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 Lucius Alden
The hot Springs of Winter
Part I
(All praise the dead heroes)
What need have I of a short blade?
Or of a shield, if I face my foe,
Wit a long one
What need have I then, of last words to say,
if I’m remembered by my deeds,
the battles ‘n duels in the circle today,
I’ll be remembered till the Realm’s last day.
-
Northern tribes’ funeral elegy,
And strangely, a coming of age song.
-
There it was.
The dream again.
Playing in a loop.
Sometimes clear and concise…
“ARROWS!” Kaeso yelled a warning, seeing half the force -led by a strange Issir with a painted white face, in a manner Lucius recalled seeing before, orange and white hair braided and tied at the nappe in a bun- stop and reaching for the bows, they all carried on their backs. The rest continued their fast trot towards them.
“SHIELDS UP!” Galio boomed turning around, half of the retreating mercenaries still carrying one, turning with him.
Lucius heard the whistling, an angry sharp sound and ducked on instinct, a shaft breaking on his shoulder guard and splinters rattling his helm. Faye running beside him stumbled and went down, an arrow right through her thigh.
“Fuck!” She cried, frantically trying to dislodge it and failing.
“Leave it!” Lucius growled and pulled her up, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders for support. The bridge still twenty meters away, some people still running over it, the rest of the civilians left behind, when the mercenaries pulled back, jumping in the frozen waters and sinking straight for the bottom as the current was too great, an act of pure desperation to avoid a worse death, at the hands of Bas Crull’s rangers.
“I want that bridge!” The man himself yelled to be heard by his men. “The warrior that kills the red Knight, I’ll name my brother!”
With a wild roar, his rangers charged as one. Galio ordered Kaeso back towards Mamercus, the men with him to form a wall.
“Galio, head for the bridge now!” Lucius barked at the aged ex-legionnaire, his voice hoarse and tired, with a look over his shoulder. His leg could barely support both his weight and Faye’s. He could feel it buckling, despite moving as slow as a pregnant turtle. “That’s an order, Captain!”
Galio puffed out hard, glanced once at the onrushing Issirs and then at the hapless remaining mercenaries tasked to be their rearguard. The men giving him glances of pure despair, some pleading, others terrified, while few even nodded in understanding.
“They won’t hold,” Roderick grunted and stopped in his tracks. His tired, gaunt face, almost unrecognizable. The loyal hand had aged spectacularly during these past months. “On their own, they bloody won’t.”
“They will,” Lucius insisted, though he didn’t much believed it. “Galio, I won’t say it again!”
“Aye, milord!” Galio replied and started after them. Lucius turned to continue the final meters towards the bridge, but Roderick stayed behind, a resigned look on his face.
“Roderick, what are you doing?” Lucius asked, doom lacing his words, because he knew.
The old hand, sucked his wrinkled cheek in once, where a tooth was missing, he’d never gotten around fixing. Let it go audibly the next moment and looked at Lucius long and hard for another.
“Remember who you are, son. Always,” Roderick said, a touch of melancholy in his voice. “Live for ye first, then Regia. See that you make it back in one piece and if ye see yer father, tell him I died on my feet.”
No, darn it!
“Roderick… for fuck’s—” Lucius protested irate, voice breaking as emotion clogged his throat, but the old man stopped him nonetheless, before he could finish.
“I want none o’ that lip, boy. I taught ye better,” He admonished and pointed at Bas Crull’s rangers that had stopped and were nocking fresh arrows now, the moment they saw the less than thirty men had formed a shieldwall to bar their approach. “We’ll charge ‘em cowardly ruffians. Lick ‘em proper,” He snorted and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “May Luthos guide ye, through the pending struggles, Lucius. It was the greatest of gifts seeing ye grow, to become the man ye are.”
The last sight Lucius had of Roderick, was the old man punching a mixed-blood in the face with the bloody stump of his right arm, surrounded by Bas Crull’s rangers. Then the heir to Regia was on the bridge, half-dragging half-carrying Faye wit him. The stubborn woman urging him to let her stay and die with her people. Old were the bridge’s boards, soaked and frozen over. They creaked and shook as they walked on them, every new stride a different torture.
Behind them the rangers finally broke through, having killed the men standing on the shieldwall to the last and started after them. Lucius, followed by Galio and the remnants of his mercenaries, mainly the wounded, kept barking orders teeth bare and clenched in a grotesque manic smile of despair.
Mamercus appeared with the horses the moment they managed to cross the old bridge, behind him rows upon rows of civilians running for their lives, towards the trees opposite the Montfoot’s northern bank.
“Get the wounded moving!” Lucius ordered him and helped Faye on his horse.
“You’re getting on that horse as well, milord,” Galio told him sternly. It was shocking to hear the old soldier giving orders to him. It was obvious Galio had decided to stand his ground this time and it was also telling of how dire their circumstances were.
Lucius looked back beyond the icy river at the Rangers forming up to assault them. Then at the faces of the mercenaries, their eyes haunted and desperate.
“You’ll need time to make it to safety,” He croaked, not recognizing his own voice. “I’ll hold them here—”
“Wit all due respect sire,” Galio cut him, sounding and looking embarrassed, he had to do it. “It’ll serve these men more, if ye stayed alive. I vowed to get ye back whatever the cost. While I matter not, don’t let Roderick’s sacrifice be for naught.”
