Chapter Five: Hifrim's Perch

Baron Paegar and the chosen few ran as fast as they could towards the walls of Hifrim's Perch, encumbered as they were by the long ladder. It made things awkward, but they pressed on, zig-zagging to throw off the aim of the archers that lined the parapets ahead. It was a dangerous game, and Paegar felt a twinge of fear as an arrow flew by his head, and he heard the legionary behind him yell out in pain. They made a big target, but fortunately there weren't many of the dangerous missiles. The previous day, upon seeing Baron Paegar ride into the valley to reinforce the besieging Yarwen, Hifrim had ordered a desperate attempt to force an escape. Yarwen had caught a great number of Hifrim's men in the open as they sallied out from the Perch, hemming them in and killing most of the archers as the infantry scrambled back to the safety of the Perch. It stood atop a natural outcropping of rock, a jagged crag with only one easy way up and down, and the way was narrow. The gatehouse loomed over them, ahead and to the left, and a small wooden tower spat arrows from the top of the wall to the right.

"Nearly there, lads!" exhorted Paegar, gripping the wooden frame tighter with his gloved fist. He jinked to the side, leading them on one final dash towards the wall. Theirs was one of three ladders, cut hastily from the woods and assembled within the last few hours. "This way now!"

"Loose!" Yarwen's voice sounded out, followed by the thwack of two-dozen bowstrings and the whistle of arrows. Paegar instinctively ducked as they passed overhead, and he charged foward with renewed energy. It had been Yarwen's idea to use ladders to assault the Perch, once Paegar, with the Lucky Legion, had joined the King's men under her command. Paegar didn't quite understand, however, how he now found himself leading the charge, whilst she stayed back with the archers and the second wave. He looked up at the walls, where the defenders had all ducked out of sight, as the arrows clattered against the stone or flew harmlessly over their heads.

"Up we go, boys!" Paegar thrust the ladder down at the ground as he approached the final few feet, jamming its end into the dirt and bracing his boot against the base. The men behind him heaved forward, and the other end of the ladder, a sack of shut-dust firmly nailed to the final rung, went soaring up to the top of the wall. The sack cushioned the blow as the ladder hit home, and it's unfastened ends billowed out, releasing a cloud of grey, ash-like powder. The cloud filled the air at the top of the wall, and a few helmetted heads rapidly bobbed away from the spot. Paegar nodded in approval. The dust had been Yarwen's idea, too, after liberating the sacks from a flattered Sheeper's pack the previous evening.

"Move yourselves, you bloody rot-cocks!" Paegar shouted. The men began clambering, led by one lanky looking fellow with a horrible scar through his lips, from nose to chin.

"Rot-cocks?" The man laughed, full of bravado as he climbed, hand over hand, calm and methodic.

"Sounds like he knows where you dip yours, Getch," the next legionary said, following his mate up the ladder. Paegar glanced over at the next ladder party, who also had their ladder in place: a second cloud of shut-dust puffed out above their heads, followed by a third as the final ladder slammed against the parapet. For a good fifty or so feet, the defenders were cleared away from the wall. Perhaps a few fell victim to the paralysing powder, but if so, it went unseen from below, and the main thing was that the walls were cleared of Hifrim's men. The Lucky Legion filed up the ladders in quick order, the first men holding their ground atop the wall, raising their round shields to defend against arrows and projectiles thrown from either side, and from below, as the defenders formed up at the edge of the cloud to either side. They helped their stricken comrades who had managed to avoid most of the dust, spluttering and struggling to find their breath as they fell back. The men of the legion formed a protective shield wall around the ladder, as their comrades came up behind them. They waited in the cloud, letting as many as possible reach the top, each man adding his shield and spear to the press as they scrambled over the parapet. They held their position.

Baron Paegar spat a thick glob of floral-tasting spit. He desperately needed a drink, but simply had to console himself that all the men felt the same way, each having eaten a leaf of bitter rous-bud plant before the fight. The horrible herb had felt disgusting on the tongue, but it would protect them from the potent effects of shut-dust, and so Paegar swallowed back the bitterness and pulled himself up the ladder. Swiftly reaching the top, he swung his legs over the stone parapet and dropped to the other side. Drawing his sabre, he looked to his left and down the wall towards the gatehouse. It could be accessed from the top of the wall where they now were, and once inside, they would be able to open the gates, allowing Yarwen and her men inside the Perch.

