Ser Lothryn ran through the night as much as he was able to before the torch gave out and the ground lost all sense of depth. The sound of dogs and footsteps had receded long since past, a small blessing from the Maker. He still stood in the dank of the marshes in the forsaken Korcari Wilds, with no support, no idea of which way Lastford was in and no idea if his Lady were alive or dead. Not his best evening he reflected to himself in a spot of black humour and breathless laugh. He hoped things would look better in the light.
As luck, or Andraste, would have it. Things did.
As the sky lightened he could make a pretty good assumption of which way was north. He pressed on and kept his eyes open for any other clues as to where to go, open for any dangers underfoot. Various thoughts passing through his mind. ‘Who would wish to hunt in the wilds? A hunting lodge in the wilds? Such notions!’ All he said aloud was an incredulous huffed “Meh!”, shaking his head.
As the day wore on further he began to feel a bit more optimistic. The ground was firming and the plant life changing too. It was still a wet miserable day with more rain and more grey sky but at least he could be in a warm dry place before his toes dropped off from wet rot or his blisters bled from so much uneven walking. A knight is a riding man, serfs walk! Another sigh and shrug of his shoulders “Ah well.”, realising there would be no time for luxuries such as drying himself. The upside was that he could be in Vintiver just now knocking heads with Cobden. Maybe the marsh was a welcome change after all.
By the time his feet hit the solid muddy ground of the stubbly fields it was dark. He could see the distant lights of Lastford, or what he hoped was Lastford for if it were not he was sorely lost, he trudged on. There was work to be done before the night was over, despite how tired he might be.
Willam was getting tired of all these disruptions to his life. People banging about in the night, visitors coming to stay, waking him at unreasonable hours of the day, requests of him... too much. He wondered if he shall be pleased when the master and household returns. He has grown to like his peace.
The banging began again in earnest.
“Awright don’t knock the bleedin door in! Ooo is eet this time?”
“It is Ser Lothryn and if you do not open this gate at once I shall beat you myself! There is an emergency and my Lady is in danger! Get this open now!” Lothryn was in no mood to humour the old goat and stormed past him as soon as the bolt was slid. With the safety of his Lady paramount the matter of Willam's grandson was quite forgotten.
Quickly he made his way to Ser Shelby’s room and rattled the door, demanding he meet him downstairs. On his way back down he found a rather shocked Myrtle and Ser Garrett standing at the bottom in their soaked, mud spattered traveling clothes. Not long arrived themselves it seemed.
“Whatever is the matter Ser Lothryn? Where is my Lady Iah? Laria?” Myrtle looked at him, taking in his state of disarray.
“Follow me.” Lothryn looked at them both then made his way into a room as Willam was lighting some candles. Once the old housekeeper had gone he quickly related to them what had passed since they parted ways in Restenford. Shelby arrived not long into it, still in the act of dressing and girding his equipment.
By the end Lothryn looked pale and drawn in the flickering light, even under such muck. “We have much to do.”
~ o0o ~
In the Wilds, Fossett and Laria had agreed that moving Iah in her condition was pointless and it may be better if they were able to infiltrate the lodge for some cover for the coming night. It was a good plan but a highly dangerous one. They chose to move as a group and, while Fossett had scouted the first room whose window they were able to open, Laria and Iah very nearly got caught by some patrolling brigands. Once inside they were glad that the room was warm in comparison but were not content to just sit tight.
Ser Fossett managed to open the door and search some of the other rooms in the corridor he found on the other side. In one such room he finds a man passing his prime, bound by the wrists, blindfolded and gagged.
Along the reasoning of ‘an enemy of my enemy is a friend’ he slips the mans blindfold and gag. It is not a thankful welcome he receives.
“Who in the blazes are you!” The man, who is clearly a knight from his attire and vocal presence, glares at him.
“I, I, I am Ser Fossett of Restenford. Who are you?” He manages to stammer out while under the threatening presence of what could only be described as an angry father figure. A man who has certainly seen fierce battle.
“Ser Edmund of Lastford. What are you staring at boy? Untie me now!”
The young knight quickly slipped a dagger and cut the bonds on Ser Edmund’s wrists. Before he knows what is happening he is on the floor and the dagger is pressing against his throat. “Why are you here? Who sent you? Who are you really, because I am quite sure that evil-hearted little runt did not send you in here to let me loose!”
Fossett very quickly explains about Lady Iah, the situation, and that she is here.
Ser Edmund gets up off the ‘boy’ and quietly looses his temper. “You fool!” he seethes. “You brought her here to the people who are trying to kill her? Where is she now boy?”
