Chapter 30: Twilight of the golden city (3)

I was grateful for my mother who provided me an education that most men around me could never have. I knew how to do the basic of math to not be cheated by merchants and to manage my earnings. I learned history and magic, just the very basic of them all, enough for me to understand their importance and the advantages they gave me over the men who knew them not. That education taught me to think, that was the most important thing. I was sure that had it not for the education my mother gave me, I would have died on the streets a long time ago.

The only thing that I can thank my bastard father who I killed with my own two hands was the tiny bit of knowledge of alchemy I learned from him. I can create a few types of poisons and antidotes from plants, insects, and venomous critters that I can find in the wild. I can create salves on occasions, the cheapest and the most common of their kinds from all the material I could find and salvage. Potions were beyond me. My knowledge in alchemy was severely lacking and besides, I received no blessing from Eogaill or Niwdar or Sinintee, alchemy was practically impossible for a man like me. The knowledge I learnt from that dead bastard kept me alive through the Neversummer campaign.

The Neversummer campaign was the first campaign I have participated. I was fourteen at that time, the same age as Craxus when he killed the dragon Karijard. I lived through the day by leading a group of local street urchins in the king city of White Winter.

Many of us did not make it through that winter, at least none of the youngest kids did. We could hardly scavenge for anything to keep ourselves through that winter. Our king and the nobles imposed the war time tax, making everything excessively expensive. Foods and clothes were especially expensive, just like every time our king and our supreme priest declared war on another nation.

Farm house owners and nobles stocked their grains and vegetable through that winter. Merchant raised the cost for everything, foods and clothes. We could not steal or rob anyone because everyone was equally dirt empty, hungry and cold. So I did the same thing everyone did at that time, joining a private militia army of a noble.

Two bowls of lukewarm dilute oatmeal a day was better than nothing. That was the average daily wage of a reserved militia footman. That wage would improve to three bowls of oatmeal, an egg and three copper coins a day if I made it to the standard militia. Throughout that winter, we had to learn how to handle the spear and the bow, how to build our little tent, how to march under the snow, which war drum and which horn was which, the two basic formations, basically how to fight a war like a fucking peasant I was.

Each of us was assigned into a fifteen man team under the command of a lieutenant. A total of eight fifteen man teams combined would form a squad under the command of a captain. Ten squads would form a unit under a commander.

I became a lieutenant twenty days after joining the militia, as soon as I snapped the neck of my lieutenant. The bastard tried to rob my boys of their oatmeal bowl to fill his own stomach, he got it coming. The captain did not want to deal with that case, promoting me to the rank of lieutenant and ordering me to have that dead bastard buried. He reported that bastard dead from the falling snow.

The noble lord only provided the spear, the bow and our wages. The rest, we have to provide for ourselves.

I remembered sharing a bison hide with two other kids of my gang that turned up for the militia as well. That piece of shit of a bison hide, smell just like rotten meat mixed with horse manure and sweats, badly tanned and full of holes, yet, it was the ultimate luxury for the three of us. While I could not feel the forbidding coldness that everyone felt, my body would shake and shake and shake haplessly from the wind and snow. My limbs would freeze, unable to move the way I wanted them to move. Without that piece of shit of a bison hide, I would not live to fight my first campaign just like many other people around me. It was a normal every day reiteration to find people within our camp died, frozen solid to the winds and snow and we had to bury them.

I remembered passing that bison hide around with the other two kids during the day. Each of us would wrap it around our body for a couple of hours and then passed it to the others, making do with our dirty smelly rags that were full of stiches until it was our turn to wear that bison hide again.

At night, we would huddle inside our tent, putting that bison hide over our body, leaving only our arms and legs outside to the gnawing wind. We taught ourselves to bundle rags and straws around a piece of rock that was heated within the camp fire to keep ourselves warmed throughout the night.

I had to chop the wood to create my own arrows and tied a rope around a cheap cauldron that I snagged at a smith to use it as my own armor. I didn’t like the spear the lord provided me so I had a blacksmith to add an iron tip on the other end of my father magic cane. That way, I could use it as a spear and double as a magic cane.