"Right then, Getch!" Paegar shouted at the scarred legionary who had led the way. Getch stepped forward, holding his shield close, and his comrades to either side moved with him. They headed left along the wall, towards the defenders blocking the entrance to the gatehouse. White cloths flickered in the wind, tied around their arms, the usual way of identifying a friend in the heat of battle. Paegar stood on the inner-edge of the wall and peered down into the courtyard beyond. A group of men-at-arms were forming up there, perhaps a score of them, making their own small shield wall. It was Hifrim's housecarls, better equipped than the defenders on the walls, wearing various pieces of plate over their chain mail and carrying wicked looking weapons. They were lead by a burly fellow in a shiny helm, with a peacock feather fastened to the top. Paegar recognised him at once; it was Hifrim's warlord, Cantril, a seasoned veteran and loyal servant of the Hifrims for many years. Even as Paegar watched, Cantril ordered his men to stay put, and prepare to defend the gateway should it be opened. Then he and half-a-dozen of the best equipped housecarls rushed off out of sight, towards the gatehouse, presumably to enter from below and come to join the defenders on the wall.

Paegar hefted his shield and followed behind his men. Getch still led, emerging from the cloud almost within spear-thrust range. The men either side of him overlapped their shields with his, and they moved forward smoothly and with precision. Paegar felt a surge of pride; they had lost none of their well-practiced discipline, and still fought like the standing army they had once been.

Getch shrieked as he pushed against the enemy, a shrill cry of exhilaration mixed with fear. Shields banged and clattered to his left and right, and blades flashed between them as men thrust and stabbed at each other. "Go on, lads!" Paegar exhorted, "Show these rats what real fighting is!"

The legionaries heaved as one, the men behind lending their weight to those in front as they shoved their shields ahead of them. The defenders were pushed back towards the gatehouse, unable to contend with such numbers. One of them stumbled as he went back, tripping on an unconscious comrade and lowering his shield. It was all the invitation the legionary to Getch's left needed: he slipped his sword's point through the newly opened gap, thrusting into the exposed flank of the defender. Its tip caught in his mail, and didn't quite pierce, but the man screamed in shock and scrambled backwards to escape. The legionary shoved his way into the gap left in the enemy line and shouldered another defender's shield as he battered his way in. The line crumbled in an instant as the defenders panicked. Those who were able to turn and flee did so, rushing off back into the gatehouse and slamming the wooden door behind them. They abandoned their unfortunate front line, and it was swarmed by legionaries. The defeated men barely had time to drop their weapons, and cry out for mercy, before they were hacked down.

The legionaries paused, their first skirmish won, but now with nowhere to go. Paegar watched as the legionary who had broken the enemy line held his shield up to block a javelin, thrown down from above the gatehouse. It glanced off the boss with a clang, however the man still dropped to his knees as if he himself had been struck. Getch knelt over him, fumbled in his purse and pulled out a handful of rous-bud leaves. He pushed one between the man's lips, then one between his own, and chewed as he helped him to his feet.

"Get that bloody door down!" shouted Paegar, as he moved to join Getch and his friend. More legionaries pushed past; the few with axes making their way to the sturdy wooden door. "You okay, Relmak?" He asked the exhausted legionary.

"I'll be alright, Captain," Relmak nodded, clearly embarrassed. "Strong stuff, init?"

"Bloody strong, Rel," said Paegar, turning to look back along the wall. The shut-dust was dispersing, slowly, but still kept the defenders on the other side at bay. They milled about at the base of the tower, unwilling to risk the dust. An occasional arrow cut through the cloud towards them, fired from the top of the tower, but it was all they could do as the legion began to batter its way into the gatehouse.

Two legionaries with axes stood to either side of the door, chopping away at a splintering gap in the wood. A spearhead poked through from within, jabbing at one axeman and piercing his thigh. The legionary dropped his weapon, clenched his teeth and grabbed the shaft of the spear. He yanked it free of the hole, reversed it, and angrily threw it back through as hard as he could. A scream of pain cried out from within, as the legionary grimaced and retrieved his axe from the ground.

"Quickly now, get us in there, before the dust settles and we're surrounded," Paegar encouraged the pair. "I know you'd enjoy that fight, lads, but Yarwen wants some too, so let's let her in first, eh?" He peered back over the parapet, as another javelin clattered against the stone behind him. Yarwen stared up at him, shuffling her feet impatiently. Behind her were fifty or so men-at-arms, some wearing red tabards with the King's crest. Those without wore red cloth instead, tied around their arms, and twenty or so archers shot arrows up at the walls from behind them.