Lucius all but growled in frustration, but most of the men surrounding him agreed with the veteran. With the Rangers coming over the bridge, he had to act fast.
“Pull the men to the trees! Form up those that can hold a shield!” He ordered Galio and jumped on Stormbolt, with a grimace of pure undulated pain, and squeezed himself in front of Faye. “Hurry the wounded and the horses before them!”
“Leave me. I’ll challenge Bas, even if it’s the last thing I do,” A pale-faced Faye hissed in his ear.
Lucius turned on the saddle and stared at her boyish profile.
“You’re not dying here, woman,” He told her again, although at that very moment, Lucius wasn’t certain of anything. “We’ll hold at the trees, give time to your people, to slip into the woods.”
Behind them, the first of Bas’ rangers crossed the bridge, their blood boiling after smashing anything the Northmen had thrown at them. Arrows started falling around the meagre force Galio had managed to scrape, from the pool of the less wounded, around fifteen dead-eyed mercenaries being the bulk of them.
Lucius had run out of men and maneuvers and the horrible howling coming from the woods they approached, while harried by the more advanced light units of the Crulls, chilled his blood. It rung over the white-barked trees, rustled through the snow covered branches and made the frozen ground under their feet tremble. It grew, with each passing second, many voices joining and the terrifying ruckus coming ever closer. If this was a pack of beasts, Lucius thought shivering, then they number in the hundreds.
He pulled at Stormbolt’s reins, the loyal horse lame from riding hard all day and twisted on the saddle to see Faye laughing like a mad-woman, tears in her striking blue eyes.
In front of them the howling stopped as suddenly, as it had started.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Lucius queried, trying to find a way around this new development. He’d sent those civilians into those woods, he thought incensed, doomed them all. Then a Northman burst out of the tree line, nasty curved axe in his hands, chainmail hidden underneath a crudely made fur coat, helm made of grey steel and shaped like a direwolf’s head. The imposing warrior was as tall as Twotrees and he stopped there, gave a look about him to assess the situation and then opening his muscled arms, let out a thunderous howl.
What in Tyeus name…
“That’s Mad Wolf, Alden,” A cackling Faye informed him, and jumped off the saddle. Almost a hundred warriors followed the younger O’ Dargan out of the woods, with more heard approaching right behind, still hidden in the forest.
“Where are ye going?” Lucius asked, a barely standing Faye.
“I’m going to hunt wit the pack, Alden,” She replied and that was that.
Same nightmare every night.
Sometimes clear and concise,
Others times, dark and foreboding…
The land had a blue-white color, as if Ora’s eye had closed on the sky. It lighted the dark night from below. It made the people appearing taller than they really were, the bloody boots on their legs showing clearly, but their faces lost in the darkness, devoured into its sinister depths.
The dead were looking at him. Thousands of them, standing in rows, upon rows, like an army on parade day. Some wore armour Lucius recognized, others were dressed like legionnaires, but there was no letter L carved on their chests, but the head of a tiger. It looked like the Alden tiger, but it had its mouth open this one, as if it was snarling mad.
Strangely, the young heir thought he knew the beast from somewhere.
Then Lucius remembered it. He’d painted that tiger himself, when he was younger. Ralph had laughed at the depiction, the memory of their conversation still vivid in his overwhelmed mind. Roderick in turn had cuffed him once upside the head and told him to apologize to his ancestors. Both of them were dead now.
“You’ll kill many more,” Roderick said, as if to mock his thought, or perhaps warn him, standing on his right shoulder. Lucius turned his eyes on the loyal hand and almost recoiled in horror. The old man’s milky eyes returned his stare defiantly. His wounds set by rot. “All ‘em lads you see over yonder and those at the back -ye don’t, whose faces ye will never remember.”
“What’s this?” Lucius croaked.
“This is where you’ll go son. Next we meet, we’ll both be dead. Or I may be lying.”
Lucius took a step back and looked away ashamed.
“I failed you.”
“Only if you stop killing yer enemies,” Roderick growled, the army of the slain joining in a thunderous, inhuman roar and a gasping Lucius woke up drenched in sweat, inside what appeared to be a wooden cabin.
“Milord, I thought ye had a fever,” Galio said, his weather-beaten face was well-shaven, but showing not a day younger.
Lucius mouth felt bitter and despite the fire burning in the fireplace, the cabin was cold. He cleared his throat, before turning his red-rimmed eyes on the recently promoted Captain. Recently being, over a month back.
“I’m fine, Captain Veturius,” Lucius said and planted both feet on the dirt floor. “Where are the others?”
“They headed to the river again, milord.”
Of course. It was to be expected.
“Did we find more of our own?” He asked, although he’d no stomach for the answer.
“A couple, though men are looking more for plunder these days,” Galio replied crooking his mouth.
“Put a stop to it,” Lucius ordered him.
“Aye, milord.” Galio droned.
He could sense the old soldier didn’t agree with his order.
“Anything more?”
“O’ Dargan is back. He wants to talk with you,” Galio reported.
Lucius expected that as well.
“Any news of Zofia?”
“Nothing, milord.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Galio raised his right fist on his chest in salute and turned around. Lucius stopped him, before he could exit the modest cabin.
“Wait, Captain.”
“Milord?” The ex-legionnaire looked back surprised.
“I’ll need a right hand man,” Lucius explained with difficulty. “To replace Roderick.”
