Glen

The final say

The first day, of the first winter month, last of the Imperial year 3200 (188 NC), our small procession stopped afore the single arched bridge across Teid River. Teid had a width of twelve meters from bank to bank, not deep enough for anything than flat-bottomed fishing boats to float on it, treacherous for anyone foolish enough to swim across its currents and had its sources somewhere on the Northwall Heights, the natural border separating the Duchy of Raoz from the cold part of the Cofol Steppe and the freezing lands of the sparsely populated north side of Eplas. It was a very windy morning…

Glen, wild hair blowing in the cold wind, saw Emerson raising his right hand to bring everyone to a halt and made to pull Val’s reins to stop her, but the well-mannered mare beat him to it and halted on her own accord. Jinx found it extremely amusing and let out a strange chuckle, teeth rattling from the cold. Glen threw her a warning glare.

“What?” She replied. “Ye know fuck all, about horses!”

“Whoa,” Dante called behind them, as one after the other the men came to a full stop before the wooden bridge.

A farmer crossing it stopped, reins of his mule in hand and looked at them all curious.

“Keep it quiet ye two,” Emerson warned them and turning on his saddle, faced the silently watching local. “Greetings good man, we’re looking for Hellfort Castle. We come from Altarin.”

“If ye cross the bridge and follow the dirt road, towards the gorge, ye’ll see it on yer left, up the slope,” The weary man said. Glen noticed his mule was laden with tools, mostly axes.

“Gratitude, we’ll be on our way then,” Emerson replied with a nod. “Ye go first good man.”

Glen narrowed his eyes, the fertile and wood-covered bank they were currently on, turned into unforgiving mountainous and mostly barren land on the other side of the bridge.

Darn ye Luthos!

“Why built the castle there?” He whined frustrated, the moment the knight pushed his horse towards the bridge, after the farmer.

Dante snorted hearing him.

“Guard the bridge I suppose and block the road passing through the gorge,” He said gruffly, too dirty to be in a good mood.

“Hah! Our captain, the fuckin’ strategist!” Jinx guffawed and Soren joined in, then Zola and even Stiles. Victor Hook’s uncomfortable stare prevented Glen from mirroring them. Jinx riding next to him, smacked him once on the shoulder playfully.

Although she put a whole lot of power behind it.

Like a ton more.

Liko found it extremely funny.

“Pale’s got no teeth for smiles, Glen,” The female Gish jibed, stupid grin on her noseless face.

Glen rubbed his stinging shoulder, too frustrated to reply, as one after the other everyone passed by him, the last one being Lith. The Zilan paused her horse without command, the reins disappearing inside her closed cape, apparently tied to her torso, or something. She was busy fixing arrowheads on premade shafts, everything placed neatly before her on the saddle and nothing spilling down.

A miracle of balance.

“You need armour,” Lith repeated her mantra and Glen shook his head annoyed.

“Are you getting heavier?” Glen retorted, before he’d time to think it through.

“I am not.” She hissed, all indignant.

“How did ye pull the reins, without holding them?” Glen asked, readily switching to a more neutral subject, getting much the same answer.

“I didn’t,” Lith replied and moved away.

For fuck’s sake.

“Master Glen,” Stiles, the last of their procession, said.

“Enough! Just Glen is bloody fine! And more healthy,” Glen snapped and the sneaky former pirate, grimaced and scratched his head as if thinking about it.

“Not for me,” He finally replied. “I advise ye to find out, why the old man send us here, Master Glen. It’ll be healthier for ye as well.”

Hellfort Castle stood two kilometers to the west of the bridge, less than one from the gorge splitting the vast Northwall Peaks mountain range in two, where it bended to head for Raoz’s coast. Its washed out grey and weather beaten granite walls enclosed a typical Lorian internal yard for the most part and a single square tower built almost to hug the west side of the narrow canyon. Hellfort’s Pass as the locals called it, followed the chasm all the way to Snake’s Spine, where the land started rising again blocking the way, and turned towards the frozen coast until it reached the last working port on Eplas side of the Shallow Sea, the Cofol stronghold of Ri Yue-Tu.

Glen squinted his eyes and wiped his dripping nose, the strong wind blowing from the gorge not helping at all. There were people working near the castle, carts and carriages unloading supplies and materials, the road leading to its gates under construction.

“Well, this sure fell short from what I expected,” Dante commented.

“There’s… a wall missing,” Glen added.

