Lucius

Carnage at the Bridges

Part II

(Screams in the wind)

Lucius glanced towards Roderick and the gaunt faced man, pressed his mouth in deep disapproval, turning old wrinkles into canyons. I can’t turn back now old man, he decided.

“Have the Northmen agreed to a truce until then?” He asked the silently watching him Lord Bart Crull.

“For a day. Morrow that is,” The lord of Eaglesnest replied.

“Why would they though?”

“They’ve been on campaign for over three months now,” Sir Reggy answered instead of his father. “Sleeping in the mud wears thin on you, after a time.”

Lucius wiped the sweat off of his forehead, the heat inside the tent almost suffocating.

“So you return O’ Dargan’s daughter and they stop.”

“I’m not a fool, Lord Alden,” Bart said, staring at a map he had in front of him showing troops positions. “They’ll never give up their gains without a fight.”

“Or for a girl.”

Lord Bart grimaced. “I’m willing to talk.”

“You’ll give up Wolvesbane Castle? That might do it,” Lucius probed, knowing it meant the Northmen would have a foothold in his territory, to use as a springboard for any future raids.

“The Castle is burned up. They put it to the torch,” The Crull patriarch said. “But it can be rebuilt.”

Lucius frowned, the reveal troubling.

“Why would they do that?”

“Retaliation,” He shrugged his shoulders. “For what Lord Vanzon did to Ludr. What does it matter? They are savages my Lord, looking for an excuse to pillage and destroy. Yer father knew that well.”

What did Vanzon do? Lucius wondered, ignoring his jab. A raid gone bad? Curd had mentioned something, but the man had been vague on the details.

“What will happen to her?” Lucius asked, still trying to find a way to get Zofia back, without getting too involved in local politics, and insert himself in a foreign kingdom's affairs. Although he just couldn’t see, how he could stay neutral and succeeding.

“If they accept the exchange; that is the woman for them retreating behind the river, she’ll be with her father before the month ends.”

“And if they don’t?” Lucius asked sternly.

“When the truce ends, we’ll fight,” The aged Lord replied, something in his voice sounding off to the young Heir, but he couldn’t place it, or figure out, what it was. “What will happen after that it’s anyone’s guess.”

“When is the meeting?” Lucius asked.

“Early on the morrow.”

“Can I see her?”

“The woman?” Lord Bart, stared at his sons briefly. “I can’t chance it, my Lord. She’s kept under lock and key. Ye lordship could escort her to the exchange, I suppose.”

Lucius stood back, not expecting the suggestion. “What are the terms?”

“Lucius,” Roderick protested.

“Captain Morris mercenaries will take her there,” He pointed at a spot between Wolvesbane Castle and the Montfoot Bridge. "I’ll have more men watching from a discreet distance. They’ll meet wit the Northmen, talk, surrender the girl, or not.”

“You’ll trust mercenaries for this?” Lucius inquired, sensing Roderick seething behind him, not liking the idea at all.

“They work for me. Their contract is binding, Lord Alden,” Bart explained, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s how it is.”

“I thought they worked for Lord Vanzon,” Lucius probed.

“Yer lordship was misinformed. I bought them out.” Lord Bart countered, a nervous tick appearing on his left eye.

Lucius nodded, not too convinced that he did, but unable to protest the matter further.

“You want me to accompany them,” He noted instead. Lord Bart stared at his creased hands, placed in front of him on the table, part of the map visible underneath. His answer coming surprisingly steady, Lucius thought.

“If ye so wish, Lord Alden. I found out early, ye can’t keep a knight from fulfilling his quest.”

Almost pleased.

They found Galio and the rest of their group, now consisting of Faustus, Kaeso and Mamercus, with injured Arrun, Canutia and the four mercenaries staying in Kas with the carriage and most of the animals for the winter. Lucius had decided to have them wait there, partly in case they had to return, but more so because he wanted to move faster and keep the woman out of harm’s way.

“That’s a bad idea,” Roderick griped, when they took the spots reserved for them near a hastily prepared fire pit, set up by Galio and the rest of the men. “I don’t like ‘em Crulls. Lord Bart wasn’t yer father’s favorite, despite what that old fart said.”

“I need to make sure, Zofia is safe,” Lucius replied, pulling his heavy coat around him, the cold biting again after they left the commander’s tent. “If they make the exchange and she gets to reunite with her family, we will follow them and talk to her father. It’s the best I can do.”

Roderick sucked the side of his cheek in and perused the warriors walking around the camp for a while. He let it go audibly before speaking, his voice guarded. “That’s not what worries me. That’s a lot of men angry and in great discomfort, freezing their arses off in this goddarn wilderness. A great number of ‘em doin’ the same exact thing in ‘em woods. I don’t see them packin’ and going home, without letting some of this pent up frustration out. My point is, what happens if they don’t agree to it?”

“You think, Lord Bart will need to give them more than the girl.”

“Don’t you?”

Lucius nodded, trying to sit better on the cut log, he was using for a stool. “I think he will have to eventually. But since they agreed to a truce, it means they are willing to talk.”

