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
Sir Gust De Weer
Crows of the Desert
Part II
-An early start-
Having gotten a foothold with his surprise landing at Devil’s Cove, Sir Gust De Weer moved quickly to create a camp for his considerable force of experienced troops and set his sights on the approaching army of Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin. This force had gathered troops from the two river military outposts of the far south, Tyeusfort and Tirifort, as well from Dia Castle and Eikenport. While its strength isn’t known, it was according to contemporary sources estimated to be between two and four thousand, plus over a thousand civilians, support personnel and slaves. There are accounts from the time that set the number higher than that. Kuntur had moved fast at first, but slowed down when he entered the desert, as keeping the men and animals adequately fed and watered was an ordeal onto itself.
Being cautious he sent birds to the large garrison of Xi Yil Castle and the local commander agreed to dispatch about a hundred men according to some sources, or twice that according to others, to secure the famed Noble’s axis of advance. Half of his garrison remained back and fast riders were sent towards Rida, along with messages, to notify Prince Sahand of the approaching reinforcements.
The news had a cascading effect on the events that followed.
Prince Nout followed the retreating First Foot towards Sadofort and his older brother allowed his men to rest and recuperate from the siege and the harsh campaign. With Rida utterly destroyed and in need of rebuilding, the Cofols would spent the summer months getting some of the local facilities up and running, while creating a permanent camp inside the destroyed city. Prince Sahand had his eyes set on the defenseless Altarin next, already declaring a recently released from the dungeons Victor Reeves, as the new Lord of the city and the freshly minted Duke of Raoz. Lord Victor’s army, made out mostly of Cofols and turncoats, would take the city later in the summer.
The Khan’s army had assumed thus almost complete control of the coast facing the Shallow Sea in the first year of the war.
Two large battles were fought during the waning months of summer 189 NC. Prince Atpa’s army of the Desert would attack Sadofort and the forces trapped there, in the first battle of Queen’s Oasis, a huge engagement overshadowed by a now legendary battle that was fought in the middle of nowhere and changed what was shaping to be a quick triumph for the Khan, to a never-ending bloody grind.
People call this shockingly brutal battle, the ‘Miracle at Endless Dunes’.
The sands kept shifting, little swirls of fine golden dirt rising here and there, larger yellowish waves creating a new dune in less than five minutes. More heat radiated from the soft ground, than the sun burning over their heads, the morning light hurting Gust’s eyes.
There was nothing about them it seemed, but endless dunes. The moment one escaped the narrow gorge, the vastness of the Great Desert attacked his senses with a vengeance. His horse neighed, the slight wind dousing them with scalding sand. It turned to a fine grit near the gorge leading to the Devil’s Cove, the occasional broken piece of limestone rock sprinkled here and there, breaking the monotony.
“A thousand caltrops,” Mael reported, standing atop his own mount. A dark-grey warhorse he called Fiend. Gust rarely bothered naming his horses, as they never lasted long under him. The one he was on now, a beautiful white stallion, Gust called White. Whether Mael had thought it funny, when he’d mentioned it back in Scaldingport, the stoic Priest of Tyeus didn’t divulge. “The blacksmiths stripped the ships of iron.”
Kuntur probably had twice that many horses.
Or worse.
Gust thought it pointless to play down, or minimize the strength of an opponent. It offered him no benefit. If he was wrong and this Kuntur character had less men with him, or horses, then Gust had nothing to worry about and would welcome the treat from the God of war, with a cup of wine and a toast.
“How many days, until the number is reached?” He asked, turning his head away from a nasty gush of scorching wind.
“A week,” Mael replied, with a grimace, understanding his worry.
They might not have that long.
“How many by morrow?”
“A couple of hundred,” Mael used a cloth to wipe the sweat from his collar, the plate armour they both wore under their grey robes, slowly boiling their flesh. “If the men work day and night.”
“Make sure they do. Show no mercy. If we lose, we’ll receive none,” Gust grunted and turned White to return to the gorge and the relative more hospitable, despite the moniker, Devil’s Cove. The coast blocked by the bulky limestone wall, the slopes full of gaping cracks and huge crumbling boulders interspersed with smaller but sharp rocks, making climbing over the crest an insane idea.