“A squire? Milord, I can check on the mercenaries,” Lucius stopped him raising his hand.
“I don’t plan on playing tournaments for a while, Captain. What I need is someone, to offer me advice,” Challenge my decisions was his meaning. “When it’s needed. I was thinking of you.”
Galio stood up straighter. “I’m a soldier, milord. You only have to give the order.”
Lucius smacked his lips and got up from the crude bed to face him.
“Will you challenge my orders, Captain?” He asked him.
“Never! Milord.”
That wasn’t what Lucius was looking for and the veteran soldier realized it and hang his head in shame.
“Apologies.”
“No, it’s fine, Captain,” Lucius stopped him. “How about Faustus?”
“He’s was killed, milord.”
Lucius frowned, embarrassed he’d forgotten it. “How did it happen?”
“Nobody knows, milord. But his side got trapped on the retreat. Were slain to a man.”
“Mark the names of those that had fallen, Captain. I will compensate their families, upon my return to Regia. My father will agree.”
“Of course, milord.”
“What about… ahm, your legionnaires?” He probed, scraping the barrel, as he wasn’t particularly fond of them. They were cunning scoundrels according to Roderick. A mere notch above cutthroats. Lucius also realized at this time, his dislike came from the old man’s opinion of them and not his own.
“They work together, milord.”
“Fine, ask them both.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Wait,” Lucius sighed frustrated. “What do you think of them?”
Galio pressed his lips tight, unsure how to answer.
“Just tell me the unvarnished truth, Captain.”
“They will get the job done, milord,” The veteran managed to say.
“Anything else?” Lucius inquired, raising a brow. “Out with it, Captain.”
“Bah, they rarely follow orders, milord,” Galio blurted, sounding appalled.
Lucius nodded. “Perfect,” He said, much to the Captain’s surprise. “Inform them, they got the job. I wish to speak to both as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Milord. What shall I tell the O’ Dargan’s people?”
Faye entered the cabin at that very moment. Her hair a bit more grown, the red mess still nowhere near feminine.
“I will be right there,” Lucius said and dismissed him.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” He told the silently watching him putting on his overcoat woman.
“Did ye miss me, Alden?” Faye Numbers taunted.
“Not particularly.”
“Hah. Yer wit iced me bones. How’s the leg?”
“How’s yours?” Lucius retorted.
“I can walk,” Faye responded, the tiniest of smirks on her lips.
“Me too.”
Their banter had started a little awkwardly, but it was now becoming a welcomed routine for Lucius.
“Are ye going to meet wit Mad Wolf?” She asked, out of the blue.
“You think, I shouldn’t?” Lucius stared at her. She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter either way, the mail ringing when it moved. Faye wore chainmail even when sleeping.
“Are ye lookin’ for more advisors?” She teased, raising a red brow.
Lucius licked his lips thoughtfully. “You were listening.”
“Is it not allowed, Alden?”
He rolled his eyes at the mocking use of his surname. “My name is Lucius.”
“Are ye not an Alden? And ye haven’t answered my query.”
Yes, Faye. Because I was trying to dodge it, politely.
Lucius sighed. “Faye, you vowed to have me killed.”
He couldn't just forget it. Well, truth was Lucius could let it go, but he wasn’t sure Faye had that same capacity for forgiveness. What if she got angry? Yes, he enjoyed her company, while they both convalesced from their wounds, but that was then. She was a very volatile woman.
Faye Numbers pouted at that, then hang her head. Red spots on her cheeks darkening. Her eyes dropping on her short sword, fastened on her waist. She’d another, a longer blade, on her back.
“Because of what ye did,” She finally murmured accusingly.
“I won’t begrudge you for it,” Lucius replied and he meant it, wearing his sword and opening the crude door to step outside. “But trusting you, wouldn’t be wise.”
Had one told Sir Lucius these same words about her, five years into the future, he’d have him beheaded on the spot.
Maza plateau stood on the North side of the Peaks that shared its name, protected by the ice coming from the Norther Sea by the much shorter heights that also hid the road leading to Fetya’s capital and largest city Ludr. It was said one could see the city at the distance, lodged west of the main branch of Lud River, if he dared climb the frozen rocky slopes. Many did, strange as it may sound, as in the night the fires burning could be spotted from there, which was truly awe inspiring. The hot Springs of Maza was what prompted the early settlers to construct the burg on the plateau originally and then its position overlooking Lud River and its three lesser branches to the East.
Sam O’ Dargan stood on a flat boulder at the center of the burg, the small square packed with warriors, hunters and plain civilians, the huge rock allowing him to have a good view over everyone, much as everyone could see in turn. He’d his head uncovered this time, famed wolf’s helm held by a young warrior, standing next to him, blood-red long hair unbraided flowing down his square face, the beard he sported hiding most of it, but not the scarred portion of his face. Three long lines were clearly visible there, reaching just below his left eye that was all white. He was listening to an older warrior, nodding with his head, indifferent to the bitter cold wind.
Much as everyone else, Lucius thought, still shivering unaccustomed to the cold outside the apparently, not that cold modest cabin, he was given as quarters inside the burg.
“They found ‘Gray’ Barret frozen stiff on a trunk, Mad Wolf,” The warrior reported, in heavy Northern dialect, but Lucius, who’d spent months in the company of Zofia, had polished his academic knowledge of the tongue and could understand most of it.
