Chapter 18

Waning Blood

Calub

The small opening in the middle of Korelia forest had turned into a battlefield. The wooden barricade had been overrun and the two sides clashed for their lives.

Despite having superior numbers, the Korelians position was precarious. Their crossbowmen now fired from point-blank and many resorted to hatchets to defend themselves.

As their commander, Calub had expected a Mage-knight or two to appear amongst the Coalition's knights. But, this lone Mage-knight who led the charge was top tier. He was unstoppable.

Calub tried everything, but not even his fire grenade was effective.

In desperation, as his men were battered left and right, Calub reached out for a metal flask inside his jacket. His gloved fingers could feel the coldness from the special alloy.

Then a warning was heard from the Coalition’s side.

“The enemy cavalry-" a squire shouted, he had been running and was so out of breath, "their cavalry is on our rear!”

His high-pitched warning was heard by everyone. Both sides pulled their punches as the situation became uncertain.

Suddenly, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed through the woods. It was enough confirmation that the Korelians cavalry had returned.

Calub drew his hand back from the metal flask. He was glad it was unnecessary. “Our cavalry has returned. Steadfast men, give it everything you got!” he rallied his remaining men.

The Korelians clamored. “For Korelia!”

"Blood for blood!"

The line held on.

***

The Coalition

Morton was out of time. He couldn’t afford to get entangled in a two-pronged attack. Whatever gains he had, the Korelians cavalry would undo all of it.

“Fallback," Morton bitterly commanded as he took a step back. "Fallback, I said," he yelled.

The knights halted their advances. Many grumbled and protested angrily as they slowly disengaged.

Out of seventy knights, more than half were locked in combat as they had ventured too deep into the Korelians’ line.

Feeling that their fate was sealed, some dropped their weapons and readily accepted capture.

Morton looked back and saw many were still locked horns. “Hurry up you fools!”

“What should we do, sir?” His lieutenant asked with a ragged breath.

“There’s no other way. Gather what's left and try to block the cavalry. That’ll buy more time for the wounded to escape,” Morton explained as he picked the spot to make a stand.

The lieutenant quickly circulated the order. Only twenty knights answered the order. Thirsty and exhausted, only honor kept them going.

“Chose how you’ll die maggots! On your feet or on your arse?" Morton yelled at the remaining Coalition force, many were Korimor's mercenaries who hid in the forest.

Some answered his calls, one of them was one of Jorge's squires who handed Morton his crossbow.

“You shouldn't be here, boy," Morton warned him.

“Eh, nobody should be here, sir,” answered the squire wittily.

The answer drew chuckles from the ranks.

The sound of wood splinters heralded the coming of Lansius cavalry. They just hit stragglers, possibly the remnants of Korimor mercenaries.

Two men were hurled to the side after lances struck them.

Morton quickly loaded his bolt and fired at the incoming rider from sixty paces away.

The bolt got deflected on the foremost rider’s pauldron. Morton got the rider's attention. He calmly pulled his crossbow string back with one hand.

Only Mage-knight could pull a crossbow’s string with one hand.

The cavalry galloped toward their small formation. As the distance got closer, it was clear that there were a lot more than just tens of cavalry. This demoralized the Coalition's knights.

On foot, exhausted, and greatly outnumbered. Nobody had planned to die that day.

One by one, they left the line and ran toward the forest.

The line crumbled, but Morton knew this was going to happen. He and a few of the bravest stood unperturbed.

The distance was less than twenty paces when Morton fired his second bolt.

Thuck!!

A dull sound.

Morton threw his crossbow and leaped to the side. The rider he had shot passed through as if uninjured, but the man wobbled and eventually fell.

There was little time to reload as the rest of the cavalry bore down on them.

To his side, his lieutenant was nearly lanced and trampled. The man was wounded and fled the scene.

Unfazed, Morton drew his broadsword. Magic had enhanced his lungs, heart, and muscles that he wasn’t feeling exhausted, but he knew even that had a limit.

The next rider spotted Morton, the horse's nostrils flared like a demonic beast.

Morton shouted in defiance. A split second later his sword and the lance collided. The Mage-knight's amplified strength enabled him to block the weight of the attack.

Feeling an opening, he swung a counter at the horse’s neck. The impact would’ve ripped muscle from the bones and dislocated joints in a human’s body. But Morton survived with only a nasty cramp.

Morton readied his stance again while the last rider went crashing to the ground.

A lanceless rider had targetted Morton.

Morton crouched at the last second and leaped forward while launching a wide horizontal swing that severed the horse’s leg.

At the same time, the rider swung his axe mercilessly at Morton's head. It landed squarely and the top of the helmet caved in.