Not at that elevation, or terrain, especially in the dark.
A fall would be fatal.
Not when there was a four horse wide gorge, leading straight to the beach and fresh water.
“After the turn,” Gust pointed, inspecting the route another time. Feeling less claustrophobic now than he did two days ago. “Spread the caltrops here, so they don’t spot the trap for… how long is this blasted thing?”
“Half a kilometer, mayhap a bit less, I reckon,” Mael commented. “From here on, it’s getting wider. Maybe six horses, or more.”
Gust smacked his lips, watching the horse’s head as they slowly followed the path back to their camp. The word a euphemism. There was no time for constructing anything, but a crude dock. All their energy poured into digging the sandy beach to build a two meter deep and two wide moat, around the gorge’s mouth.
“We could bring it closer to the exit,” Mael suggested.
“A hundred meters,” Gust rustled. “I want them to have enough room to charge.”
“They’ll bring archers out of the gorge,” Mael insisted. “To support their cavalry.”
“We’ll have slingers jump their flanks at almost point blank range,” Gust countered. “They better fire them arrows fast.”
There were big water-barrels brought ashore, tall and bulky things arranged in rows and slowly filled with fresh water. A hundred meters, or so, from the mouth of the gorge, a straight moat had been dug out of the soft ground, it’s edges bending towards the limestone wall, blocking the way towards the oasis on one side and the rest of the beach, on the other. A palisade was being constructed beyond the narrow moat, a meter in height and crude, using logs, branches and whole palm trees the engineers had brought down. Half the trees from the oasis had been cut and Gust wanted everything stripped away and utilized to create a ‘killing zone’.
“We’ll never finish in time,” Mael pointed, jumping from his saddle, sweat covering his face. Gust, drenched in sweat himself, the armour burning through his gambeson, followed suit and immediately tried to discard his gauntlets.
“We won’t,” he said and started removing his armour next, under the knight’s scrutiny.
“Eventually, they’ll break through,” Mael continued. “Corner us on the beach, the sea on our backs.”
“I just want them to get in the gorge,” Gust replied and frowned seeing Manu approaching them. His hand dropped on the handle of his dagger. “Duke it out with the slingers and the archers, a fifth of our men-at-arms and Captain Ardes sailors.”
Manu stopped near them, but didn’t say anything. He had his face made up again, the red rouse on his cheeks disturbing.
Gust grimaced, but looked towards Mael, when the latter responded.
“Where will you hide the rest?”
“Amidst the dunes, across the exit,” Gust replied. “It will be better, not to have the sun over our heads.”
“What are you saying?” Mael asked, as Gust removed gambeson and soaked shirt, before proceeding to pour water over his chest and head, from his horse’s water-flask.
Manu looked at him, expecting his answer, a fact Gust didn’t like, but he answered to the Priest of Tyeus just the same.
“Ardes will have to hold them for a day,” he said, rubbing his face to spread the remaining moisture better. “Allow us to attack them in the night.”
Nobody could ever hope to survive a battle in this heat, under the blasted sun.
The Great Desert would surely kill them all.
Klaas, one of his squires, dropped his discarded armour in a pile, under the shade of an old palm tree, one of only dozen remaining now. The oasis and overgrowth had been flattened, large and smaller trees cut down, stubs uprooted, to be used on the palisade. The murky pond, under the springs slowly drying up at its edges, under the merciless summer sun.
Gust took a deep breath, trying to get everything in his mind, in the proper order. While presenting an unflinching face to his men, he knew everything was hanging on by a thread. With Rida sacked, or gone… whatever that meant, Khan ruled the east coast of Eplas unopposed. If Gust wanted to open it up again and have a chance of getting to the Princess, Elsanne must not be part of my plans going forward, he thought. There were no future plans, no future period, if Gust were to lose the next battle.
“What do you want?” He rustled and glared at the former Cofol slave, the man’s light coffee eyes staring at the muddy ground.
“I wish to serve, my Lord,” Manu replied, with a deep bow.
“I have squires aplenty,” Gust growled, powerful neck muscles contracting, a ripple running through his chiseled ebony body.