“Was he dead?” Sam O’ Dargan asked him, his voice guttural, probably from another injury. It made him sound beastly and intimidating, the iron skulls he wore on his shoulders playing to the illusion.
“Twas what the men thought, so they poked him wit a spear,” The crowd gasped at that. “Barret came around and jumped them, almost killed a young hunter.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a word,” The warrior replied. “The medicine man said, icy water burned his throat right through. He won’t speak again, Mad Wolf. Words that is.”
“Not a great loss then,” Sam commented over the murmurs of the crowd and Lucius noticed Faye had parked right beside him, still looking miffed from his earlier words.
A couple of those present chuckled, but Sam’s joke didn’t land well. It seemed Barret carried favor with the locals.
The warrior frowned at the crowd’s reaction and stooping produced a giant two-handed sword from an equally large leather carrier bag. Lucius recognized it immediately.
It was McCloud’s sword.
“Is that Gutrender?” Sam O’ Dargan queried, his demeanor changing, a hint of sadness in his rasping voice.
“Aye, Mad Wolf,” The warrior replied, much to the dismay of the crowd and offered him the large and unwieldy weapon. “Hunters snuck over the river, searched the woods and found it lodged amidst the roots of a tree.”
“They left it there?” Sam asked him not convinced, turning the blade this way and that.
“They had Twotrees nailed on that same tree, milord,” The warrior replied choking up, hard face under that brown-red beard contorting. “What was left of him…”
“They cut him up?” He growled.
The warrior looked down.
“Wolves got to him sire. Worked their way up, until they could reach him no more,” He sighed and pressed his mouth tight, as if he’d just swallowed poison. “It was done on purpose,” He added.
Sam O’ Dargan recoiled at the revelation and stood a moment silent, his eyes closed in prayer.
Or so Lucius thought.
“What need have I of a short blade?” Mad Wolf asked hoarsely, his whole body shaking at the words. The crowd caught up, as if expecting it and roared repeating his words. Warriors and hunters, men and women, children and Faye, who stepped forward with tears in her eyes.
“Or of a shield, if I face my foe?” Sam O’ Dargan asked the crowd, visibly overcome with emotion.
“WIT A LONG ONE!”
The crowd soared in response, the atmosphere, despite the bitter cold, turning spiritual and electrifying.
“What need have I then, of last words to say?” The Mad Wolf inquired.
“IF I’M REMEMBERED BY MY DEEDS” The Maza Burg crowd resounded ecstatically, some throwing their arms up, fists clenched pointed at the sky, blades bashing on shields and Lucius found himself bellowing with the rest of them at the top of his voice.
Each verse touching to the fibers of his being.
“THE BATTLES ‘N DUELS IN THE CIRCLE TODAY”
The crowd’s deafening roar reverberating on the frozen slopes and peaks surrounding the plateau, multiplying tenfold, resembling a crackling thunderous landslide descending upon them.
“I’LL BE REMEMBERED TILL THE REALM’S LAST DAY!”
It was a cleansing five minutes that did his soul a world of good. Faye turned all flushed, when Sam raised Twotrees McCloud famed sword high and gave him a broad smile that lit up her face, followed by a solid punch on the shoulder that rattled his teeth something fierce.
“Is that part of the ritual?” Lucius yelled to be heard over the cheerfully mourning crowd, massaging the sore spot.
“That was me fulfilling my vows afore the gods!” Faye replied, just as loud, still smiling. Pleased as if she had figured everything out.
Lucius frowned and stood back, just in case she used a dagger next time.
“I barely felt that,” He taunted her, perhaps unwisely, but he couldn’t help himself. Teasing her reminded him of home.
Faye took it in stride though.
“Guess I missed my chance,” She retorted, with a shrug.
Okay, Lucius thought. That last part was weird.
The ruined face of Sam O’ Dargan, stopped him from looking more into the young woman’s behavior. The Mad Wolf had approached them, moving swiftly through the crowd. Looking him up close, Lucius realized he wasn’t much taller than him, though he’d a bit more muscle on.
“I heard yer banter,” Sam said, in his raspy voice. “It came as a welcomed surprise. Name’s Sam, but people call me the Mad Wolf, for some reason,” He laughed at the latter, it came out a howl.
“I’m Sir Lucius Alden,” Lucius introduced himself, breaking the awkward moment. “I owe you a debt for saving us at the bridges.”
Sam O’ Dargan puffed his cheeks out and glanced towards a giddy Faye.
“Is he for real?” He asked her and the woman shrugged her shoulders.
“Reckon he is Mad Wolf.”
“Every northern city from here to Ludr,” Sam O’ Dargan said matter-of-factly, turning to Lucius, “And as far as Bloden Port, sings about how ye saved the North during the great Winter Carnage. It spreads like wildfire. I owe you, Sir Lucius and not the other way around.”
Lucius flinched, nigh uncomfortable with the needless praise. As far as he saw things, he’d made a mess of his mission, lost Zofia, failed his father, Regia and had his old mentor killed.
“I respectfully disagree, Master O’ Dargan,” He declared stiffly. “I urge you, to reconsider.”
Sam stood back, eyebrows raised in shock, not expecting a second rebuke.
Faye seeing his surprise, shook her head.
“He’s an Alden,” She explained to the stupefied heir of Jarl David. “Ye might’ve trouble convincing him.”