Morton lost his balance and fell backward. In pain, he discarded the helmet. As he tried to get up, blood dripped from his head.

He glanced at the rider who did this. Already crashed to the ground, the rider's leg was trapped underneath his dying horse.

Morton took a step back and observed his surrounding. With blood running down his face, he saw the last of his comrade fall.

The situation was beyond hopeless. Not even him could stop ten cavalrymen, less alone a hundred.

Another rider spotted him. Morton knew, his only way out was to head to the forest.

The rider charged and tried to trample him. Morton was forced to log roll to safety.

Covered in mud and composting leaves, he ran to the south. Soon, the dense trees protect him from sight.

He continued south and started to find some of his wounded comrades, including the lieutenant and the squire.

Without saying anything, they trodded deeper into the forest.

...

The Korelians cavalry stopped as the last of the Coalition surrendered. Not wanting to give time for their enemy to regroup, the cavalry quickly dismounted and formed a hunting net.

Their dismounted men-at-arms spread wide and proceeded cautiously.

Quietly, the Coalition watched and waited from afar.

As luck would have it, they couldn’t find the southern route. After all, it had been several years since the last time they hunt in this forest.

Lord Jorge took shelter in the deeper part of the forest. Morton was with him and he had organized a defense. Their numbers were lesser than fifty as the rest of the Coalition scattered.

They knew Lansius’ men were drawing near.

They patiently wait for the finale.

The fight was destined to be brutal, everybody was determined to give their best.

On one side, there was distrust toward Lansius who was an unknown foreigner.

On another, the Coalition still got six-thousand men just outside the forest. The war was still within their grasp.

Even without the cavalry, the Coalition only needed to wait for the catapult to be completed. Such thought gave them hope.

Time slowly passed and the rustling noise grew closer and closer.

Everybody sat low on the ground to reduce their silhouette. The reeks of composed leaves were on everyone's nostrils.

Humidity and heat were against them. Many were relegated to only their daggers as they had lost their primary and secondary weapons.

However, there was no fear on their faces. As the old sayings go: a cornered beast was the most dangerous.

This time, the Coalition’s side was prepared. Many even had cloth to cover their nose and mouth against possible green fog attacks.

However, as if betraying their determination, a shout was heard from the Korelians’ side.

“We’ve come to parley." The Korelians herald repeated twice as their advances halted.

Every man’s face looked somewhat softened immediately. The word parley had the intended effect.

Morton looked at his Lord whose brown eyes looked down in thought. Jorge noticed Morton’s sight and nodded approvingly.

The Black Knight captain borrowed a helmet to cover his bandaged head, then he stood up and spoke. “We will not yield nor be taken as hostages." His voice was loud and clear.

“We do not intent to, Sir, unless forced.” Came the answer.

“What’s your offer?” Morton queried.

“Cease fighting! My Lord said he doesn’t have any issue with Lord of Three Hills. He believed that Lord Jorge was provoked to attack Korelia. The two Houses could still make amends.”

“There would be amends if you let us return to our camp unharmed,” Morton answered without consulting with the staff. He had his Lord's safety as a priority.

“Swore an oath,” the herald replied.

Morton glanced at his Lord who drew a deep breath. Without needing a signal, Morton chanted his verses. A barrier of air and water vapor took shape.

It was transparent, akin to seeing through solid glass.

Lord Jorge finally came up, his squire carried a shield in front while Morton stood to his side.

“I, Lord Jorge of Three Hills, Protector of Korimor and South Hills, hereby pledged my neutrality in this conflict,” Lord Jorge proclaimed. His voice was amplified by magic and reached further than normal.

“Let there be amends between our Houses,” Jorge closed his short oath.

The lesser the better, the staff advised, to reduce political ramifications.

There was a pause and then the Korelians blew their horns. Afterward, the Korelians withdrew.

Witnessing this, the remaining Coalition could finally breathe easily. They knew they almost had it. Although they didn’t like it, they knew they owed their survival to the opponent's mercy.

Somehow, the Lord of Korelia gave them a free pass.

The surviving Coalition regrouped and began wading through the forest. They dared not to use the main path as many deemed Lansius untrustworthy.

After a thorough search, someone stumbled upon an old stream that had dried out. The rocky path was treacherous, but there were fewer vegetations.

They marched slowly with their armor and horses.

Moss quickly became a problem. Unperturbed for possibly decades if not centuries, the thick layers of moss were tricky to traverse.

Tired men were bound to slip, and many fell unceremoniously. Luckily, thick paddings in their armor provided a good cushion from impact.

As they navigated the terrain, the trees were fewer and lesser. Then for the first time, they could see the plains.