“Do they know of Eplas, my Lord?” Manu queried, still looking down.
“I freed you mister Manu,” Gust said narrowing his eyes. “Go to the ships, start a new life.”
“I owe this life to you sire.”
Darn it man. I don’t have time for this!
“You’ve told me everything about Kuntur, didn’t you?” He asked him, watching Bugs diving into the pond and coming out with a thrashing small snake. The raven flew away immediately, turning to a speck in the sky, taking the water-viper with him.
“I have sire,” Manu replied.
“Where’s the next water source?”
“Shavemont Plateau, a couple of weeks to the North.”
“Kuntur has to stop here, right?” Gust asked.
“Aye sire. It is said,” Manu glanced towards the large water-barrels with a cunning smile. “The bigger the host, the more cherished the water.”
The night brought a strange stillness from the desert, unseen beyond the mounts of limestone, but present. If not for the guards posted every hundred meters making their rounds, their camp was quiet, the men sleeping dead tired from the laborious days. Gust turned on his cot, eyes kept on the dark sky, long knife in hand. Manu was sleeping a couple of feet away, his back on the tree, with young Klaas next to him and Mael knelt praying to Tyeus, the stoic knight convinced they would fight on the morrow.
“That’s half the night,” Gust commented and Sir Mael Bolte nodded without turning his head. He hadn’t removed his armour, despite the heatwave they have endured the previous days. Most other knights couldn’t stomach wearing the scalding pieces of metal on them again. “They rested enough. Get them going.”
“What about the horses?”
“We’re not merchants Mael, take only what’s necessary.”
Lode De Jagger, the ranger, had spotted a large dust cloud, as long as a giant snake coming down the Merchant Path from the direction of Eikenport, very late the previous afternoon.
Kuntur was coming for his water.
The wind started just before dawn. The sands shifted, massive amounts of fine dirt turning into dust clouds, the dunes coming alive all around them. A sea of sand, the slow moving waves as big as small hills, treacherous and difficult to traverse.
The first Cofol scouts appeared soon after, like wraiths coming out of the hazy billows, following a dozen of Lode’s rangers that rushed inside the gorge to escape. The Cofols paused to regroup, more riders coming behind them, in the hundreds.
Charge inside ye fiends, Gust urged, laid on his stomach on the scalding sand, next to his kneeled horse, men around him silent and half buried. He felt the great helm slowing fusing on his head, his scalp burning and sweat turning to vapor soon as it left his body.
The first Cofols went inside the gorge, more and more arriving, the great host numbering in the thousands. Cataphracts appeared, shiny armour and faces hidden behind silver masks, mounted archers and rows upon rows of infantry, carrying spears.
That’s more than four thousand slant-eyed bastards there, Gust thought with a grimace. The support train alone numbering in the thousands and still arriving, their long lines seemingly unending.
“They are going in,” Mael hissed, as most of the mounted archers poured inside the gorge heading for Devil’s Cove and their camp, less than a kilometer away. Gust had hidden his force directly across and behind the dunes, although buried is perhaps the correct word here. “The scouts probably fell on the caltrops and sent word.”
Gust grabbed the spyglass from him and looked through it at the activity amidst the agitated Cofols. With more of them arriving outside the narrow entrance to the gorge, horses and men created a buzz that muffled the sounds of battle inside the Cove.
Or we’re too far out to hear it, Gust thought nervously and tried to make out their numbers, but failed. The winds, the shifting sands and the dust clouds had lowered visibility so much, that soon they wouldn’t be able to see more than twenty feet away.
“Where’s Lode?” Gust asked and tried to get up, the distance from the Cofol host gathered near the entrance to the gorge, while less than five hundred meters, enough to keep them hidden up until now, as no one was scouting their way.
No one would, for four straight hours.
It was a good plan, poorly thought out.
Mainly because it could have worked brilliantly on Jelin, with its lush forests and rocky terrain, but not here. In the desert nothing stays hidden for long.
Unless the desert wants to.
Lode appeared riding hard from Northeast and following the Merchant Path, hand waving wild above his head. Gust glanced towards the Cofols, still in the process of sending waves after waves of riders inside the gorge, their infantry still arriving and the supply train extending almost a kilometer behind them. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He put the spyglass near the slit of his helm and looked behind the fast riding ranger. A speck of dust cloud at the distance, following the Merchant Path and heading towards them.