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 Lucius Alden
The hot Springs of Winter
Part I
(All praise the dead heroes)
What need have I of a short blade?
Or of a shield, if I face my foe,
Wit a long one
What need have I then, of last words to say,
if I’m remembered by my deeds,
the battles ‘n duels in the circle today,
I’ll be remembered till the Realm’s last day.
-
Northern tribes’ funeral elegy,
And strangely, a coming of age song.
-
There it was.
The dream again.
Playing in a loop.
Sometimes clear and concise…
“ARROWS!” Kaeso yelled a warning, seeing half the force -led by a strange Issir with a painted white face, in a manner Lucius recalled seeing before, orange and white hair braided and tied at the nappe in a bun- stop and reaching for the bows, they all carried on their backs. The rest continued their fast trot towards them.
“SHIELDS UP!” Galio boomed turning around, half of the retreating mercenaries still carrying one, turning with him.
Lucius heard the whistling, an angry sharp sound and ducked on instinct, a shaft breaking on his shoulder guard and splinters rattling his helm. Faye running beside him stumbled and went down, an arrow right through her thigh.
“Fuck!” She cried, frantically trying to dislodge it and failing.
“Leave it!” Lucius growled and pulled her up, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders for support. The bridge still twenty meters away, some people still running over it, the rest of the civilians left behind, when the mercenaries pulled back, jumping in the frozen waters and sinking straight for the bottom as the current was too great, an act of pure desperation to avoid a worse death, at the hands of Bas Crull’s rangers.
“I want that bridge!” The man himself yelled to be heard by his men. “The warrior that kills the red Knight, I’ll name my brother!”
With a wild roar, his rangers charged as one. Galio ordered Kaeso back towards Mamercus, the men with him to form a wall.
“Galio, head for the bridge now!” Lucius barked at the aged ex-legionnaire, his voice hoarse and tired, with a look over his shoulder. His leg could barely support both his weight and Faye’s. He could feel it buckling, despite moving as slow as a pregnant turtle. “That’s an order, Captain!”
Galio puffed out hard, glanced once at the onrushing Issirs and then at the hapless remaining mercenaries tasked to be their rearguard. The men giving him glances of pure despair, some pleading, others terrified, while few even nodded in understanding.
“They won’t hold,” Roderick grunted and stopped in his tracks. His tired, gaunt face, almost unrecognizable. The loyal hand had aged spectacularly during these past months. “On their own, they bloody won’t.”
“They will,” Lucius insisted, though he didn’t much believed it. “Galio, I won’t say it again!”
“Aye, milord!” Galio replied and started after them. Lucius turned to continue the final meters towards the bridge, but Roderick stayed behind, a resigned look on his face.
“Roderick, what are you doing?” Lucius asked, doom lacing his words, because he knew.
The old hand, sucked his wrinkled cheek in once, where a tooth was missing, he’d never gotten around fixing. Let it go audibly the next moment and looked at Lucius long and hard for another.
“Remember who you are, son. Always,” Roderick said, a touch of melancholy in his voice. “Live for ye first, then Regia. See that you make it back in one piece and if ye see yer father, tell him I died on my feet.”
No, darn it!
“Roderick… for fuck’s—” Lucius protested irate, voice breaking as emotion clogged his throat, but the old man stopped him nonetheless, before he could finish.
“I want none o’ that lip, boy. I taught ye better,” He admonished and pointed at Bas Crull’s rangers that had stopped and were nocking fresh arrows now, the moment they saw the less than thirty men had formed a shieldwall to bar their approach. “We’ll charge ‘em cowardly ruffians. Lick ‘em proper,” He snorted and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “May Luthos guide ye, through the pending struggles, Lucius. It was the greatest of gifts seeing ye grow, to become the man ye are.”
The last sight Lucius had of Roderick, was the old man punching a mixed-blood in the face with the bloody stump of his right arm, surrounded by Bas Crull’s rangers. Then the heir to Regia was on the bridge, half-dragging half-carrying Faye wit him. The stubborn woman urging him to let her stay and die with her people. Old were the bridge’s boards, soaked and frozen over. They creaked and shook as they walked on them, every new stride a different torture.
Behind them the rangers finally broke through, having killed the men standing on the shieldwall to the last and started after them. Lucius, followed by Galio and the remnants of his mercenaries, mainly the wounded, kept barking orders teeth bare and clenched in a grotesque manic smile of despair.
Mamercus appeared with the horses the moment they managed to cross the old bridge, behind him rows upon rows of civilians running for their lives, towards the trees opposite the Montfoot’s northern bank.
“Get the wounded moving!” Lucius ordered him and helped Faye on his horse.
“You’re getting on that horse as well, milord,” Galio told him sternly. It was shocking to hear the old soldier giving orders to him. It was obvious Galio had decided to stand his ground this time and it was also telling of how dire their circumstances were.
Lucius looked back beyond the icy river at the Rangers forming up to assault them. Then at the faces of the mercenaries, their eyes haunted and desperate.
“You’ll need time to make it to safety,” He croaked, not recognizing his own voice. “I’ll hold them here—”
“Wit all due respect sire,” Galio cut him, sounding and looking embarrassed, he had to do it. “It’ll serve these men more, if ye stayed alive. I vowed to get ye back whatever the cost. While I matter not, don’t let Roderick’s sacrifice be for naught.”