"Well, Paegar?" Yarwen shouted up at him.

"Give us a minute, woman, they're not cooperating," Paegar gestured back over the wall with his sword, "and you've got company waiting for you inside, well armed buggers!"

Yarwen nodded, turned to her men and raised her hand. "Archers, thirty feet beyond the gate, let them have it!"

Behind the men-at-arms, the group of archers stopped peppering the walls with their arrows and formed up in a small line. They drew back their bows and Yarwen dropped her hand, "Loose!"

Paegar turned back to the gatehouse as the arrows soared overhead. The axemen had managed to smash a large hole in the center of the door, but it was proving to be a real challenge. Men could be seen moving around inside, and every now and then another spear, or javelin, or stone, even a few glass bottles, came hurling from within. From above, a silhouetted helmet looked down from the roof of the gatehouse as a bucket of shit and piss was emptied down on the axemen's heads.

"Fuck off!" Paegar threw off his shield and clambered up onto the parapet. It was only ten or so feet from here to the top of the gatehouse, and he got to his feet, balancing precariously. "Help me up here!"

Getch slid up onto the parapet on his belly, gingerly got to his feet and leaned on his captain's back for balance. He held his shield up to protect them both from above, as the bucket cracked against it. The silhouetted helmet vanished out of sight, and Getch ducked low. He knew exactly what Paegar wanted, and held his shield against his body. Paegar lifted a heavy boot up onto the rim of the shield and stepped up. Getch braced himself against Paegar's weight and pushed. Relmak was up on the parapet behind him now, and leaned over with his own shield, slamming it against the wall to make a second step. Paegar lifted his other boot and stepped up, wobbling precariously as Relmak almost couldn't take the weight. "Good man, Rel!" Paegar said. He tossed his sabre up to the top of the gatehouse and threw his arms up after it, grabbing for the edge. His leather gloves gripped well, and he roared as he tried to pull himself up. He kicked out, catching Getch in the side of the head, before placing his foot on the man's helmet and pushing up. Slowly but surely he managed to pull himself over the edge, just as the bucket man kicked him in turn. Paegar saw it coming at the last moment, and dodged to one side. The kick caught him in the shoulder and he was thrown back, barely keeping his arm over the edge of the parapet. Getch and Relmak grabbed a leg each and pushed, sending him back up, and he hooked his other arm around the bucket man's legs, dragging him to the ground. Paegar grabbed the man's belt and pulled himself up the final few feet, straddling him before launching a flurry of punches to his face. Paegar got to his feet, looking around for his sabre. It lay not far from his feet, between him and another of Hifrim's men who running towards an open hatchway in the floor. A shiny-helmed head peered up over the edge, peacock feather wobbling, and Paegar dove for his sabre, snatching it up as the hatch began to close.

"No you fucking don't, Cantril!" Paegar threw his sword, sending it spinning towards the warlord. It was a terrible throw, way off target, and the blade instead caught the fleeing soldier in the back of his legs. He went down hard, his face slamming into the wooden hatch and sending it crashing back on its hinges. Cantril's feathered helm ducked out the way, before popping back out. He shoved the dazed soldier aside and grabbed at the hatch with a gauntleted hand, but Paegar was too quick. He threw himself flat on the hatch and wrapped his arms around the feather-topped helm. "Come here, you prancing puddle of piss!" Paegar yanked Cantril's head to the side, slamming it against the side of the hatch.

"Bugger you, Paegar!" Cantril's heavy gauntet slammed into Paegar's throat. The mail coif at the Baron's neck softened the blow, but not much, and he spluttered and choked. He wrenched Cantril's head to the side and kicked himself backwards, pulling the warlord's armoured torso out of the hatchway. "Getch! Help!" he called for his comrade, clinging to Cantril for dear life as the gauntlet came up again, landing a glancing blow to the chin which made his eye water.

Getch had his upper-half above the parapet, and looked over at Paegar. "Alright, Sir," he said, as he swung his legs up. He turned and reached back down for Relmak's arms. "We're coming!"

The two legionaries came to their feet and rushed over, drawing their weapons. They fell upon the hatchway as a sword point came thrusting up at Paegar from the shadows below, one of Cantril's men, a housecarl trying to save his master. Paegar wriggled away from the blade, as Relmak stabbed down at its owner with his own. Getch jumped on Cantril, pinning his gauntlet to the floor with his knee. He raised his sword and battered at the helm's visor with its pommel, over and over again.