More Cofols coming from the direction of Xi Yil Castle.
Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin reached Devil’s Cove after a grueling two month journey through the desert. The large host of men and animals found the water springs contested by Sir Gust De Weer’s troops that had managed to build a crude palisade, complete with a shallow moat, effectively blocking their way to water and the beach itself.
Without much alternatives at hand and probably realizing his opponent’s numbers were meagre in comparison, Kuntur send his mounted archers into the gorge to clear out Sir Gust’s blocking force. They were met by a series of nasty surprises, one after the other. The narrow corridor was full of traps, sharp broken boulders, boards with long nails sprouting out of the cramped walls and caltrops that cut, pierced and outright maimed their horses. The archers pushed forward, leaving their injured mounts behind and entered the beach at Devil’s Cove, only to be cut down in turn, by volley after volley of iron bullets from Sir Gust’s slingers.
The nasty projectiles, not as effective against curved plate armour, were lethal against lightly armoured, or unarmored opponents. Heads exploded like melons and arms were broken, pierced lungs collapsed, the wounds grotesque and slow killing. The latter was the worst part. More archers poured inside, over their colleagues bodies, but fared little better. Archers and slingers were waiting for them on the other side and the terrain didn’t favor them at all. Eventually they stayed back and away from the flat opening before the palisade, now littered with bodies, most of them still breathing.
Such was the carnage, Kuntur decided to send his infantry in, despite the leader of his Cataphracts wanting to charge through the gorge, now that it had been ‘cleared’ and attempt to test the palisade. While Kuntur was still contemplating the absurd idea, the garrison detachment, around two hundred men strong arrived from Xi Yil.
Sir Gust saw them first, probably opting to fight outside of Devil’s Cove –this fact is heavily disputed- and immediately dispatched courageous Sir Jan Reutun with a meagre force to stop them from joining Kuntur’s larger host, whatever the cost. The battle was fought at Merchant’s Path early that afternoon, under ghastly conditions, poor visibility and a boiling temperature, just a couple of kilometers away from Kuntur’s still disorganized camp at the mouth of the gorge.
Upon getting notified of the events transpiring at his left flank, Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin pulled his eager Cataphracts from the line and send them to help their compatriots. Not five hundred meters from their camp the heavy cavalry was countered by three hundred men-at-arms and Gust’s ‘Old Spears’ that had come out of the desert to block their path, the compact force arranged in four tight rows. Kuntur, fearing casualties for his expensive riders, ordered them back, then split his infantry in two parts, sending half inside the gorge and the rest along with all his foot archers against Captain Gel De Moss force.
Why would Sir Gust De Weer choose to start the fight under the scalding noon sun remains a mystery to this day, but the fact he continued fighting through the night, a testament to his infamous will.
White neighed, shaking its snow-white mane, dried yellow froth on his mouth, tongue swollen and half blind. Gust grunted in response, with a glance over his head where Bugs was circling the battlefield and unsheathed his sword. Captain Moss was fighting a force thrice his, but he’d managed to close the distance after that first devastating volley from the archers, who now had pulled to the sides, lightly trotting westwards into the desert and closed on Sir Gust’s position unbeknownst to them.
That was about to change though.
Dawdling ain’t gonna solve yer problems, his father loved to preach, the old bastard probably having his cock buried in one of his mistresses while doing it. Unless they are dead.
Might as well get on wit it, Gust thought livid at the unraveling of his plan.
Only way to salvage this was to slay their foes before they regrouped and realized the massive discrepancy in numbers.
Kill them faster and in greater numbers.
Keep doin’ it till the counter hits zero.
“GIVE NO QUARTER!” Gust barked and kicked his legs to get his horse going, clunking steel-spur sounds erupting all around him as a row of white-grey cloaks followed right after the Knight of Tyeus. They came out from behind the sand dunes at a steady trot, the dust cloud hovering around them like a hazy veil, their pace increasing gradually as they neared into a full charge for the last hundred meters.
