“He’ll live,” Galio announced, after Canutia worked on the Issir’s wounds and he had a lot of those. The worst being the one to his side, a spear thrust that went clean through him. He’d patched it up very roughly days back, but now Canutia had cleaned it up again and stitched the leaking parts proper. “Has a fondness for yer wine, milord.”

“Can he talk?” Lucius asked, he’d walked nervously up and down all this time, in front of the carriage turned to infirmary, for her to finish.

“I would, had I imbibed as much as he did, milord.” The old sergeant replied.

Lucius nodded and climbed up the small stairs to enter the warm confines of the carriage. Canutia, bowed her head and exited, leaving him alone, with the injured former prisoner.

He decided to cut to the chase.

“I’m Sir Lucius Alden,” The man grimaced, hearing his words and sat up straighter on the bench.

“Surely… not the Heir to Regia?” He asked, voice low-pitched and gravelly.

“The same,” Lucius replied and watched him press his cracked lips together, deep in thought. “What’s yours? Why were you held by the Nothmen?”

The man cleared his throat once, using the remaining fingers on his left hand, to scratch his beard.

“It’s Dirk Curd, Lord Alden. Worked under Lord Vanzon.” He said after a moment. “I must say, seeing ye here, ahm… is unexpected.”

“I intent to reach Ludr, before the worst of the winter sets in,” Lucius explained confidently. “You said, Lord Vanzon, your name seems familiar. You were in Riverdor, back in the summer.”

“Aye, I was. Watched some of the tourney,” Dirk said, bending his fingers on his maimed hand again and again, as if to make sure, they were still working. “My sympathies for yer brother.”

“Thank you,” Lucius grunted, not wanting to talk about it. “You didn’t answer my query.”

“I was captured, is all,” Dirk offered, playing it down.

“Why tortured and not killed?”

“It was on the cards, my lord. They just wanted to make the most of it,” He paused, face hardening at the memory, before adding. “I guess they bit more, than they could chew. Lucky for me.”

“I owe you my life,” Lucius said, getting up. “I do not take this lightly, Mr. Curd.”

Dirk shook his head, not agreeing.

“It was Luthos that saved us both, Lord Alden. Or some other god.”

“Just the same, you’re welcome to join us, Mr. Curd. I shall reward you, when my mission is completed.”

“What is the mission, if I may inquire, Lord Alden?” Dirk asked him.

Lucius considered not telling him, but after some thought, decided to go ahead with it.

They’ve lost a man recently. Gods were giving, same as they were taking away.

“You’ll swear faith to me and mine, Mr. Curd?”

“I’m not really an asset, Lord Alden. Not where yer going.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes.

“Is that your answer?”

Dirk cracked a pained smile.

“I’m yer man, Lord Alden. If you’ll have me,” He said, a hint of razz in his voice that perplexed Lucius. He wasn’t used to sellswords hesitating joining his banner. On the other hand, he hadn’t really recruited any of his men alone before, but for Galio. The rest of them were his father’s people. Even Roderick.

“Have some wine, Mr. Curd,” He told him. “As I try to explain, our mission.”

“Ye have O’ Dargan’s daughter here?” Dirk had gained most of his color, the warmth inside the carriage and the wine helping. Lucius nodded. “How did ye capture her?”

“I didn’t,” Lucius replied calmly. “Found her in Riverdor.”

“Why not give her up to the High King’s men?”

“She asked for Regia’s protection, my father gave it.”

“King Antoon, won’t be happy hearing it. Nor Lord Vanzon,” Dirk commented.

“He won’t hear it and Lord Vanzon should know, we don’t attack women to avenge a man’s crime,” The injured man on the process of drinking from his goblet, almost drown on it. Had to cough up most of it. Tears in his eyes. Lucius realized, the man was laughing. “You find my words amusing?”

“Am I permitted to explain?”

“Of course.”

Dirk smacked his lips, placing his goblet on the wooden shelve secured on the carriage’s wall, before answering.

“There’s a war going on, my Lord. A real one. No tourney rules are applied.”

Lucius blinked once, uncertain on his meaning.

“You mean, Lord Vanzon went ahead and attacked the O’ Dargan’s?”