With renewed spirit, they traversed the last part of their journey.

However, as the first group exited the forest, their hope was quickly dashed.

Gasps were heard as they saw what happened outside the forest.

"This, this cannot be," one of the knights protested.

Nobody could answer. They only looked at each other in disbelief.

***

Calub

The alchemist winced as he addressed his wounded right arm. It was a painful laceration caused by a halberd.

They were supposedly facing a weary, disorganized, or fleeing mob. Instead, they faced the Black Knights who fought like possessed monsters.

Now, the remaining troops, all with wounds of varying degrees were getting ready to return. Their original mission finished, they were tasked to pick up the wounded and carried them to the encampment.

There were also hostages to be taken care of.

Earlier, Calub had met Lansius who rode with the remaining cavalry. When that happened he kept his wound hidden.

He didn’t want to make Lansius worry. He felt that Lansius had too many things to worry about.

Calub knew the battle was far from over.

"Erggh..." He grimaced as he tightened the cloth he used as bandages.

Nearby, the men were busy preparing makeshift stretchers for Thomson whose leg was crushed when the horse fell into him.

Calub had supervised a tourniquet for Thomson, but the man lost consciousness once they freed him.

“Master Calub."

“Yes, anything you need?” Calub turned over to face the speaker. It was one of his lieutenants.

“Master, it’s Sir Callahan. He’s…”

From the intonation, Calub quickly understood the situation. He patted the man’s shoulder and spoke, "Where is he? Show me the way.”

Calub followed the lieutenant into a place not far from the barricade.

There, Sir Callahan was lying on the ground, his head rested upon a tree root. His discarded helmet was on his side.

Few spots on the ground were reddened. It was easy to see that the man had vomited blood.

The man's eyes were bloodshot but his face was pale as snow. The cause was easy to find, a crossbow bolt embedded deeply into the breastplate.

“Don’t worry, Sir Callahan. The alchemist is here, I’ll patch you up." Calub knelt and greeted jovially, but they knew things were inevitable.

There was no red-potion or instant healing. Even magic would take hours if not days to regenerate tissues. A burst artery or punctured organ was a certain death sentence.

“Don’t make me hopeful, Master Calub," Callahan answered in between pained expressions. Each breathing was a painful struggle. His face was strained and his hands began to shake.

Calub got rid of their gloves and gauntlets. He then grasped Callahan’s hands.

Quickly, the man’s strained face turned gentle. “I’ve felt it. It’s near!”

“Is there anything I can do, painkillers potion perhaps?” Calub asked gently.

“Save it for the wounded, Master. It’s useless for the dead.” Callahan managed a jest despite his pain.

That must’ve triggered something inside as Callahan vomited blood afterward. Calub readily assisted him. Turning him to the side so as not to block his airway.

Afterward, the weakened Callahan half-whispered to Calub. “My girl, Cecile is the last one of my House... Promise me to take care of her.”

“Callahan, I cannot do that. I’ll promise to help-”

“Master… you must... I cannot hope for anyone else-” Callahan’s voice was getting hoarse.

Calub could only listen with mixed feelings.

“I had hoped… Lansius, but… he’s way above my station… with so many noble ladies... I fear even as a concubine, my daughter won’t-“ He held from coughing but some blood got through. “Calub, you’re my last hope.”

“Please, Callahan. There must be a better candidate,” Calub pleaded.

“...promise me-” Callahan's breath was getting shorter and he involuntarily grasped Calub’s hand tightly.

Calub was moved before he was an outsider, but now Cecile was trusted into him. The girl was bright and had a class of her own.

“Take her as concubine if you wish… as the Lord’s confidant, you’ll ascend high-“

He paused as he wheezed for air. “...promise me, you’ll never throw her out.“

Calub tried his best to comfort Callahan.

But the man's eyes lost focus and wandered into the distance. “...even if she’s not to your liking-“

Callahan’s body jerked a little. “...do …not …“ His word trailed, unfinished.

“I promised Callahan, I promised," Calub replied with reddened eyes.

Callahan's breathing had finally stopped. There was no strength in his grip anymore. Pain no longer troubled the blond knight whose eyes now were looking into the sky. A smile was almost on his lips.

The lieutenant who watched the scene wiped tears from his face. All who passed the place knelt and touched the fallen knight's armor as last respect.

As the knight who successfully led the merchant caravan from Midlandia, Callahan was well-liked.

Calub closed his colleague’s eyelids. With it, the long line of Callahan’s House that stretched back into the third millennium was over.

The man's great-great-grandfather was a King in the north. Now the unbroken line from father to son finally perished.

Just like being foretold, the northern blood would wane in the south.

***