Before opening the door a crack Ser Edmund offers a hand to Fossett to bring him to his feet. “Lad, we are going to have words when we get back to my practice room.” He flicks the knife as a hint and looks out into the hall.
Once they are all in the room where Laria and Lady Iah wait he is furious to find the new Lady of Restenford has a fever. People die from such carelessness and stupidity. What are the young nobility of today coming to? As for Laria he has nothing but dismay for a young woman dressed as a man. He can tell this is not going to be a good night.
Assessing all present to be too young, inexperienced and hair-brained to know what to be doing with themselves he takes charge. Lady Iah is carefully lowered out of the window and supported by Fossett. They are in Ser Edmund’s lands and naturally he knows his way around like he knows every cut and scar on his own hand. Looking into the sky the moon appears in one of the few gaps in the clouds, it is dry for now. He whispers that it must be after midnight and asks Laria to keep an eye out at the rear as he moves off into the night, skirting any of the camp's tents.
Somewhere in the night Iah vomits violently but remarks at how much better she feels. The world is a blur but her head does not hurt quite so much.
~ o0o ~
In Lastford Ser Lothryn and Ser Shelby have arrive outside of a traveling inn. Shelby steps forward and begins banging against the closed door. It is the dead of night and all sensible fellows are asleep.
After some more banging voices begin to stir and threats of murder are cried if the racket does not stop. Lothryn nods and stays Shelby’s hand from further attacks on the door.
“Aye swear if you don’t stop that aye’ll pour a chamber pot out o this window!” The screeching voice of the inn-keepers wife could be heard clearly from above.
Quickly the door opens a crack and a man in a kettle helmet confronts them with a loaded crossbow. A forest of swords are brandished behind him.
Ser Lothryn is in no mood for any nonsense for time is of the essence. He introduces himself and Ser Shelby and explains that there is money to be made if they are willing to sacrifice some sleep for it. He is up front and tells him he needs men to accompany him into the Korcari Wilds as the new Lady of Restenford is in grave danger. The men behind the door don’t seem as keen as they did when the money was mentioned. Lothryn finds himself invited inside when he offers winter barracks for the captain and his men.
At this the kettle head invites him inside to discuss the terms. He finds that he has a company of twelve and there are a further forty-six for hire with two other captains. A contract is arranged on the agreement that they will all be paid on the safe return of Iah to her home.
Out in the Korcari Wilds Ser Edmund stops and shakes his head, admitting that he has no clue where they are at the moment. Looking to the sky he thinks they are halfway til dawn and explains he has been looking for certain landmarks and clues that are dotted around, which allow those who live in the vast marshlands to find their way around. He is missing the mark of three rusty arrow heads in the sheltered side of a leafless tree, he hopes they are still there. He leads them back the way they came in the hope of finding the right markers.
In Lastford the mercenaries take quite a time to ready themselves. Some are certainly quicker than others. By the time they all stand outside the inn, ready for duty, the light of the coming dawn has begun to brighten the eastern skyline.
~ o0o ~
In the manor of Lastford, Myrtle has been trying to keep Old Willam busy though it seems to her the silly old coot is loosing his faculties. “Oo are you?” He looks at her with a quizzical expression after she asked him to ready the rooms as the ladies will be arriving in the morn.
“Myrtle! You let me in but a few hours ago. I am Lady Iah’s lady in waiting and I am mearly..” Willam cuts her off mid speech.“Oo’s that then?”
“What?” she looks confused.
“Oo’s this Iah yer talkin about?” The old warden looks very confused.
Myrtle offers a prayer to the Maker and washes her hands of him. “Do what you like you old fool!” She bustles upstairs to find her own way around. The old idiot would only make a mess anyway.
Willam smiles and chuckles to himself, “Get’s em ev’ry time!” and wanders off back to his bed.
~ o0o ~
As the sun cuts the horizon under broken cloud cover and a brisk wind, four people stumble out of the marshes to see over two score mercenaries making their way for the Wilds.
The main mercenary captain, Gregor, sees what he thinks are two men caked in mud and two un-discernibles in an even worse state of appearance. “Peasants, ha!” He spits on the ground. Everyone seems so barbaric this far south in his mind, just look at them, rolling around in the mud. Worse than swine.
Ser Fossett sees that among the many armed men is Ser Lothryn and he begins to walk forward.
A bowman beside Lothryn asks “Shall we shoot em boss?” Peering through the early morning mist he just recognises Fossett’s tabard and calls for the men not to be shooting anyone unless at his command.