Dirk frowned deeply and rubbed his face hard with both hands, as if to rid himself of it. He wasn’t successful. “He did, but Jarl David took Wolvesbane Castle from the Crulls, before that using a ruse. Declared the start of the hunt and fooled everyone. Lord Vanzon believing the campaign season over… sent his son over the Lud River with a sizeable force to… attack Ludr. It wasn’t the success we’d imagined.”

“What happened?” Lucius asked him.

“We were cut off, most of the force destroyed between the river’s smaller legs,” Dirk replied, tensing up.

“No prisoners?”

“Other than me, I don’t know.”

Lucius was appalled at the barbarism.

“Why would Lord Vanzon, attack in the winter, without reinforcements?”

“None were coming, per our High King.”

That foolishness with the Khan.

Antoon had his eye on Raoz and there was danger, he’d lose most of his Northern territories. Except Sovya, but could they be trusted not to rebel again, if the worst happened?

Lucius grabbed his jaw with a hand, deep in thought. An all-out conflict changed his plans somewhat, but still, this was not Regia’s war and his father wanted the O’ Dargan’s kept on a leash and out of their lands.

“Stay in Kas for the winter, Lord Alden,” Dirk advised him. “Everything beyond that is no man’s land. You can’t negotiate with the Northmen. Not when they smell blood.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lucius said getting up.

Roderick tackled him, the moment he climbed down the carriage. Pushed him hard behind it, to avoid the eyes of the men.

“Unhand me!” Lucius gasped furious, but seeing the old man’s eyes, he paused.

“What are ye doin’ boy?” Roderick barked as angry, as he remembered him, just like he did, when they were young. Him and Ralph, always getting in trouble. “Are ye tryin’ to kill yerself? Is that it?”

“Calm down, you old fool!” Lucius snapped, his cheeks burning.

“Don’t give me none o’ that! Running uphill, no thought in mind! Almost getting killed, in the back end of nowhere and for what?” Roderick took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “The darn wench? Or is it Ralph? Ye think, being a fool, will bring him back?” He added, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not that.” Lucius snapped and pushed his hand away.

“What is it then? The young lad? He knew, what he was getting into.”

“Part of it,” Lucius wiped his mouth, the cold gnawing at him, after the warmth of the carriage. “I don’t want people dying under my watch. That’s all.”

“Boy, you’re to be the King of Regia. Not a general. Men will die, because of you. All the time. Ye get that? You’ve a kingdom to run. A bloody throne to return to. I’ll put ye there, if it’s the last thing I do, ye know why?” Lucius was taken aback at his outburst.

“Why?” He croaked.

“Yer father is my family. I know how it sounds,” The old hand said, voice firm, as it always had been. “You asked me once, why I didn’t want to be a knight. That’s it. I have no kids of my own, had no time for that, serving your father for all my life. I get to watch ye grow though, yer brothers as well,” He turned his eyes towards their camp, half-hidden by the bulk of the carriage. Breathed once deep, cold air not bothering him. “This for me, is reward enough.”

The morning found them on the road again. The first month of winter nearing its end, the winds bringing even more clouds, more snow, the North engulfing everything it touched in its icy embrace. They followed the Screaming Road through the split in the rocky mountains, unnamed white giants standing tall around them, ancient as the land they stood on, untamed, savage and free.

It opened up as they started coming down from the heights, the cold bitter and unforgiving, not giving up an inch, equally stubborn as they were. A week, or thereabouts before reaching the walled city of Kas, the trees turned white, as if made of ice. The White Forest sprawling in the distance, at the mouth of the canyon they were following. The last city of the Duchy of Sovya and a safe haven, almost within their grasp. Everything above there, although no one could really tell, where there started, was Fetya.

A host of forty camped next to the main road, blocking their way. Banner moving in the wind above them, square resembling that of the Legion, the letter L written on it.

Dirk Curd, standing behind him, eyes squinting to make out more details, scrunched his jaw this way and that, as if he’d tasted something sour.

“That’s the Numbers banner,” He said voice hoarse, barely heard over the wind, blasting on them from all sides. Adding, when he saw Lucius, not grasping it at first. “I guess, he brought the whole band wit him.”