For some reason, I felt the wave of nostalgia washed over me while watching the falling snow. Strange, this snow was warm and had nothing in similar to the frostbiting melting ice of Neversummer. Yet, it reminded me of that time.

I wondered if it was the growing uneasiness within my guts was responsible for this nostalgia.

As soon as I finished reapplied the poison on the bit of my poleaxes, I gave my prayer to the Valorous Protector Wonten, asking for his guidance and blessing. After that, I headed out of my hut and prepared for a new day.

The sky kept snowing without giving it a rest for a week. Nobody could tell when it would stop. This strange warm snow could never be compared to the bitter cold northern wind of White Winter or the freezing touch of the snow that I had known during the war my king waged against the kingdom of Neversummer. Yet, this warm snow gave me nerves as it kept building up to above my ankles and sometimes my knees.

My body guards greeted me and offered the breakfast, grilled horse meat once again, same as yesterday and the days before. Then, it was the same routine, cranking up those white robes masquerading in my men’s ragged clothes and had them tossing a few oversized pebbles over the walls to wake up a few sleepy heads resided within the walls of Madukat. My boys did not catch any fools trying to escape the wall during yesterday night. Those fools have stopped doing that since a couple days back. Perhaps, they had grown smarter or perhaps, my boys had captured them all.

It does not matter, I sighed and repeated the routine, having my men exchange pissing contests with the guards on the wall while checking if they were ready for any surprise foolish raiding attempts from the guards.

However, I would know if that happened. Those hypocrite white robes inside the city would have let us know all the plans.

I trusted those white robes no more than those bandit lords I defeated and fitted into my army right away. I’m sure that they would not hesitate to ditch or betrayed me if the situation required.

I watched as days went by, listening to the direction of those white robe bastards, otherwise, I would miss out the other half of the payment I was promised.

Each day went by my men grew restless from the idleness, so did I.

It was not in our blood to sit still and exchange curses and pissing contests with those wimpy guards of this city. Many of my men simply desired to curb their thirst for blood and violence whereas the rest only cared about gold, wine and women. Idleness made them restless, especially those with the thirst for blood and violence.

Yesterday, i ordered One Eye, my right hand man to take a couple of hundreds men under my command, the most restless of them all, to head east. They trailed the Sandaphon river upstream to search for villages and settlements to sate their hunger for blood and violence. I only gave One Eye the instruction to come back after three days whether or not they found any villages.

I thought that it was dangerous to keep playing this game for much longer with those white robes. I had no fear for the Northern Warden, a pig that fattened itself from the gold of its parents. He’s weak. He was no opponent of mine. He could not fight back, not with that army. However, Zard had more protectors than just that useless pig.

I feared the king’s army of Zard and the Western Warden’s army would come. They should have received news of me and my boys sieging on Madukat by now. I didn’t expect the men of Madukat would be too stupid to not send crows and eagles to inform their kings of my armies. If my estimation was corrected, they are probably gathering an army at the moment and prepared to go north and made quick work of my army.

The Warden of the Western border was especially well-known for his talent in battle just like his ancestor. They were savage nomad once, tribal men that lived on the vast central plains and the western border of Zard until they decorated themselves to the King of Zard during the civil war that happened before the Hundred Year War.

The Warden of the West was known to uphold the tradition of his ancestor, to skin and take the skull of his defeated enemies as trophy. It was said that his throne was created by all the skulls of his enemies, I don’t know if that was true. However, I knew that he was feared by all men and bandits. His region was ruled under an iron fist and iron laws.

I don’t know much about the king’s army of Zard. However, I don’t expect them to be easy to deal with. If things happened exactly as my plan, I would have roamed the central plain and the eastern region by now, raiding and sacking everything on our path. Yet, those white robe bastards kept delaying the plan. I remembered that their Judgment Army were stationing at the border and just waited for an order to cross at any time.

I grew restless, knowing that my advantages would dwindle as time went by and an army, or two, would head this way to catch me and my boys.