"Treacherous arsehole!" Paegar sat up, hooking his fingers around the bottom of the helm and fumbling to wrench it off Cantril's head.

"Alright, alright!" Cantril stopped struggling and went still. Paegar and Getch dragged him out the hatchway, as Relmak stood on the hatch, dodging wild swings, as the housecarl, stood on the ladder below, tried to dislodge the legionary. He grabbed Cantril's leg, trying to pull his master back into the hatchway, but Relmak sent a kick towards the housecarl's face, driving him back down the ladder.

"Look after this one, Getch," said Paegar, "he's a sneaky shit."

"Aye, Sir," Getch sat on Cantril's back. An expensive looking longsword was still sheathed at the armoured man's side. "Can I have his sword?" Getch asked, offering his shield to Paegar.

"You'll see it finds its way to Sheeper, Getch," replied Paegar, taking the shield and picking up his sabre. He moved over to Relmak's side and swung it at the hatchway, as the man-at-arms tried yet again to push his way up the ladder. The sabre slashed against the rim of his shield, and the toe of Relmak's boot smashed into his teeth. Back down he went. "Wait for it," Paegar said, peering down to the floor below. He had a clear view of the axemen as they finished splintering their way through the solid door. The white cloths tied around their arms flashed in the sun, and one final, crushing blow sent thick splinters of wood flying across the room. "Now!" Paegar yelled, and jumped down at the man-at-arms in the hatchway. He shoved his shield at the man's face and the pair went tumbling down into the dark.

"By the Sun," Relmak exclaimed, before stepping down the ladder after them. A sword came at him from the left, and he brought the rim of his shield down to knock it aside as he threw himself off the ladder in the other direction. His back thumped against someone, and turning, he came face to face with a snarling soldier in a nasal helmet, who brought up his sword in a flash towards Relmak's belly. The legionary brought down his shield just in time, catching the tip of the blade and squirming to one side to avoid the blow. It seemed like he had all the time in the world to bring up his own sword-point, and he pushed its tip firmly into the soldier's face. He kicked the screaming man in the groin as he pulled the weapon free with a shower of blood, and glanced around the room. Paegar was moving towards the door, as the first axeman came through it, covered in shit and steaming with anger. There was a soldier between the two of them, and the axeman swung his big two-handed axe at the man, just as Paegar slashed down on his shoulder from behind. The sabre ineffectually glanced off the soldier's mail, but it distracted him enough: the axe blade passed easily through the mail at his waist, biting in deep. He screamed in terror as he was chopped almost in half. His guts splilled out behind the axehead as it was ripped from his side, and he toppled to the ground like a felled tree.

The door out onto the wall on the other side of the gatehouse was open, but blocked by three soldiers standing side by side. They seemed unsure whether to attack or flee, so Relmak ignored them, and instead took the opportunity to dart over to the great wheel built into the outer wall. The three soldiers edged forward as more of them climbed up from below, led by a plate mailed housecarl wielding a spiked mace. He charged at Relmak, but the axe-wielding legionary was there ahead of him, pushing his way inbetween the two of them with his weapon held across his chest. He shoved it against the housecarl's chest plate, as the mace came down on his own head, hard. The blow crushed his metal helmet on one side, and sent the legionary down to one knee. He swung the axe out low at the housecarl's leg, cutting through the metal greave and severing it at the knee. The blade stuck there in his leg as he fell to the side, wrenching the axe out of the legionary's hands. More soldiers moved in for the kill, hacking down at the unarmed man, and he toppled forward as a spear was driven through his chest. A group of legionaries charged into them from across the room, piling in through the door as quickly as they could and roaring obscenities as they ploughed into the enemy. Paegar was there, rushing to Relmak's side and rubbing his throat. He grabbed the other side of the big wooden wheel, and the two of them heaved down, leaning into it. The wheel slowly began to turn, and a grinding noise could be heard from below. A great cheer came from outside as the portcullis came up, inch by inch, and Yarwen and her men were finally able to join the fight.

A change seemed to pass over the defenders like a wave, as they realised the gatehouse was lost. The men by the still-intact door immediately turned tail and fled back outside, one legionary picking up a javelin from the floor and throwing it after them. It caught the last soldier in the side, spinning him around and sending him flying off the wall, down to the courtyard below. The men of the legion cheered, slapping each other's backs and grinning like idiots as Baron Paegar shouted for their attention. "We're not done yet, you hellions," he pointed his sword down the stairs to the ground floor. "Go on, get after them!"

