weighted a ton.
Damn ye Whisper, what in the slovenly fuck ye have in there?
You better run kid.
“Fuck you!” Glen snapped and heard the whoosh of the heavy war ballistae, followed by the desperate cries of despair from the Cofols cut down. He sheathed his sword and stooping, grabbed the wooden box to lift it, dropping it and twisting around on instinct, just as a shadow fell from the barbican walls above his head and landed a mere meter from him.
Larn pushed the hood over his head, revealing his gaunt face and stared at him judgmentally, with his cold ashen eyes. Glen unsheathed his own sword and stepped back, his knee buckling and almost going down. The pain shooting to his brain, ten times worse than what it was a moment ago.
Larn sighed and stared at the box he’d dropped down.
“You’ve a bolt in your leg,” The assassin informed him and got out a long shafted war-hatchet with his right hand; flipped it once to get his attention and tossed a thin dagger on Glen’s face with the other.
Glen smacked it away with his sword, furious with himself.
“Ye don’t fight fair,” He spat at the Zilan assassin and attacked before the last word left his mouth, clenching his teeth to fight through the pain of his maimed leg.
Larn jumped away, reached and unsheathed a scimitar, not as curved as a typical one. A custom made weapon. Glen stepped back to keep him in his field of view and raising his hand behind his back, got Emerson’s blade out as well and tested its weight, in his left hand.
The assassin smacked his lips, as if assessing this new development, then made a casual step to the left, jumped off of it in the blink of an eye and attacked him, using both his war-hatchet and the longer blade at the same time.
Glen parried the iron-shafted hatchet away successfully, but missed the scimitar’s blade, as Larn switched his strike three times mid-move, cutting him right at the jaw superficially, as the young former thief, flinched away at the last moment. He almost went down, as his knee gave away, staying upright through sheer willpower.
He stared at the assassin with hated filled eyes, feeling the blood trickling down his neck.
“Impressive,” Larn commented and glanced back towards the covered in smoke street, much of it blowing their way.
“Lord Reeves!” Ottis yelled, running his way, with Marcus following. Seeing the black-dressed armed man, he unsheathed his longsword and made to come at them, but Marcus stopped him.
“Get the men out of here. Don’t stop before the mountains,” He ordered him and approached Glen and an unconcerned Larn.
“Move aside lad,” Marcus said, steel in his voice. “Get up that horse ‘n follow him.”
“No!” Glen snapped. “Ye need to leave now, Decanus!” He grabbed the bolt sticking out of his thigh and pulled at it hard, trying to get it out. Glen almost fainted. Marcus walked to them in the meantime, reached and got his square legionnaire’s shield off his back, cracked his neck right and left a couple of times and then banged his sword on the riveted metal hard.
He charged ahead right after that, a good head taller and twice the size of the much thinner, but sinewy Zilan.
Glen watched the fight with gawking eyes, teeth grinding to the point of breaking, trying to extricate the bolt from his leg. His fingers, slippery in his blood, sweat running down his stressed face, mixing with the soot and creating a black thick sludge.
Larn kept dancing around the charging behind his shield Marcus and just as Glen at last managed with a mighty yelp of pure agony, to get that nasty iron bolt out, the blood painting his torn leather pants a darker shade of tan, a large group of armed civilians attacked the carefully approaching Cofols and an all-out fight broke out in the burning street, before Rida’s East Gates.
Marcus bashed Larn back, but the Zilan assassin, who’d noticed what was happening, locked the top of his shield with the heel of his war-hatchet and pulled it down, despite the hale man’s enormous effort to resist him. Marcus seeing the danger, decided to let go of the shield and step away, but Larn moved twice as fast, twisted around the discarded shield, dropping his war-hatchet along the way and stabbed Marcus three times on his unprotected left side, with a shortsword he’d managed to get out. The assassin had used tremendous force, punching the thin blade through solid segmented armour, at three different spots. Kidneys, lungs and heart.
No, god darn it!
Glen stumbled forward, just as Marcus dropped to his knees, letting go of his sword. Larn heard him coming and turned calmly, sidestepping away from the fatally injured ex-Decanus, having the presence of mind to sheathe his shortsword, while switching hands to his scimitar.
The young Lord swung at him, but the Zilan dodged easily and went for a quick cut, as Glen was a bit slow to switch stances. He failed as Marcus, now bleeding from the mouth, grabbed the assassin’s right arm below the elbow and stopped him dead.
A livid Glen attacked him, just as Larn twisted around –again inhumanly fast- and getting a long sinister nail out of his waistband, thrusted it into brave Marcus’ left eye, killing him instantly. The young Lord’s blade came down with desperate force, but cut through air. Larn had moved away again, a good two meters away, where Marcus’ shield had fallen and stooping got his war-hatchet back.
Glen glared at him, breathing heavy, bleeding from a couple of wounds at least, barely standing upright and feeling empty and despondent, having just witnessed his friend getting butchered by this monster.