I still dreamed of that strange dream every night. In the dream, I followed that black owl, walking through the dark. It seemed like an omen to me, but I did not know the meaning. However, it made me became more restless than I already was.

On the third day after they set out, One Eye returned with a big haul. Women, foods, clothes, coins, they got everything. That gave a boost to the boys’ mood, however, I knew there would be no way for me to prevent them from leaving the camp in secrecy to continue raiding those villages and settlements. They are not an army. We are not an army. We are a bunch of bandits banded together for a big raid. The discipline in my army was no more than the militia I served back then, in fact, worse.

I dreamt of that strange bird that day as well. The moment I woke up, I made my decision to go back to my base at the Bundor Bastion to fill up the supply for the trip and then east with my boys. I would leave thousands of my men to keep the pretense of the blockage until those white robes arrived with their army and the rest of the payment. They can have the other half of the payment to themselves and do whatever they wanted with it. They only had to keep doing the routine to scare Madukat and after that, they could do whatever they wanted. They could join force with us in the east or return to White Winter, regardless; they would become a decoy to keep my enemies distracted.

Those witch hunters advised me against that plan. I told them to pass my message to their leader who was hiding within the walls of Madukat, telling him that the plan has changed. He agreed, smart man, I supposed he’s smart. This delay and idleness would help neither of us. However, he told me to leave at least half of my men behind. I agreed.

I told my boys the plan, only the leaders and those I trusted. That night, I ordered the boys to leave their huts behind, pretending as if we did not move. The 6000 of us secretly moved south within the dead of the night, returning to our base at the Bundor Bastion. I supposed the 1800 that I left behind would be an appropriate decoy for my enemies.

Using half of my army would be too much of a waste to play the role of the decoy. I’m not that stupid.

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The Lord refused to come out of his bed chamber today, still.

It made Girout saddened. It made him thought of the promises he gave to the previous housemaster and the previous lord. He had failed them. He had truly failed them.

Where did it go wrong? Girout asked himself, blaming himself for the sad state of his current lord. The lord was supposed to be the heir to the Great Bear himself, a wise and strong lord just like his father. Where did it go wrong?

My lord, have you stopped caring? Have you truly stopped caring?

Girout lamented inwardly, wiping the sweat on his bald head and went back to his room. Borig was already there when Girout opened the door.

The gray on the old guard captain’s hair and the creases on his forehead seemed to increase these days. He seemed to age a decade in the last days. Girout sighed.

Among the people remained to serve the lord, Borig was one of the few to know Girout’s background. He’s one of the few that remembered where Girout came from. However, he had never showed any contempt toward Girout or had ever looked down on him.

“I’m afraid that your suspicion was spotted on,” Borig stroke his beard with an expression of dread darkened his face. He did not bother with the greeting and went straight into business.

“So, it was not lady Farrington and her entourage?” Girout asked.

“It was not them. My men have consistently watched them for the last few days and saw nothing.” Borig replied, shaking his head.

“It’s good to know that they are not with them,” Girout absentmindedly nodded his head and thanked the gods inwardly.

Borig was silent. The expression on his face showed that he had no idea what so good about that news. “So it’s just those bastards?” Girout darkly asked.

“It’s just them,” Borig confirmed, “My men have confirmed that.”

“That makes sense,” Girout scratched his chin, “First, Neversummer, then Kraig’ondor and Gigastetris and now us? I should have realized earlier. There is no limit to their ambition, isn’t there? I wonder what claim they would use to start this war against us? Heresy again? I recall we have been their closest ally in the last two hundred years. Why would they start a war against us now?”

The moment that surprise night raid of the brothers Narse and Narik failed, Girout and Borig had an inkling of suspicion that there was a mole within their ranks. However, they kept it to themselves, alone. Otherwise, they could not see how the bandits were able to reverse the situation. However, the two of them kept that to themselves, never discussing that suspicion with another person. They did not dare to believe that there would be anyone within their ranks would be the mole for the bandit lord Bloodbeard. They could not see how that would benefit anyone. However, Borig told Girout in person about his suspicion as soon as the decision regarding giving the Judgment Army to cross the border was made. He felt that they had made a mistake and Girout confirmed with him to share the same thought.