Lucius all but growled in frustration, but most of the men surrounding him agreed with the veteran. With the Rangers coming over the bridge, he had to act fast.
“Pull the men to the trees! Form up those that can hold a shield!” He ordered Galio and jumped on Stormbolt, with a grimace of pure undulated pain, and squeezed himself in front of Faye. “Hurry the wounded and the horses before them!”
“Leave me. I’ll challenge Bas, even if it’s the last thing I do,” A pale-faced Faye hissed in his ear.
Lucius turned on the saddle and stared at her boyish profile.
“You’re not dying here, woman,” He told her again, although at that very moment, Lucius wasn’t certain of anything. “We’ll hold at the trees, give time to your people, to slip into the woods.”
Behind them, the first of Bas’ rangers crossed the bridge, their blood boiling after smashing anything the Northmen had thrown at them. Arrows started falling around the meagre force Galio had managed to scrape, from the pool of the less wounded, around fifteen dead-eyed mercenaries being the bulk of them.
Lucius had run out of men and maneuvers and the horrible howling coming from the woods they approached, while harried by the more advanced light units of the Crulls, chilled his blood. It rung over the white-barked trees, rustled through the snow covered branches and made the frozen ground under their feet tremble. It grew, with each passing second, many voices joining and the terrifying ruckus coming ever closer. If this was a pack of beasts, Lucius thought shivering, then they number in the hundreds.
He pulled at Stormbolt’s reins, the loyal horse lame from riding hard all day and twisted on the saddle to see Faye laughing like a mad-woman, tears in her striking blue eyes.
In front of them the howling stopped as suddenly, as it had started.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Lucius queried, trying to find a way around this new development. He’d sent those civilians into those woods, he thought incensed, doomed them all. Then a Northman burst out of the tree line, nasty curved axe in his hands, chainmail hidden underneath a crudely made fur coat, helm made of grey steel and shaped like a direwolf’s head. The imposing warrior was as tall as Twotrees and he stopped there, gave a look about him to assess the situation and then opening his muscled arms, let out a thunderous howl.
What in Tyeus name…
“That’s Mad Wolf, Alden,” A cackling Faye informed him, and jumped off the saddle. Almost a hundred warriors followed the younger O’ Dargan out of the woods, with more heard approaching right behind, still hidden in the forest.
“Where are ye going?” Lucius asked, a barely standing Faye.
“I’m going to hunt wit the pack, Alden,” She replied and that was that.
Same nightmare every night.
Sometimes clear and concise,
Others times, dark and foreboding…
The land had a blue-white color, as if Ora’s eye had closed on the sky. It lighted the dark night from below. It made the people appearing taller than they really were, the bloody boots on their legs showing clearly, but their faces lost in the darkness, devoured into its sinister depths.
The dead were looking at him. Thousands of them, standing in rows, upon rows, like an army on parade day. Some wore armour Lucius recognized, others were dressed like legionnaires, but there was no letter L carved on their chests, but the head of a tiger. It looked like the Alden tiger, but it had its mouth open this one, as if it was snarling mad.
Strangely, the young heir thought he knew the beast from somewhere.
Then Lucius remembered it. He’d painted that tiger himself, when he was younger. Ralph had laughed at the depiction, the memory of their conversation still vivid in his overwhelmed mind. Roderick in turn had cuffed him once upside the head and told him to apologize to his ancestors. Both of them were dead now.
“You’ll kill many more,” Roderick said, as if to mock his thought, or perhaps warn him, standing on his right shoulder. Lucius turned his eyes on the loyal hand and almost recoiled in horror. The old man’s milky eyes returned his stare defiantly. His wounds set by rot. “All ‘em lads you see over yonder and those at the back -ye don’t, whose faces ye will never remember.”
“What’s this?” Lucius croaked.
“This is where you’ll go son. Next we meet, we’ll both be dead. Or I may be lying.”
Lucius took a step back and looked away ashamed.
“I failed you.”
“Only if you stop killing yer enemies,” Roderick growled, the army of the slain joining in a thunderous, inhuman roar and a gasping Lucius woke up drenched in sweat, inside what appeared to be a wooden cabin.
“Milord, I thought ye had a fever,” Galio said, his weather-beaten face was well-shaven, but showing not a day younger.
Lucius mouth felt bitter and despite the fire burning in the fireplace, the cabin was cold. He cleared his throat, before turning his red-rimmed eyes on the recently promoted Captain. Recently being, over a month back.
“I’m fine, Captain Veturius,” Lucius said and planted both feet on the dirt floor. “Where are the others?”
“They headed to the river again, milord.”
Of course. It was to be expected.
“Did we find more of our own?” He asked, although he’d no stomach for the answer.
“A couple, though men are looking more for plunder these days,” Galio replied crooking his mouth.
“Put a stop to it,” Lucius ordered him.
“Aye, milord.” Galio droned.
He could sense the old soldier didn’t agree with his order.
“Anything more?”
“O’ Dargan is back. He wants to talk with you,” Galio reported.
Lucius expected that as well.
“Any news of Zofia?”
“Nothing, milord.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Galio raised his right fist on his chest in salute and turned around. Lucius stopped him, before he could exit the modest cabin.
“Wait, Captain.”
“Milord?” The ex-legionnaire looked back surprised.
“I’ll need a right hand man,” Lucius explained with difficulty. “To replace Roderick.”