Some of the legionaries started down the stairs, others crossed the room and went through the door, to clear the other side of the walls of the fleeing enemy. Paegar left through the splintered door, back outside to where the shut-dust cloud had by now completely dispersed. A handful of legionaries were stood with their shields up, blocking the width of the wall, but they needn't have bothered; all the defenders from the tower opposite, having been impeded by the dust right up until the moment the gatehouse had fallen, were not attempting to counter attack the legionaries. Instead, they had fled back inside the tower and down the stairs, heading into the courtyard, and now they ran to join the ever-growing ranks of housecarls below. The well equipped men formed a formidable, long front line, and Hifrim's regular soldiers gathered behind them in a second, more ragged one, as they retreated from the walls and fell in. The housecarls in the center yelled at them to stand and fight, and most did. Only a few continued running straight past, up the main road into town, losing themselves amongst the filthy houses and hovels beyond. Hifrim's Keep stood on the top of the hill, surrounded by the dirty buildings on all sides, and any who fled into the tangled streets wouldn't get far. Paegar watched from above as Yarwen lead her men through the gatehouse. She ran to the right, below where he stood, and they followed, forming a line of their own, fifty-feet away from the enemy.

Paegar furrowed his brow as the King's men moved towards the enemy shield wall, the red cloth at their arms a bloody omen of things to come. It was curious that the defenders hadn't met Yarwen at the gate, before they could spread out within the wall. Perhaps they had simply been concerned about the possibility of Paegar's men coming down from the walls, and getting behind them, slaughtering them as they kept Yarwen at bay. And yet something felt strange to Paegar about this enemy shield wall in the middle of the courtyard. His instincts had got him this far in life, and he knew to ignore them at his peril . . .

The King's men took another step forward as one, closing the gap, then another, and Paegar watched in horror as the earth began to burst beneath their feet. Gaping holes, as wide as a man is tall, opened up to swallow them whole, and half a dozen or so vanished into the ground in an instant. The men paused, and Yarwen screamed out behind them. "Don't stop, you miserable maggots!" She lashed out with the flat of her sword, smacking one across the back. The King's men stepped around the holes carefully, slowly moving towards the enemy.

"They have a fucking sigil-keeper," Paegar sighed. "But where is the cunt?"

"In the keep, with Hifrim?" Relmak asked. He had joined Paegar, and now stood by his side, panting. He took a leaf of rous-root from his purse and popped it in his mouth. "He probably won't have stuck around after setting his fucking traps."

"Go easy with that stuff, Rel," Paegar cautioned the legionary. "It'll make you feel like shit in a few hours."

They rushed back to the gatehouse as more holes opened in the ground before Yarwen and her men. Paegar hoped she had the good sense to pull them back, and not keep up the broken attack. He rushed down the stairs to the ground floor, nearly running headlong into a legionary clutching a large, half-wheel of cheese to his chest. Paegar slapped the cheese out of the man's hands and pushed him towards the door. "Get out!" the Baron growled at the legionary, and Relmak followed them both out into the courtyard with a smirk.

Yarwen was sensible; she called off the advance, calling out for her men to retreat. They pulled back and lined up behind the strange holes. The men who had fallen into the traps cried out for their comrades, as the King's men formed back up. A murmer went up from the crowd as the holes began to close, the earth around shifting and spilling from the rim. Some ran forward, looking down at their friends in a panic as the soil began to fall and crumble away from the edge. One man dropped his sword and shield, threw himself onto his belly and reached down into one of the holes for a grasping arm. He went sliding in along with his friend as the ground beneath him gave way, and the two of them were buried within seconds. Their comrades gave up on the unlucky men, not wanting to go to an early grave themselves. All they could do is watch with horror and fascination as the holes sealed themselves, leaving no trace but the disturbed top-soil.

Behind the King's men, the men of the Lucky Legion swept the walls clear of Hifrim's men, searching the towers at either end for survivors before coming down to join their allies. The enemy jeered and hollered out, waving their weapons and beating their shields as the King's men pulled back from the weirdly appearing holes. It had been a cunning trick, and around a dozen of the King's men had fallen into the pits. One had suffered a sprain, and anoher a twisted knee as he had jumped back from one of the holes. The two of them hobbled back to the gatehouse, tapping their fists to their foreheads at Paegar as he ran past them towards Yarwen.