“Tis a hole, I reckon,” Jinx corrected it for him.

“A crack gone bad more like,” Emerson decided and he approached one of the workers, a grizzly man working with a shovel, naked from the waist up, his muscles swelling and the wind not bothering him at all.

“There,” The man said and tossed the shovel to one of the three younger men watching him closely. “Ye dig ‘em rocks out, clean it up proper. Fifty meters straight. Then we backfill it anew with the slates we cut yesterday.”

“Why clean it up, if we are to fill it again?” One of them asked grumpily.

“I’ll pretend ye didn’t ask that son,” The older man said and seeing Emerson approach paused to examine his armour, before talking. “Who might ye be?”

“Tis Sir Lennox a knight of Lesia, at your service, my good man,” Emerson delivered his patented greeting with a grunt. That last part needed more work, Glen thought, blowing his hands to warm them up.

“Greetings Sir Knight. Name’s Decanus Marcus Saunio,” The man said, picking up a tunic from a pile of cut rocks and putting it on. “Though I suppose, retired now.”

“You were in the Legion?” Emerson asked him.

“True that, got discharged five years back now. Was serving with the second engineering cohort, under Prefect Placus Durio,” Marcus explained, while keeping an eye on the men working on the road. “Ye can say I followed Centurion Habitus to Raoz, been working for the Lord of Altarin since.”

“Wait, Spurius is here?” Emerson asked, surprise on his face.

“Ayup,” Marcus pointed at a short but wide-shouldered man, barking instructions to a group of workers, the shiny segmented armour he wore making him appear even wider to Glen’s eyes. “That’s his retired arse right there. Hey, Centurion!” He bellowed, almost toppling a startled Glen from his horse.

“What? Is that you Saunio?” Spurius barked back. “I’m plaguin’ busy!”

“Who bloody cares?” Marcus retorted. “We ain’t in the fuckin’ army, Habitus! There’s a knight here, fixing to talk to ye.”

“Praised be Tyeus,” Spurius said, when he approached. Emerson had jumped off his horse, everyone following his example. They locked hands, a grin on their faces. “Lord Emerson, in the bloody flesh!”

The knight pulled back, a little uncomfortable. “It’s just Sir Emerson now, Spurius.”

The ex-legion man, gray hairs covering his head cut short, but for his sideburns that covered his cheeks, whistled.

“I bet there’s more to that story.”

“Not for sharing in public.”

“Most good stories are like that.”

Emerson nodded in agreement. Spurius glanced towards Glen and grimaced as if he’d seen a ghost.

“We were expecting orders from Lord Reeves,” He said, his eyes never leaving the young man’s face.

Emerson gave him a small rolled up scroll, which he quickly opened breaking its seal and read it. Snorted loudly after that, checked around for any onlookers and then turned to Glen, who’d sunk now inside his coat’s raised collar to protect himself from the biting northern wind, only part of his nose and eyes showing.

“You’re Sir Glenavon’s son,” Spurius said, not an ounce of doubt in him. The young man nodded and almost squealed scared, when the ex-Centurion grabbed him in a tight bear hug, Glen’s face massing on his chest armour. “My condolences about yer father lad.” The strong man said in his ear and Glen sniveled pitifully unable to breathe proper, or answer.

But it worked fine just the same.

“What happened to the castle?” Emerson asked an hour later, sun full above their heads, the wind somewhat lessened and the temperature rising. They stood inside the castle’s large yard, various workers and soldiers running about, bringing supplies and materials inside. They were to assist with repairing the weathered and broken stone buildings first thing on the morrow. Lord Reeves’ orders were pretty clear on that.

Glen slurped his hot soup down, while he listened to Spurius Habitus answer. The Gallant Dogs were pressed into service helping on the repairs, much to their disappointment. It was more like fury, Glen thought with a smirk, eyes gawking when he saw Lith standing on top of the tower twenty meters above their heads, her cape flapping in the gentler wind as she examined the clear skies. The part of it that hadn’t collapsed that is, he thought, the huge crack revealing its torn up insides, visible on the other side. A moment later he gasped shocked. There was a small creature standing next to her left foot, which Glen recognized instantly.

Luthos stinking cock caught in a vise!

“There you are,” He said leaving his bowl on the wooden bench and getting up.

“Stay,” Emerson grunted. “We may need your input, Glen.”

Glen smacked his lips. I can see the sneaky dwarf clearly darn it! He thought frustrated.