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
Sir Gust De Weer
Crows of the Desert
Part II
-An early start-
Having gotten a foothold with his surprise landing at Devil’s Cove, Sir Gust De Weer moved quickly to create a camp for his considerable force of experienced troops and set his sights on the approaching army of Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin. This force had gathered troops from the two river military outposts of the far south, Tyeusfort and Tirifort, as well from Dia Castle and Eikenport. While its strength isn’t known, it was according to contemporary sources estimated to be between two and four thousand, plus over a thousand civilians, support personnel and slaves. There are accounts from the time that set the number higher than that. Kuntur had moved fast at first, but slowed down when he entered the desert, as keeping the men and animals adequately fed and watered was an ordeal onto itself.
Being cautious he sent birds to the large garrison of Xi Yil Castle and the local commander agreed to dispatch about a hundred men according to some sources, or twice that according to others, to secure the famed Noble’s axis of advance. Half of his garrison remained back and fast riders were sent towards Rida, along with messages, to notify Prince Sahand of the approaching reinforcements.
The news had a cascading effect on the events that followed.
Prince Nout followed the retreating First Foot towards Sadofort and his older brother allowed his men to rest and recuperate from the siege and the harsh campaign. With Rida utterly destroyed and in need of rebuilding, the Cofols would spent the summer months getting some of the local facilities up and running, while creating a permanent camp inside the destroyed city. Prince Sahand had his eyes set on the defenseless Altarin next, already declaring a recently released from the dungeons Victor Reeves, as the new Lord of the city and the freshly minted Duke of Raoz. Lord Victor’s army, made out mostly of Cofols and turncoats, would take the city later in the summer.
The Khan’s army had assumed thus almost complete control of the coast facing the Shallow Sea in the first year of the war.
Two large battles were fought during the waning months of summer 189 NC. Prince Atpa’s army of the Desert would attack Sadofort and the forces trapped there, in the first battle of Queen’s Oasis, a huge engagement overshadowed by a now legendary battle that was fought in the middle of nowhere and changed what was shaping to be a quick triumph for the Khan, to a never-ending bloody grind.
People call this shockingly brutal battle, the ‘Miracle at Endless Dunes’.
The sands kept shifting, little swirls of fine golden dirt rising here and there, larger yellowish waves creating a new dune in less than five minutes. More heat radiated from the soft ground, than the sun burning over their heads, the morning light hurting Gust’s eyes.
There was nothing about them it seemed, but endless dunes. The moment one escaped the narrow gorge, the vastness of the Great Desert attacked his senses with a vengeance. His horse neighed, the slight wind dousing them with scalding sand. It turned to a fine grit near the gorge leading to the Devil’s Cove, the occasional broken piece of limestone rock sprinkled here and there, breaking the monotony.
“A thousand caltrops,” Mael reported, standing atop his own mount. A dark-grey warhorse he called Fiend. Gust rarely bothered naming his horses, as they never lasted long under him. The one he was on now, a beautiful white stallion, Gust called White. Whether Mael had thought it funny, when he’d mentioned it back in Scaldingport, the stoic Priest of Tyeus didn’t divulge. “The blacksmiths stripped the ships of iron.”
Kuntur probably had twice that many horses.
Or worse.
Gust thought it pointless to play down, or minimize the strength of an opponent. It offered him no benefit. If he was wrong and this Kuntur character had less men with him, or horses, then Gust had nothing to worry about and would welcome the treat from the God of war, with a cup of wine and a toast.
“How many days, until the number is reached?” He asked, turning his head away from a nasty gush of scorching wind.
“A week,” Mael replied, with a grimace, understanding his worry.
They might not have that long.
“How many by morrow?”
“A couple of hundred,” Mael used a cloth to wipe the sweat from his collar, the plate armour they both wore under their grey robes, slowly boiling their flesh. “If the men work day and night.”
“Make sure they do. Show no mercy. If we lose, we’ll receive none,” Gust grunted and turned White to return to the gorge and the relative more hospitable, despite the moniker, Devil’s Cove. The coast blocked by the bulky limestone wall, the slopes full of gaping cracks and huge crumbling boulders interspersed with smaller but sharp rocks, making climbing over the crest an insane idea.