"What is this mischief, Paegar?" she pointed at the loose earth ahead of the men under her command.

"Sheeper!" Yelled the Baron, looking around. The quartermaster had never been one for getting his hands dirty if it could be avoided, and so waited inside the gatehouse, watching the two forces stare each other down. He was clutching a white cloth, wringing it in his pudgy hands. He looked up as he heard his name, and tied the cloth around his arm before waddling over.

"Sir?" he asked nervously, and tugged the knot tight around his elbow.

"There you are, Sheep. Form the men up to Yarwen's left, if you please. I want a shield wall protecting her flank," Paegar thought for a moment, before adding, "and Getch has a friend on the gatehouse roof, fetch them both down here, would you?"

Sheeper hurried off, or what passed for hurrying with his short legs. Paegar removed his helmet, letting it dangle against his chest, and pulled back his chain mail coif. "They've got a sigil-keeper, Yarwen," he said, feeling the soothing breeze in his short cropped hair, "I need a drink."

Yarwen stared at him. She reached up and took off her own helmet. They both had plain nasal helmets, as did most of their men. Yarwen, however, wore plate mail, unlike Paegar. He still chose to stick with the chain mail and good, sturdy leather that had served the men of the Lucky Legion so well for so long. He had good plate, of course, at Duddaburg, but he hadn't worn it in so long he wondered if he still knew how to put it on. Times were changing, though, and the heavy armour was becoming more and more common throughout Selenia. He looked over at Hifrim's jeering men, in their assorted pieces of heavy plate, looted and pillaged from various skirmishes no doubt. Before long, it would be too dangerous to step onto a field of battle without it.

Paegar tugged on his chain mail sleeve. "You'll have to take them on, if it comes to it, Yarwen," he said. "Me and my lads aren't really prepared for a pitched fight, if you see my meaning. Put your helm back on."

"What do you mean, 'they have a sigil-keeper'?" Yarwen asked. She pushed back her coif to reveal a shaven scalp with beads of sweat running through blonde bristles. "You're going to speak to Hifrim, right?" she asked. "I'm coming, too." She tucked her helm under one plate-clad arm, and laid her other gauntlet on the pommel of the sword at her side.

"Captain Paegar," Getch swaggered towards them, with Cantril in tow. "Are you sure I can't have his sword?"

Cantril had his helm and coif off, too. He rubbed his sore neck and approached Baron Paegar, ignoring the legionary. "Paegar," he said, "Your brother has lost his fucking mind!"

Paegar pointed at Cantril. "You, shut your gob. You'll be lucky if you don't hang with Hifrim. Get your fucking men to lay down their weapons, before they get themselves killed."

Sheeper had rounded up the men of the legion, other than a couple of stragglers and the few injured. Now they stood in a two-man deep shield wall, alongside the shield wall of King Hasrin's soldiers. The combined forces outnumbered Hifrim's, but not by much, and the jeering from the enemy quieted down once they realised quite how many legionaries had come down from the walls, their white cloths now flecked with red.

"To Father Sun with you, Paegar," Cantril scowled at the Baron, placing his hands on his hips and holding his nose in the air. "Better to die here, than to live as a slave to Hasrin. And Lord Hifrim isn't the only one who feels that way."

"You surrendered, Cantril," Paegar said accusingly.

"I refuse to go to the Mother's bosom because some brutish barbarian breaks my neck; fight me fairly next time," the warlord winced, craning his head and feeling the muscles in his neck spasm. "Sun scorch you, Paegar."

Paegar stepped forward, jabbing his finger against Cantril's chest plate as he spoke. "Now's not the time for a fucking rebellion, you pompous prick!" He stopped, let his hand fall back to his side and stared at the warlord. "We need to stick together, like we did five years back."

Cantril's grey moustache bristled like a hedgehog. "Yes, now is the perfect time for a rebellion. The Lords are sick of Hasrin," he reached out and laid a gauntlet on Paegar's arm. "They're already plotting, Paegar. There's to be a war, whether we like it or not, please don't be on the wrong side, my friend."

Paegar shrugged Cantril's arm away. He rubbed at his blank eye socket with the back of his leather glove and stepped back, chuckling to himself.

"What's funny?" asked the warlord.