“A squire? Milord, I can check on the mercenaries,” Lucius stopped him raising his hand.
“I don’t plan on playing tournaments for a while, Captain. What I need is someone, to offer me advice,” Challenge my decisions was his meaning. “When it’s needed. I was thinking of you.”
Galio stood up straighter. “I’m a soldier, milord. You only have to give the order.”
Lucius smacked his lips and got up from the crude bed to face him.
“Will you challenge my orders, Captain?” He asked him.
“Never! Milord.”
That wasn’t what Lucius was looking for and the veteran soldier realized it and hang his head in shame.
“Apologies.”
“No, it’s fine, Captain,” Lucius stopped him. “How about Faustus?”
“He’s was killed, milord.”
Lucius frowned, embarrassed he’d forgotten it. “How did it happen?”
“Nobody knows, milord. But his side got trapped on the retreat. Were slain to a man.”
“Mark the names of those that had fallen, Captain. I will compensate their families, upon my return to Regia. My father will agree.”
“Of course, milord.”
“What about… ahm, your legionnaires?” He probed, scraping the barrel, as he wasn’t particularly fond of them. They were cunning scoundrels according to Roderick. A mere notch above cutthroats. Lucius also realized at this time, his dislike came from the old man’s opinion of them and not his own.
“They work together, milord.”
“Fine, ask them both.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Wait,” Lucius sighed frustrated. “What do you think of them?”
Galio pressed his lips tight, unsure how to answer.
“Just tell me the unvarnished truth, Captain.”
“They will get the job done, milord,” The veteran managed to say.
“Anything else?” Lucius inquired, raising a brow. “Out with it, Captain.”
“Bah, they rarely follow orders, milord,” Galio blurted, sounding appalled.
Lucius nodded. “Perfect,” He said, much to the Captain’s surprise. “Inform them, they got the job. I wish to speak to both as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Milord. What shall I tell the O’ Dargan’s people?”
Faye entered the cabin at that very moment. Her hair a bit more grown, the red mess still nowhere near feminine.
“I will be right there,” Lucius said and dismissed him.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” He told the silently watching him putting on his overcoat woman.
“Did ye miss me, Alden?” Faye Numbers taunted.
“Not particularly.”
“Hah. Yer wit iced me bones. How’s the leg?”
“How’s yours?” Lucius retorted.
“I can walk,” Faye responded, the tiniest of smirks on her lips.
“Me too.”
Their banter had started a little awkwardly, but it was now becoming a welcomed routine for Lucius.
“Are ye going to meet wit Mad Wolf?” She asked, out of the blue.
“You think, I shouldn’t?” Lucius stared at her. She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter either way, the mail ringing when it moved. Faye wore chainmail even when sleeping.
“Are ye lookin’ for more advisors?” She teased, raising a red brow.
Lucius licked his lips thoughtfully. “You were listening.”
“Is it not allowed, Alden?”
He rolled his eyes at the mocking use of his surname. “My name is Lucius.”
“Are ye not an Alden? And ye haven’t answered my query.”
Yes, Faye. Because I was trying to dodge it, politely.
Lucius sighed. “Faye, you vowed to have me killed.”
He couldn't just forget it. Well, truth was Lucius could let it go, but he wasn’t sure Faye had that same capacity for forgiveness. What if she got angry? Yes, he enjoyed her company, while they both convalesced from their wounds, but that was then. She was a very volatile woman.
Faye Numbers pouted at that, then hang her head. Red spots on her cheeks darkening. Her eyes dropping on her short sword, fastened on her waist. She’d another, a longer blade, on her back.
“Because of what ye did,” She finally murmured accusingly.
“I won’t begrudge you for it,” Lucius replied and he meant it, wearing his sword and opening the crude door to step outside. “But trusting you, wouldn’t be wise.”
Had one told Sir Lucius these same words about her, five years into the future, he’d have him beheaded on the spot.
Maza plateau stood on the North side of the Peaks that shared its name, protected by the ice coming from the Norther Sea by the much shorter heights that also hid the road leading to Fetya’s capital and largest city Ludr. It was said one could see the city at the distance, lodged west of the main branch of Lud River, if he dared climb the frozen rocky slopes. Many did, strange as it may sound, as in the night the fires burning could be spotted from there, which was truly awe inspiring. The hot Springs of Maza was what prompted the early settlers to construct the burg on the plateau originally and then its position overlooking Lud River and its three lesser branches to the East.
Sam O’ Dargan stood on a flat boulder at the center of the burg, the small square packed with warriors, hunters and plain civilians, the huge rock allowing him to have a good view over everyone, much as everyone could see in turn. He’d his head uncovered this time, famed wolf’s helm held by a young warrior, standing next to him, blood-red long hair unbraided flowing down his square face, the beard he sported hiding most of it, but not the scarred portion of his face. Three long lines were clearly visible there, reaching just below his left eye that was all white. He was listening to an older warrior, nodding with his head, indifferent to the bitter cold wind.
Much as everyone else, Lucius thought, still shivering unaccustomed to the cold outside the apparently, not that cold modest cabin, he was given as quarters inside the burg.
“They found ‘Gray’ Barret frozen stiff on a trunk, Mad Wolf,” The warrior reported, in heavy Northern dialect, but Lucius, who’d spent months in the company of Zofia, had polished his academic knowledge of the tongue and could understand most of it.