Not at that elevation, or terrain, especially in the dark.
A fall would be fatal.
Not when there was a four horse wide gorge, leading straight to the beach and fresh water.
“After the turn,” Gust pointed, inspecting the route another time. Feeling less claustrophobic now than he did two days ago. “Spread the caltrops here, so they don’t spot the trap for… how long is this blasted thing?”
“Half a kilometer, mayhap a bit less, I reckon,” Mael commented. “From here on, it’s getting wider. Maybe six horses, or more.”
Gust smacked his lips, watching the horse’s head as they slowly followed the path back to their camp. The word a euphemism. There was no time for constructing anything, but a crude dock. All their energy poured into digging the sandy beach to build a two meter deep and two wide moat, around the gorge’s mouth.
“We could bring it closer to the exit,” Mael suggested.
“A hundred meters,” Gust rustled. “I want them to have enough room to charge.”
“They’ll bring archers out of the gorge,” Mael insisted. “To support their cavalry.”
“We’ll have slingers jump their flanks at almost point blank range,” Gust countered. “They better fire them arrows fast.”
There were big water-barrels brought ashore, tall and bulky things arranged in rows and slowly filled with fresh water. A hundred meters, or so, from the mouth of the gorge, a straight moat had been dug out of the soft ground, it’s edges bending towards the limestone wall, blocking the way towards the oasis on one side and the rest of the beach, on the other. A palisade was being constructed beyond the narrow moat, a meter in height and crude, using logs, branches and whole palm trees the engineers had brought down. Half the trees from the oasis had been cut and Gust wanted everything stripped away and utilized to create a ‘killing zone’.
“We’ll never finish in time,” Mael pointed, jumping from his saddle, sweat covering his face. Gust, drenched in sweat himself, the armour burning through his gambeson, followed suit and immediately tried to discard his gauntlets.
“We won’t,” he said and started removing his armour next, under the knight’s scrutiny.
“Eventually, they’ll break through,” Mael continued. “Corner us on the beach, the sea on our backs.”
“I just want them to get in the gorge,” Gust replied and frowned seeing Manu approaching them. His hand dropped on the handle of his dagger. “Duke it out with the slingers and the archers, a fifth of our men-at-arms and Captain Ardes sailors.”
Manu stopped near them, but didn’t say anything. He had his face made up again, the red rouse on his cheeks disturbing.
Gust grimaced, but looked towards Mael, when the latter responded.
“Where will you hide the rest?”
“Amidst the dunes, across the exit,” Gust replied. “It will be better, not to have the sun over our heads.”
“What are you saying?” Mael asked, as Gust removed gambeson and soaked shirt, before proceeding to pour water over his chest and head, from his horse’s water-flask.
Manu looked at him, expecting his answer, a fact Gust didn’t like, but he answered to the Priest of Tyeus just the same.
“Ardes will have to hold them for a day,” he said, rubbing his face to spread the remaining moisture better. “Allow us to attack them in the night.”
Nobody could ever hope to survive a battle in this heat, under the blasted sun.
The Great Desert would surely kill them all.
Klaas, one of his squires, dropped his discarded armour in a pile, under the shade of an old palm tree, one of only dozen remaining now. The oasis and overgrowth had been flattened, large and smaller trees cut down, stubs uprooted, to be used on the palisade. The murky pond, under the springs slowly drying up at its edges, under the merciless summer sun.
Gust took a deep breath, trying to get everything in his mind, in the proper order. While presenting an unflinching face to his men, he knew everything was hanging on by a thread. With Rida sacked, or gone… whatever that meant, Khan ruled the east coast of Eplas unopposed. If Gust wanted to open it up again and have a chance of getting to the Princess, Elsanne must not be part of my plans going forward, he thought. There were no future plans, no future period, if Gust were to lose the next battle.
“What do you want?” He rustled and glared at the former Cofol slave, the man’s light coffee eyes staring at the muddy ground.
“I wish to serve, my Lord,” Manu replied, with a deep bow.
“I have squires aplenty,” Gust growled, powerful neck muscles contracting, a ripple running through his chiseled ebony body.