Ser Edmund strides past the young knight and straight for the mercenaries. “Who are you to march forty odd scruffy men through my lands?” He looks pointedly at Ser Lothryn in his fresh tabard.
“Your lands? Who are you to be making such claims? I am Ser Lothryn and the Bann of Restenford is currently in the Wilds being pursued by enemy forces.”
Ser Edmund pulls himself up into his full height and announces who he is and why he is here. He tells Ser Lothryn that this is his wife and daughter beside him and that Lady Iah and her attendant have been captured by Malegaunt and held captive. At that point Ser Fossett has reached his side and tries to interject but Ser Edmund stands pointedly on his foot to make sure he understands what is meant. He asks if it can be arranged for his family to be taken to his manor at Lastford and he shall accompany the troops into the Wilds and show them the way.
Ser Shelby is given the task of accompanying the womenfolk and once at a safe distance explains what is happening.
Free of the womenfolk, Ser Edmund, Ser Lothryn and Ser Fossett scout ahead, searching for the knoll under the knowledgable guidance of the older knight. Safely out of hearing of any of the mercenaries, Ser Edmund explains his plans and apologies for the lies used to get them to this point.
"Good Ser's you will have to forgive me for I have not been entirely honest. The ladies I sent back to my manor, as the boy knows" he nods at Fossett "are in fact the Lady Iah and her 'companion'. The fact is that I do not trust these sell-swords you have hired Ser Lothryn, and that is no slight upon yourself. I am quite sure not one of them would have had a second thought against capturing your lady and handing her over to that evil little runt Malegaunt. A little subterfuge negated that fight completely. Also, for my own part, my family are still at the lodge and I fear there is little time to save them once I am found to be gone. We must hurry."
Both Lothryn and Fossett nod in acceptance. No further explanations are required for the moment and Lothryn is, in truth, impressed at such quick thinking. "I am grateful for your understanding, believe me." Ser Edmund begins explaining how best he feels they should approach the hunting lodge and what is to be done as the mercenary captains reach the hill to hear the tactics under discussion.
~ o0o ~
"My lady! By the Maker look at you!" Myrtle cries as she runs across the slippery courtyard to the bedraggled figures coming through the gate. She is careful to hoist up her skirts to avoid the muck. Ser Shelby busies himself with closing the gate while the women fluster over Iah, helping her into the manor.
Laria finds that her friend's lady in waiting has been true to her task. There is a fire stoked and radiating blessed heat in the room prepared for Iah. Fresh water and clean sheets for bathing her. New clothes looked out of the chests and laid neatly. Food and drink on the table nearby.
Once her lady is clean and comfortable in bed, sleeping soundly. Laria attends to herself before assisting Myrtle out in the herb garden. The plants at this time of year are sparse and beginning to die-back but they can find enough to make a healing draft. Though in honesty Laria does more of the carrying and cutting than finding. The herb garden had always been Iah's forte. If her friend had been but a horse instead of a woman, she would have been better equipped to care for her.
~ o0o ~
By now the escape of Ser Edmund has been discovered and the upstart Malegaunt is furious at such an affront. The ego of a lesser man is a fragile thing, more so that of a boy. His plans are not working out as he had designed. Against any better judgement or council all further plans are brought forward in a pique of rage. The fight begins now. He will not wait for more to go awry. All brigand mercenary companies present at the lodge are rallied and lead by the Black Brigand himself. The barbarians are similarly rallied and follow suit. They march for Lastford.
While paused at the knoll of slightly drier marsh used to gather their thoughts to guide their actions, Ser Edmund of Lastford and accompanying mercenaries and knights hear the approach. The noise of an army on march. Scraping and clanging of metal, voices and grunts of displeasure at such a land to be marching in, dogs of war barking. The obligatory curses. A band of mercenaries are no quiet thing.
The barbarian tribes are horrified by their fellow warriors. The towns people will hear them coming long before they arrive. This was not as was agreed. Whispered disagreement blows between the tribesmen and their leaders.
The sounds of the approach are clear to hear. Ser Edmund and Ser Lothryn move into action. Orders are whispered harshly to the mercenary captains, signals to lay low and ready their weapons.
The fight is coming to them!
As the men on forced march trudge round a bank of fog and marsh scrub the signal is given. A whistle of feather-flighted death fires overhead and thuds into the screaming enemy. The volley of arrows was not what they were expecting this far from the town. The Black Brigand and the captains bellow to bring order to the chaos and, those of Maleguant's forces still alive to listen, split and roar up the hill in retaliation. First blood had been drawn.