“About what?” He snapped.

“A decision must be made,” Spurius Habitus explained. “Hellfort was never rebuilt after the earthquake of sixty-nine. Was left as it was. A small garrison of ten soldiers to inspect the caravans, such as they were and to help the locals.”

“How many of them live near?” Emerson asked, but Glen decided the whole matter was completely pointless. He could see the creature out of the corner of his eye, talking animated with Lith. The fuck they were talking about?

“Ten – twelve farmhouses, on this side of Teid River.”

“That’s not even a village,” Emerson commented, the matter troubling him. “Will they help?”

“With provisions, a couple of animals, grain. Not much else,” Spurius replied.

“Can you finish the repairs in time?”

“You have a time then?”

The knight sighed pensively.

“I don’t. Nobody does. We may don’t see action at all, most believe it anyway.”

Spurius laughed good-naturedly.

“Quite a dilemma,” He said, stilling his eyes on him. “It’s on you then, young lord. Ye get to say, what we should do.”

What?

“What do you mean?” Glen asked, suspicion written all over his flushed face. “You’re an ex-Centurion of the bloody Legion!”

“Of the engineering cohort,” Spurius explained, smirk on his face. “There’s a difference.”

“How about him?”

“He’s a not a Reeves. You are, my young lad. Are you not?”

Fuck.

God Darn it!

“Of course!” He snapped angry.

Spurius Habitus showed him the scroll and Glen pretended he could read it. Some of it he understood, but not much.

“It’s Lord Reeves’ order. You have the final say,” Spurius said.

“What’s the dilemma?” Glen asked giving up. They had him over a barrel, it was the long and short of it, he thought seething from the inside.

Emerson grunted, either in agreement, or not. “We either repair the castle for the winter,” The knight explained, as if no part of the plan was affable to him. “Or prepare defenses, much as we can, to stop a potential Cofol excursion through the pass.”

Glen licked his lips stunned. The conversation had gone in a direction, he didn’t expect.

What this had to do with him?

“An excursion.” He murmured.

“An attack was my meaning,” Emerson elucidated, what he’d dreaded.

Luthos help me.

Now.

“How… are we sure, do we know for certain, there will be an… attack?” He finally asked tripping over his tongue, his mind working overtime to find the correct answer.

“No. We don’t,” Spurius said.

There, salvation!

“We don’t know,” The knight grunted. “It could come on the morrow.”

Oh, for slovenly fuck’s sake!

“How bad is the winter?” He asked, going another way.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, but for the North wind snaking its way in from the gorge, it’s pretty tame,” Spurius said. “We have tents aplenty.”

Tents?

An image of a naked Marcus Saunio shoveling snow to dig them out, came to his mind.

It was very disturbing.

“Centurion Habitus, served twenty years outside Yepehir,” Emerson said in words, what he’d suspected.

He breathed once deep, felt their eyes on him all tense and expecting, then exhaled slowly puffing his cheeks out.

“Repair the tower, start with the wall first,” Glen said, sitting up straighter. “But I want to know, if someone is coming from the pass, as soon as possible.”

Spurius glanced towards Emerson, the knight’s frown mellowing somewhat.

“Will the mercenaries help?” Spurius asked his old friend.

“They will,” Glen answered for him. “They’re paid for the year.”

“We could drill the men,” The former legionnaire offered, watching him now with renewed interest. “They can hold a spear and dig, not much else. It might take time. At least a month.”

“Find the time then,” Glen said. Always have another plan, in case your first one falls apart. Don’t get caught with yer cock in hand son, as Crafton always touted. “Can anyone do it?”

“Decanus Marcus can.” Spurius offered readily.

“I thought he was an engineer?” Glen asked, taken by surprise.

“In the Legion,” The man expounded with a knowing smirk and that was that.

It would take us a month to finish patching up the hole on Hellfort’s outer wall. Another to build a wooden staircase to reach the second floor. Lithoniela didn’t like the latter, as it forced us downstairs and near the sharp eyed Gish and the rest of the humans. Being young and naïve, I always thought her fears of being discovered inflated. When it finally happened, it wasn’t because of the pink-haired Ranger’s keen senses, or even magic. War strips away everything in the end.

Fikumin Flintfoot

Jarl of all the Folk,

First Servant of the Onyx Wyvern

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Chapter II

(Prologue)

An Adventurer’s Tale

Circa 251 NC