“Was he dead?” Sam O’ Dargan asked him, his voice guttural, probably from another injury. It made him sound beastly and intimidating, the iron skulls he wore on his shoulders playing to the illusion.
“Twas what the men thought, so they poked him wit a spear,” The crowd gasped at that. “Barret came around and jumped them, almost killed a young hunter.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a word,” The warrior replied. “The medicine man said, icy water burned his throat right through. He won’t speak again, Mad Wolf. Words that is.”
“Not a great loss then,” Sam commented over the murmurs of the crowd and Lucius noticed Faye had parked right beside him, still looking miffed from his earlier words.
A couple of those present chuckled, but Sam’s joke didn’t land well. It seemed Barret carried favor with the locals.
The warrior frowned at the crowd’s reaction and stooping produced a giant two-handed sword from an equally large leather carrier bag. Lucius recognized it immediately.
It was McCloud’s sword.
“Is that Gutrender?” Sam O’ Dargan queried, his demeanor changing, a hint of sadness in his rasping voice.
“Aye, Mad Wolf,” The warrior replied, much to the dismay of the crowd and offered him the large and unwieldy weapon. “Hunters snuck over the river, searched the woods and found it lodged amidst the roots of a tree.”
“They left it there?” Sam asked him not convinced, turning the blade this way and that.
“They had Twotrees nailed on that same tree, milord,” The warrior replied choking up, hard face under that brown-red beard contorting. “What was left of him…”
“They cut him up?” He growled.
The warrior looked down.
“Wolves got to him sire. Worked their way up, until they could reach him no more,” He sighed and pressed his mouth tight, as if he’d just swallowed poison. “It was done on purpose,” He added.
Sam O’ Dargan recoiled at the revelation and stood a moment silent, his eyes closed in prayer.
Or so Lucius thought.
“What need have I of a short blade?” Mad Wolf asked hoarsely, his whole body shaking at the words. The crowd caught up, as if expecting it and roared repeating his words. Warriors and hunters, men and women, children and Faye, who stepped forward with tears in her eyes.
“Or of a shield, if I face my foe?” Sam O’ Dargan asked the crowd, visibly overcome with emotion.
“WIT A LONG ONE!”
The crowd soared in response, the atmosphere, despite the bitter cold, turning spiritual and electrifying.
“What need have I then, of last words to say?” The Mad Wolf inquired.
“IF I’M REMEMBERED BY MY DEEDS” The Maza Burg crowd resounded ecstatically, some throwing their arms up, fists clenched pointed at the sky, blades bashing on shields and Lucius found himself bellowing with the rest of them at the top of his voice.
Each verse touching to the fibers of his being.
“THE BATTLES ‘N DUELS IN THE CIRCLE TODAY”
The crowd’s deafening roar reverberating on the frozen slopes and peaks surrounding the plateau, multiplying tenfold, resembling a crackling thunderous landslide descending upon them.
“I’LL BE REMEMBERED TILL THE REALM’S LAST DAY!”
It was a cleansing five minutes that did his soul a world of good. Faye turned all flushed, when Sam raised Twotrees McCloud famed sword high and gave him a broad smile that lit up her face, followed by a solid punch on the shoulder that rattled his teeth something fierce.
“Is that part of the ritual?” Lucius yelled to be heard over the cheerfully mourning crowd, massaging the sore spot.
“That was me fulfilling my vows afore the gods!” Faye replied, just as loud, still smiling. Pleased as if she had figured everything out.
Lucius frowned and stood back, just in case she used a dagger next time.
“I barely felt that,” He taunted her, perhaps unwisely, but he couldn’t help himself. Teasing her reminded him of home.
Faye took it in stride though.
“Guess I missed my chance,” She retorted, with a shrug.
Okay, Lucius thought. That last part was weird.
The ruined face of Sam O’ Dargan, stopped him from looking more into the young woman’s behavior. The Mad Wolf had approached them, moving swiftly through the crowd. Looking him up close, Lucius realized he wasn’t much taller than him, though he’d a bit more muscle on.
“I heard yer banter,” Sam said, in his raspy voice. “It came as a welcomed surprise. Name’s Sam, but people call me the Mad Wolf, for some reason,” He laughed at the latter, it came out a howl.
“I’m Sir Lucius Alden,” Lucius introduced himself, breaking the awkward moment. “I owe you a debt for saving us at the bridges.”
Sam O’ Dargan puffed his cheeks out and glanced towards a giddy Faye.
“Is he for real?” He asked her and the woman shrugged her shoulders.
“Reckon he is Mad Wolf.”
“Every northern city from here to Ludr,” Sam O’ Dargan said matter-of-factly, turning to Lucius, “And as far as Bloden Port, sings about how ye saved the North during the great Winter Carnage. It spreads like wildfire. I owe you, Sir Lucius and not the other way around.”
Lucius flinched, nigh uncomfortable with the needless praise. As far as he saw things, he’d made a mess of his mission, lost Zofia, failed his father, Regia and had his old mentor killed.
“I respectfully disagree, Master O’ Dargan,” He declared stiffly. “I urge you, to reconsider.”
Sam stood back, eyebrows raised in shock, not expecting a second rebuke.
Faye seeing his surprise, shook her head.
“He’s an Alden,” She explained to the stupefied heir of Jarl David. “Ye might’ve trouble convincing him.”