The Korcari tribesmen hold back beside Malegaunt. Assessing the onslaught before them.
Death and confusion continue as blood seeps into the boggy ground.
After minutes that wing by as moments Malegaunt signals for the barbarians to wheel round back to lodge. A change is in the air.
~ o0o ~
Iah's fever has risen again and she struggles to take down the herbal concoction. The strange taste chokes in her throat like fire. Myrtle admits to herself that healing is not her strong point either. She fusses over smoothing her lady's black hair away from her sweat soaked brow before applying a cooling poultice.
"Lady Laria could you have Willam bring us the local priest? I need someone of greater skill than myself here. We may need more assistance too if those soldiers you spoke of are to be coming back here after battle."
Laria nods and quickly rises to leave the bedside. Before she reaches the door Myrtle speaks again, "Oh... a moment.", she says stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Have Ser Shelby go with him, for I believe the old fool's faculties are not what they should be. We will also need food and a cook for this evening. The pantry is almost bare. A shocking state to see a knight's household in." She tuts to no one but herself. "We may need to feed those returning too. Can you see to it?"
"Of course." The young swordswoman has never been one for words. She nods, closes the door quietly and goes about what needs done. It is midday already and a meal for so many will take a long time to prepare in a kitchen so cold and neglected. She half smiles, half grimaces at some of the chores the sisters had her complete growing up in the Abbey. She always preferred the sword to the soup spoon but she supposed those experiences had their uses.
~ o0o ~
In the heat of adrenaline and blood thirst it takes some time for those fighting to notice Malegaunt has slipped away. The Black Brigand is the first of them and is torn between his options. Continue with the killing or double back to follow the boy that pays for his services? He looks around to assess how their chances stand. Not good when fighting uphill against armed bastards with the upper hand.
"Fall back!" The call is raised and all those able to hear back their way down the hill before splashing through the bog the way they had come.
There is no point playing the loosing game.
At seeing his opponents run for their lives, Ser Fossett cheers and whoops. Thrusting his sword in the air in delight. "Cowards! You have no honour! Stand and fight!"
The allied mercenaries shake their heads and laugh at the boy in armour. "He's only a pup." One chuckles to his friend. "He'll learn."
Ser Lothryn turns from freeing his sword from a crumpled body to see what all the cheering is over. His expression turns from tired to grim. Looking round for Ser Edmund, he catches his attention and they exchange a nod.
"It's not over yet! Follow them! To the hunting lodge! Find Malegaunt!" The older knight may be passing his prime but he can still unleash a voice to carry over the loudest of battles. All men left standing turn and batter down the hill, leaping over branch and body mangled in the mud.
~ o0o ~
By the time they reach the hunting lodge it is ablaze. The makeshift camps are nothing but smouldering fires and abandoned items common to any armies retreating litter.
Bodies lie strewn around the lodge where they were felled. The staff of Lastford's manor had been killed in cold blood. They were no longer useful to those who had kept them. Why not slaughter them? You do not keep animals that are no longer of use.
All draw up short at the scene that greets them. A moment of shock as the backs of the last mercenaries and Black Brigand disappear into the smoke and fog. Twilight is approaching once again. The shortening days of mid-autumn.
Laying on the steps of the lodge are shapes most familiar. Ser Edmund walks forward in a daze to stop just short of the bodies before him. The cold dead eyes of his wife and daughter stare into the nothing of the past. Their clothing is soaked in the pool of blood now oozing from their pale open throats. He is undone.
Falling to his knees, eyes wide and hands limp by his side, his sword thumps into the dirt. A useless piece of metal.
Voices and people swirl as the outside world disappears. The real world fades.
Without a thought his dagger is in his grip and aiming for his chest. A blow in motion to end a sorry day and a sorry mess.
As it sweeps down the short distance to his heart it flies clean out from his hand, as do the wind from his lungs, and the world swings sideways.
Sense of the here and now come back to him in a breath.
Fossett is atop him. He weakly pushes at the boy to leave him be.
Thoughts wound him like the dagger could not have done. He is alive. His family are dead. His whole home and heart are gone.
Ser Edmund of Lastford turns his face to the churned earth and screams a feral cry of pain that ends in an uncontrollable sob.
Thoughts wound him like the dagger could not have done. He is alive. His family are dead. His whole home and heart are gone.
Ser Edmund of Lastford turns his face to the churned earth and screams a feral cry of pain that ends in an uncontrollable sob.
All those nearby begin picking through what is left. No one wishes to see a grown man cry. Someone usually so strong, now so distraught, is an uncomfortable sight.
The fight is over. For now.