Borig did not bother to reply to Girout. He just sat on the guest chair with that grim expression, “It was a mistake,” lamented the old guard captain.

“Yes, it was,” Girout agreed, “The decision to invite that Judgment Army to cross the border gave them the permission to bring their army to our kingdom legally. We have discussed about that, have we not?” the housemaster sighed languidly.

“Yes”

“Do you think we can withdraw that permission now?” Girout asked. It was the same question he kept asking Borig for the last few days.

“Not when Bloodbeard still had his army around us. They can storm this city any time they wanted. We can only hold this fort for days with the number of men we have. That only creates more unnecessary casualty. That Judgment Army would cross the border regardless. They will tell everyone that they only cross the border to deal with Bloodbeard regarding of what we say,“ Borig gave Girout the same reply he did.

Girout sighed. He has racked his brain with Borig for many days, trying to solve the dilemma and came up with nothing. There was no way they could do to stop that Judgment army to cross the border. However, once that Judgment army chased away the bandits, Girout thought maybe he could prevent them from entering the city.

Borig told Girout that he was too optimistic about that. That Judgment army had more firepower than enough to storm the city.

“In the end, we could only count on the help from his Majesty and the other wardens huh?” Girout sighed. “We have not even received any bird from them.”

“These are really the darkest days yet,” Borig shook his head and muttered.

Girout nodded his head and agreed. However, in his mind, these days would not be the darkest days. He imagined those days would come when the Judgment Army flooded the city, casted their spell on the people and made them killed his lord. That would be when he has truly failed and betrayed his promises to the previous lord. That would be the darkest day in his life.

Girout kept discussing with Borig, but they got the same result as the days before, empty. It was until a servant knocked the door that Girout wrapped up the discussion and headed for the throne room.

In the throne room, Girout continued to discuss business with his personnel and the inquisitor of White Winter like usual. He did not want them to realize that he has suspected them for their treachery. He kept asking them regarding the news of the Judgment army.

Girout has suspected that their Judgment Army had been camping at the border, waiting for the permission to cross. However, he could not understand what took them so long even if they marched under this falling snow. He had no idea what game they were playing and neither was Borig. However, he welcomed that slowness and stillness. It gave the king and the other wardens more time to march their army to lift this siege.

Yet, he could not help but questioned what if this delay was another treachery. He could not know. He wondered if he has overthought and was overwhelmed with paranoia. He had no way of knowing if they were all true.

Another day went by just like that. Borig’s men reported that those Inquisitors, too, were restless. They were sending pigeons and crows every day to check the news. Girout could not count out that was just a guise. He hoped that restlessness was true. But he doubted it, all of his planning recently had failed repeatedly. He was afraid and doubtful of himself.

That night, Girout visited the grave of his late lord. He stood, praying to the late lord, recounting everything. He wished that he had a quarter of the lord’s greatness and brilliance. He cried to the lord for his many failures. He cried inwardly for failing his promises to the late lord. He cried, not knowing what the right decision was. He cried because he has failed both the late lord and the current lord. He cried, letting his cry and tears unheard and unseen to nobody.

Girout apologized to his late lord again before leaving the grave site.

When Girout came back to the manor, he told the servants to secretly gather all the gold and valuables within the treasury and stuffed them into coffers. He then packed them on three separate carriages.

He did not consult with Borig regarding the action he’s about to make. He knew the old guard captain would do everything within his capability to stop him. That’s why he kept it a secret. It would be done when dawn shone on the wall of Madukat. It would be done before anyone had any idea of what’s going on, not those Inquisitors, not Borig, and not even the young lord who’s not so young anymore.

It’s fine. He would be considered a traitor. It’s fine. He would be the only to bear the blame. It’s fine.

Girout contacted Moira’s chief knight on the same night, asking if the knight would be willing to participate in his plan.

The old knight nodded his head.

“My apology, My Lord,” Girout apologized inwardly to both the late lord and the current lord. “I wish I could do better.”