“Do they know of Eplas, my Lord?” Manu queried, still looking down.
“I freed you mister Manu,” Gust said narrowing his eyes. “Go to the ships, start a new life.”
“I owe this life to you sire.”
Darn it man. I don’t have time for this!
“You’ve told me everything about Kuntur, didn’t you?” He asked him, watching Bugs diving into the pond and coming out with a thrashing small snake. The raven flew away immediately, turning to a speck in the sky, taking the water-viper with him.
“I have sire,” Manu replied.
“Where’s the next water source?”
“Shavemont Plateau, a couple of weeks to the North.”
“Kuntur has to stop here, right?” Gust asked.
“Aye sire. It is said,” Manu glanced towards the large water-barrels with a cunning smile. “The bigger the host, the more cherished the water.”
The night brought a strange stillness from the desert, unseen beyond the mounts of limestone, but present. If not for the guards posted every hundred meters making their rounds, their camp was quiet, the men sleeping dead tired from the laborious days. Gust turned on his cot, eyes kept on the dark sky, long knife in hand. Manu was sleeping a couple of feet away, his back on the tree, with young Klaas next to him and Mael knelt praying to Tyeus, the stoic knight convinced they would fight on the morrow.
“That’s half the night,” Gust commented and Sir Mael Bolte nodded without turning his head. He hadn’t removed his armour, despite the heatwave they have endured the previous days. Most other knights couldn’t stomach wearing the scalding pieces of metal on them again. “They rested enough. Get them going.”
“What about the horses?”
“We’re not merchants Mael, take only what’s necessary.”
Lode De Jagger, the ranger, had spotted a large dust cloud, as long as a giant snake coming down the Merchant Path from the direction of Eikenport, very late the previous afternoon.
Kuntur was coming for his water.
The wind started just before dawn. The sands shifted, massive amounts of fine dirt turning into dust clouds, the dunes coming alive all around them. A sea of sand, the slow moving waves as big as small hills, treacherous and difficult to traverse.
The first Cofol scouts appeared soon after, like wraiths coming out of the hazy billows, following a dozen of Lode’s rangers that rushed inside the gorge to escape. The Cofols paused to regroup, more riders coming behind them, in the hundreds.
Charge inside ye fiends, Gust urged, laid on his stomach on the scalding sand, next to his kneeled horse, men around him silent and half buried. He felt the great helm slowing fusing on his head, his scalp burning and sweat turning to vapor soon as it left his body.
The first Cofols went inside the gorge, more and more arriving, the great host numbering in the thousands. Cataphracts appeared, shiny armour and faces hidden behind silver masks, mounted archers and rows upon rows of infantry, carrying spears.
That’s more than four thousand slant-eyed bastards there, Gust thought with a grimace. The support train alone numbering in the thousands and still arriving, their long lines seemingly unending.
“They are going in,” Mael hissed, as most of the mounted archers poured inside the gorge heading for Devil’s Cove and their camp, less than a kilometer away. Gust had hidden his force directly across and behind the dunes, although buried is perhaps the correct word here. “The scouts probably fell on the caltrops and sent word.”
Gust grabbed the spyglass from him and looked through it at the activity amidst the agitated Cofols. With more of them arriving outside the narrow entrance to the gorge, horses and men created a buzz that muffled the sounds of battle inside the Cove.
Or we’re too far out to hear it, Gust thought nervously and tried to make out their numbers, but failed. The winds, the shifting sands and the dust clouds had lowered visibility so much, that soon they wouldn’t be able to see more than twenty feet away.
“Where’s Lode?” Gust asked and tried to get up, the distance from the Cofol host gathered near the entrance to the gorge, while less than five hundred meters, enough to keep them hidden up until now, as no one was scouting their way.
No one would, for four straight hours.
It was a good plan, poorly thought out.
Mainly because it could have worked brilliantly on Jelin, with its lush forests and rocky terrain, but not here. In the desert nothing stays hidden for long.
Unless the desert wants to.
Lode appeared riding hard from Northeast and following the Merchant Path, hand waving wild above his head. Gust glanced towards the Cofols, still in the process of sending waves after waves of riders inside the gorge, their infantry still arriving and the supply train extending almost a kilometer behind them. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He put the spyglass near the slit of his helm and looked behind the fast riding ranger. A speck of dust cloud at the distance, following the Merchant Path and heading towards them.