“Truces break all the time. Sometimes for no reason,” Roderick said.

“Not with Zofia’s life on the line. Her brother will think it twice.”

“I would have preferred it, if the Jarl was here.”

Lucius could agree with that and staring across the fire, where Galio was sitting, the old soldier’s eyes examining the comings and goings of the camp, he asked. “You think the Crulls can dislodge them?”

“Lord Bart has to take the flanks, cut them off the bridges, milord. He needs to hold the center though and I don’t know if what he has here is enough,” The sergeant replied, as if he had thought it through already.

“I would have expected him to gather more men. The Northmen’s camp seemed bigger,” Lucius agreed.

“He might have left them back at Eaglesnest. Guard his rear,” Roderick suggested.

“If he loses here,” Lucius countered. “That might come back to haunt him.”

“Aye that’s a good point, plus where’s the other son?” Roderick agreed with a frown. “Sneaky fellow, hair a bright orange, Bas was the name I think. Remember him from the tournament. Whispering to his brother’s ear.”

“Was he a knight?” Lucius probed. “Maybe he left him at the rear.”

“Nah. He wasn’t,” Roderick replied. “And I wouldn’t trust him to guard the women and children. That lad was a right killer. Every single one of them bastards are, but for Sir Hein.”

“Hmm. It’s a little strange,” Lucius agreed, the fire lulling him to sleep, despite it being still too early. Not that they could see the sun over their heads. “Why send the mercs with Zofia?”

“That whole keeping his men back, didn’t sit right wit me,” Roderick commented.

“Yeah,” Lucius agreed. “And them breaking their contract with Vanzon,” He shook his head in disbelief. “They can’t do that. No one will hire them again.”

“Aye,” Mamercus said, from where he was sitting. “This sounds weird, milord.”

“Anyways, I’ll catch some sleep,” Lucius replied. “Wake me up as early as possible, Roderick.” The young Heir added and lowering his head until his chin touched his chest, he closed his eyes.

The sky had turned red, sun half-hidden behind pregnant clouds, when the next day came. A cold wind blew through the trees at the distance, swept over the plains and the marshes at the banks of the two rivers and froze the snow solid, turning the ground into stone. Lucius turned on his saddle, eyes sweeping over the lines of the Black Skulls mercenary company, heavily depleted from months of fighting and their near destruction under the Ridge. Around a hundred of them, perhaps a bit more, some still sporting wounds and their equipment worn out. He stopped to gaze at the figure of Zofia, wrapped in a heavy blanket, her face hidden under a hood and a touch of red hair visible underneath. She stood slumped next to Captain Morris, the man seeming even worse than he did the day before, his skin turning a sickly yellow and his eyes sunken under his iron nasal helm.

“That’s a sorry lot,” Roderick commented, himself reedy and rucked as if he’d aged ten years overnight, or hadn’t slept at all.

“They are standing out of arrow’s reach,” Lucius replied, with a final glance towards the woman. He meant Lord Bart’s men, what appeared to be almost a thousand of them. A shocking number that had appeared on their rear, an hour after they had left the camp. Led by Sir Reggy, the knight visible atop his horse. “But they seem able to move fast, I suppose.”

“That might deter the Northmen from slaughtering us outright and grabbing her,” Roderick said, crunching his mouth this way and that. “Gods willing.”

The Northmen, a host of almost five hundred, coming from Wolvesbane’s Castle, armed and covered with thick coats made of wolf hides, were waiting for them to approach. The bridge barely visible in the background, streams of people and carts streaming behind the warriors, laden with supplies. Plenty of women and children mixed in, along some escorting warriors, created a caravan heading west towards the woods and the O’ Dargan main army, to take advantage of the truce. Lucius blew at his hands, the humidity reaching everyone’s bones and the night’s cold unwilling to retreat and tried to make out the leading group of Northmen waiting. Three of them on horses. One warrior Lucius recognized immediately, the giant two-handed sword giving him away.

“That’s McCloud,” He told Roderick and the old hand snorted.

“Can’t say if that’s good, or bad my Lord,” Roderick replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius stopped his horse, ten meters from the Northmen and waited for the mercenaries to approach behind them on foot. The marshy terrain underneath had frozen overnight, mud turning hard and brittle. Stormbolt’s iron hooves were heard clopping as it backtracked a little, before letting out a loud drawn out neigh, shooting white steam out of its nostrils.

“Whoa, boy,” Lucius eased him, as the large number of armed men reached them and stopped with a vibrant murmur escaping the men’s mouths.

“There’s more Northmen over the river,” Roderick commented. “They might cross, the moment the last cart is inside the forest.”

“Aye,” Lucius replied and raised his face cover to greet Twotrees McCloud. The Northman seemed to recognize him and visibly relaxed on his horse, sharing words with the boy holding the reins. The ‘boy’ being Faye, her short bright red hair and striking blue hate-filled eyes giving her away on a second glance. Great, Lucius thought and turned on his saddle to look at Captain Morris, almost shocked to see the man visibly shaking. Was he ill? Why not stay behind?