"You Sun-damned fool," Paegar said. "Look, just tell your men to stop. They can keep their weapons, only stand aside, and we don't all have to go to see Mother quite yet."

"As you said, Hasrin will probably hang me along with Hifrim," Cantril frowned. "And who knows what he will do to my men, so why should I?"

Paegar laid his hand on his old friend's shoulder. "He won't hang you, like I said, we're going to have to stick together, trust me. Just call them off, and we'll go and speak to Hifrim, together."

Cantril snorted derisively, casting his gaze over the loose earth in front of the King's men, and then over the firmer ground between them and his own line of housecarls. "Good try, Paegar, but I think we'll send you packing. Go ahead and attack."

"Into your magic holes? I don't think so," Paegar shook his head. "We're not going to be doing that again, but we can wait, if we have to. We're not going anywhere, Cantril, and eventually, you lose this fight, whatever way you slice it."

Cantril thought about it for a moment, gazing over at his men before letting out a sigh and visibly giving in. He seemed to suddenly become exhausted, and slumped his shoulders. "Fine," he said, and walked towards the enemy shield wall. Paegar followed, beckoning for Yarwen to join them.

The three carefully made their way around the edge of the dangerous ground between the two lines of men. The loose top-soil covered only perhaps ten feet of the ground infront of the King's men, leaving a lot of open ground beyond, surely covered with more hidden sigils. The men would have to cover it blind, and there was no telling how many more of the magical traps were laid out ahead of them. "What madness is this, Paegar?" Yarwen asked the Baron, kicking at some of the loose dirt as they passed.

"Sigil magic, Yarwen," Cantril answered instead. "Hifrim hired sigil-keeper a few days ago, and he's full of useful tricks."

"Told you so, Wen," said Paegar. "What's this sigil-keeper's name?"

"Crythwan," replied Canril. "You'll meet him soon enough."

He walked around the edge of the courtyard, stopped, raised his arms above his head and shouted for his men's attention. "Hear me! Put away your weapons, no more bloodshed today!" He yelled. The housecarls in the center of the line obeyed immediately, sheathing weapons and lowering shields without a pause. Visors were raised and helms removed. The soldiers to the rear and flanks seemed a little confused, but relieved. They milled around, wondering what to do. Some took the chance to dart off up the street, and more followed, no doubt heading to their homes and families as fast as possible, in case things started getting bloody again and the town became a playground for pillaging demons. Cantril approached the well armed housecarls and spoke with them personally. "Wait by the gatehouse. Baron Paegar has given his word you may keep your weapons, but cause no trouble, keep to yourselves and await my return." A rumble of agreement went up from the housecarls, and they moved through the holes towards the gatehouse. Yarwen waved at King Hasrin's men, and they moved aside to let them pass through the shield wall unmolested.

"Sheeper!" Paegar shouted out to the sweaty quartermaster. "Take over here, would you, man?" He turned away before Sheeper could protest. Yarwen watched as he removed his spectacles, untied the white cloth from around his arm and used it to clean the lenses. He popped them back on his face and looked at the housecarls, then at the King's men, then to the Lucky Legion. He shook his head and shouted something unintelligible at Paegar's back.

"Can he handle it?" Yarwen asked the Baron. They followed behind Cantril as he strode up the road into town. "Slow down, Cantril!"

"He can handle it," Paegar replied. "He loves it, really. Reminds him of the old days."

"Speaking of which, what in the Sun's name do you mean, 'we need to stick together', Paegar?" Cantril slowed down to match their pace. "Hasrin failed us, what do we owe him?"

"He saved us all from the Wrackbone, didn't he?"

"And then he let the kingdom fall into ruin, good for him," Cantril scoffed. "You can't blame the lords for wanting something different."

"And so you decided to steal his taxes?" Paegar countered. "That was stupid, Cantril, you only brought attention to yourself."

"Hifrim had to pay for all these soldiers somehow, they're mostly mercenaries we owe a month's pay already," Cantril replied. "A messenger arrived, not but a week ago, and left the sigil-keeper behind when he left. It seems he requested that Lord Hifrim begin strengthening his forces, in preperation for war, and so we started hiring as many ruffians as possible."

"A messenger, you say?" Paegar furrowed his brow. "And who sent this messenger?"

"I don't know, Paegar. I told you, the lords have been plotting. Hifrim met with him alone, and then the man left."

"I think I know who sent him, Cantril," Paegar rubbed his eye socket. "But perhaps it's better if you ask your master, come on."