More Cofols coming from the direction of Xi Yil Castle.
Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin reached Devil’s Cove after a grueling two month journey through the desert. The large host of men and animals found the water springs contested by Sir Gust De Weer’s troops that had managed to build a crude palisade, complete with a shallow moat, effectively blocking their way to water and the beach itself.
Without much alternatives at hand and probably realizing his opponent’s numbers were meagre in comparison, Kuntur send his mounted archers into the gorge to clear out Sir Gust’s blocking force. They were met by a series of nasty surprises, one after the other. The narrow corridor was full of traps, sharp broken boulders, boards with long nails sprouting out of the cramped walls and caltrops that cut, pierced and outright maimed their horses. The archers pushed forward, leaving their injured mounts behind and entered the beach at Devil’s Cove, only to be cut down in turn, by volley after volley of iron bullets from Sir Gust’s slingers.
The nasty projectiles, not as effective against curved plate armour, were lethal against lightly armoured, or unarmored opponents. Heads exploded like melons and arms were broken, pierced lungs collapsed, the wounds grotesque and slow killing. The latter was the worst part. More archers poured inside, over their colleagues bodies, but fared little better. Archers and slingers were waiting for them on the other side and the terrain didn’t favor them at all. Eventually they stayed back and away from the flat opening before the palisade, now littered with bodies, most of them still breathing.
Such was the carnage, Kuntur decided to send his infantry in, despite the leader of his Cataphracts wanting to charge through the gorge, now that it had been ‘cleared’ and attempt to test the palisade. While Kuntur was still contemplating the absurd idea, the garrison detachment, around two hundred men strong arrived from Xi Yil.
Sir Gust saw them first, probably opting to fight outside of Devil’s Cove –this fact is heavily disputed- and immediately dispatched courageous Sir Jan Reutun with a meagre force to stop them from joining Kuntur’s larger host, whatever the cost. The battle was fought at Merchant’s Path early that afternoon, under ghastly conditions, poor visibility and a boiling temperature, just a couple of kilometers away from Kuntur’s still disorganized camp at the mouth of the gorge.
Upon getting notified of the events transpiring at his left flank, Kuntur-Ki Tsuparin pulled his eager Cataphracts from the line and send them to help their compatriots. Not five hundred meters from their camp the heavy cavalry was countered by three hundred men-at-arms and Gust’s ‘Old Spears’ that had come out of the desert to block their path, the compact force arranged in four tight rows. Kuntur, fearing casualties for his expensive riders, ordered them back, then split his infantry in two parts, sending half inside the gorge and the rest along with all his foot archers against Captain Gel De Moss force.
Why would Sir Gust De Weer choose to start the fight under the scalding noon sun remains a mystery to this day, but the fact he continued fighting through the night, a testament to his infamous will.
White neighed, shaking its snow-white mane, dried yellow froth on his mouth, tongue swollen and half blind. Gust grunted in response, with a glance over his head where Bugs was circling the battlefield and unsheathed his sword. Captain Moss was fighting a force thrice his, but he’d managed to close the distance after that first devastating volley from the archers, who now had pulled to the sides, lightly trotting westwards into the desert and closed on Sir Gust’s position unbeknownst to them.
That was about to change though.
Dawdling ain’t gonna solve yer problems, his father loved to preach, the old bastard probably having his cock buried in one of his mistresses while doing it. Unless they are dead.
Might as well get on wit it, Gust thought livid at the unraveling of his plan.
Only way to salvage this was to slay their foes before they regrouped and realized the massive discrepancy in numbers.
Kill them faster and in greater numbers.
Keep doin’ it till the counter hits zero.
“GIVE NO QUARTER!” Gust barked and kicked his legs to get his horse going, clunking steel-spur sounds erupting all around him as a row of white-grey cloaks followed right after the Knight of Tyeus. They came out from behind the sand dunes at a steady trot, the dust cloud hovering around them like a hazy veil, their pace increasing gradually as they neared into a full charge for the last hundred meters.