Larn glanced towards Jinx’s stupid box and frowned.
“You have good fundamentals,” he told Glen casually, as if they were friends discussing their experiences at a tourney. “But poor judgement. That’s twice, you could have gotten away.”
“Did she sent you?” Glen asked and stumbled a couple of steps forward to approach him. He couldn’t run away with a bad leg, nor win this. But he wanted to cut him once.
Sometimes once is enough.
“I was conflicted,” Larn admitted, trying to pry the box open with his boot. “You see, she now wants you alive,” he sighed at the perceived foolishness and watching him moving closer, raised his scimitar in warning. “But unfortunately for you, I can’t allow it.”
He stooped nimbly and smashed the lock once hard with his war-hatchet, breaking it.
Glen hefted the sword in his hand, having decided to hurl it at the assassin, the moment he went to open the box. The cunning creature, stood up again and pushed it open, with the tip of his soft leather boot.
They both looked inside Jinx’s box at the same time.
Run.
Nah, it’s too late.
Good grief, Glen thought stupefied, disregarding its crazy mumblings. Is that a fucking egg?
Yay big, Jinx had said and that lunatic of a Gish was actually telling the truth.
Give it a good whack.
Could be a painted rock.
Eh, fuck it.
A great number of things happened in the next couple of minutes, in addition to the weird voice, now offering him its insane input.
Larn swung around alarmed, looking as if he’d seen his death and almost got it, as he got nailed twice, once in the chest and the other right through his left arm. The two bolts shot, from somewhere behind Glen. The multiple shooters not too far apart from each other.
The Cofols lost the battle with the much larger number of civilians and got slaughtered mercilessly inside the burning street, about thirty meters to Glen’s right. The many survivors run towards the gates intending to escape towards the Eastwatch Forest. Seemingly a crowd of about four hundred, but probably much bigger.
And right behind him, amidst the smoke and the shadows of the battlements, a short old woman appeared, as if out of thin air. She walked slowly towards them… that is only Glen, as the elusive Larn had managed to disappear the moment the young former thief turned his head away.
Would he make it out though? Surely, he is as good as dead.
Glen glanced again towards the short woman and found her now looking at the open box deep in thought. I got to get away, he decided with a heavy heart and headed towards Outlaw. The horse neighed recognizing him and Glen hobbling with difficulty, brought him and another horse wearing a Cofol saddle, back to where Marcus had fallen. Women, children and a good number of armed men, mostly citizens of Rida, watched him with weary eyes, slowly loading the heavy man on the horse and securing him, after many failed attempts.
Glen got blood on him and he was almost delirious with pain and at the end of his tether, but kept at it stubbornly, a determined look on his face. After finishing, he approached the short woman gazing at that huge egg in stunned silence and stood next to her, a little awkwardly.
It took him a moment, to realize he was staring into a Gish’s face. An old Gish, ancient almost, it’s wrinkled face resembling a sick fish, under all that makeup.
“Is it yours?” She asked him and Glen grimaced at the unexpected heavy male voice.
What in Luthos name is this bizarre shit?
“It is,” Glen replied, giving him a sideways hesitant look.
“Hmm. Ye better get it on your mount then, chop-chop,” the old Gish said and reaching got an expensive pipe out and lit it carefully, while watching the hapless refugees leaving the burning city, more than a little amused.
Right.
“Fine, how about it though?” Glen probed him, his legs quivering and on the verge collapsing and pointed at the large egg. The old Gish blinked, its washed-out and trimmed, but still pinkish eyebrows, meeting at the middle of his nose-less face. “Are you going to help?”
“A young fit lad like you? Haha!” The old Gish retorted with an annoying chuckle, blowing a rich aromatic smoke out of his nostrils. “You should be ashamed of yerself!”
Glen would have smacked the old crone in the face, had he got any strength left.
It is said, Rida burned for two straight days and as many nights. While the Khan’s army managed to win in the end, the battle of the Duke’s palace, what they got after the smoke had settled, didn’t resemble the famed city at all. The smoking ruins and the death toll still unknown to this day.
The tales from the siege of Rida though still survive. Tales of carnage and destruction. Of extreme bravery and cowardice. Of sacrifice and horror. From the old Duke’s stubborn resistance to the bitter end and the ghastly conclusion of his story. To a famed sorceress words coming true. No Winfield ever saw another summer. But it was the story of an obscure battle, fought at the abandoned East Gates, where an unknown young man then, led a daring escape out of the burning inferno, saving hundreds of civilians from a gruesome death, or the bonds of slavery that is still recited with fervor by his supporters today.
This they declare, is the most important story of all. For it was in Rida, where the journey of the Onyx Wyvern started.
As all things in history, even this celebrated tale, is heavily disputed.
Lord Sirio Veturius
Circa 206 NC
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter XI
-epilogue-
(Tales from Rida,
The Onyx Wyvern’s escape,
First month of summer,
189 NC)