“I can talk to them,” Lucius offered. “I know the tall warrior. McCloud. Just let me handle this, Morris.”

The mercenary Captain took a deep breath, a violent cough shuddering him whole and then gave him a look of despair. Although it wasn’t just that, Lucius realized.

“Ye should have gone to Eaglesnest, milord,” Morris said, his voice despondent and Lucius sat back mystified at his strange behavior. He’d have thought the experienced fighter would have more of a backbone, since it was fear that he read into his eyes.

“The Northmen asked us to send the girl over,” One of the mercenaries reported. The company’s sergeant far as Lucius had managed to learn during their brief journey. The man had run the small distance to McCloud’s group and returned, his face all flushed behind his unkempt beard.

“Tell them they need to clear their people, beyond the bridge,” Morris replied nervously.

One of the Northmen had approached and the two men begun talking with each other, an uneasy feeling creeping up on the young Heir. Lucius glanced towards Roderick, but the old hand was watching the conversation unfolding to his left, so he glanced back towards Morris again, saw nothing there but the haunted look of a dead man walking and then his eyes were set on Zofia.

She was shaking from the cold, despite being covered with a blanket, heavy hood over her head and Lucius could hear whispering. The woman was praying. Stormbolt shook his head, sensing his unease, but moved when Lucius squeezed his knees lightly and approached the Captain and his hostage. Lucius could see her chin, lips pressed tight now and her eyes shadowed by the hood.

He realized, he couldn’t really tell, if it was her.

“Where did we meet?” Lucius asked her casually, looking down and most of the nearby mercenaries stopped their murmuring to listen in.

“Milord,” Captain Morris said, but he stopped him with a wave of his right hand.

“Let her speak.”

“We met in Cartagen, my Lord,” She replied, her voice naught but a whisper.

“They will not retreat, Captain. They say, this land is Fetya now,” The sergeant reported anxiously, standing next to a solemn looking Northman warrior, about five meters from them. Both opposing forces quieted down to listen.

Captain Morris wiped his blueish lips with a gloved hand.

“Is that their final word?” He asked his voice cracking, but loud enough to be heard.

“It is,” The Northman replied with a smirk. “Send us Zofia now and we will declare this dance is over. Well, until the spring that is.”

“Very well.” Morris said stiffly, still looking at the confused Lucius.

“Captain, I request permission to deliver the prisoner!” The sergeant asked on que, clearly relieved there wouldn’t be a fight.

“You can’t,” Lucius said snapping out of it and reaching pushed the woman’s hood back, spilling her red hair down, for all to see. Pretty face, small nose and sky-colored eyes, Lucius thought, with a furious look to the deflating mercenary captain.

This wasn’t Zofia.

“Captain? Can I deliver the prisoner…” The sergeant droned in the background, as Lucius focused on a distraught Morris.

“Where is she?” He barked angry as all hells, Stormbolt turning his head excited, the animal's whole body following. Lucius had to pull hard at the reins to stop his stallion from trampling the mercenary over. Roderick spun his head, the moment he heard his words; ghastly surprise on his face, turning to alarm in the span of a second.

“Lord Bart wanted my Black Skulls and Vanzon’s help,” Morris blurted out, sweat beads on his sickly pale forehead turning to ice, as soon as they formed. “He offered the girl in exchange, milord.”

“Ora's hell does that mean?” Lucius lashed out, not wanting to accept the implications of the captain’s words, a murmur rising from the lines of the men in front of him, more coming from behind. But it was the wind, blowing over the distant treeline carrying screams and the clanging of sharpened blades on armour, though greatly muffled and distorted, still unmistakable to the experienced ear… that unveiled, what had happened.

“We need to go!” Roderick grunted fear in his voice, seeing him reeling on the saddle, his eyes going from the crying redhead to Morris and then to the leading Northman group. Twotrees had a frown on his face, alarmed at that same distant clamor brought by the wind. It was as if thousands of men were clashing, more than a kilometer away. “For Uher’s sake, Lucius!”

“Give us Zofia!” Twotrees McCloud bellowed, steel in his voice, before he’d the chance to answer and not two feet from him Morris cursed Uher, pulled a long thin knife from his waist and sliced the woman’s neck open. Burgundy blood gushed out, it splashed Stormbolt’s broad chest as he reared up in panic and almost threw Lucius down. The Northmen roared as one in disbelief, most of the mercenaries looking stupefied at the woman collapsing in a pool of her own blood, gasping in vain, while spasms racked her body.

"What did you do?"

“Apologies milord,” Morris said. “Vanzon, has my family.”

“THEY KILLED HER!” Someone yelled, behind him.

“AVENGE LUDR!”

“THEY BROKE THE TRUCE!” Yelled another and Lucius pulling hard at the reins, finally saw Lord Bart’s plan fully. He'd used the time earned from a quiet flank under the flag of truce, to sneak attack both in the center and perhaps on the other flank with everything he had, catching the Northmen out of position, their lines riddled with civilians. In the time they’ve spent figuring out the ruse of the poor slain girl impersonating Zofia…

The Battle of the Bridges had begun.