Sir Lucius Alden

No borders here, Milord

part I

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The water came from a long crack in the flat rock that was standing on their left flank, crystalized at its edges, but flowed freely in between to cut the path they were following right across and disappeared into the trees on the other side. It appeared black on the snow covered ground. The wind rushing through the canyon making it difficult to hear one another.

“They call it the Screamin’ Road,” Roderick yelled, a heavy blanket over his shoulders, sitting atop Butter, the poor horse’s snout covered in snow and icicles forming under its nostrils. The man pointed a gloved hand ahead, the path lost behind torrents of snow blasted their way and the almost constant thick mist of the mountains. “We follow that, whatever that is, we find Kas at the end of it.”

Lucius patted Stormbolt’s mane, cleaning some of the frost off him.

“We will be coming down the mountains to reach Kas, right where White Forest starts.”

“You want us to turn back, leave her at Gudgurth Fort?”

He meant Zofia.

“We can’t do that. How are the men?” Lucius had made a conscious effort to get to know most of them, after what happened with young Tertius. He wasn’t successful, the men remaining guarded around him.

“Much as expected,” Roderick and seeing him staring, he added raising his voice to match the ruckus of the wind. “If yer asking, whether they’ll mutiny, or not. Well… I wouldn’t get out of my armour anytime soon.”

“You’re jesting!” Lucius snapped and Roderick chuckled, seeing him getting all worked up over it.

Lucius kicked his legs to push Stormbolt forward, the horse denying him much to his surprise, letting out a nervous neigh. He tried again frustrated, but the horse stilled his legs and shook his large head right and left, in distress.

“Lucius!” Roderick yelled on his back and he made to turn, a large shadow coming at him from above. Something kicked him hard in the chest and pushed him off the saddle and to the hard ground. Lucius saw two huge canines snap in front of his face, as he landed on his back, the wind pushed out of his chest.

He turned and rolled to the side, blood thumping in his ears, the black Direwolf jaw’s closing on his vambrace and pulling savagely to tear his right arm away. Growling much like the beast did, Lucius went with the flow, letting it drag his whole body three-four meters away and punched it right in its yellow eye with his left, when it stopped winded.

The Direwolf howled in pain and let go of his hand. Lucius got his sword out, all around him chaos unfolding, as beasts came out the frozen bushes and white-barked trees to attack anything in sight. Horses, mules and people.

“Lord Alden!” A man cried, forcing him to snap out of it. He half-turned, saw the beast lurch at him and caught it in the air, his blade cleaving one of its front legs off, hot blood splashing his crimson armor, under the engraved tiger’s head. The Direwolf howled miserably and backed away hobbling, another taking its place.

Before Lucius had time to react a flaming arrow struck the beast at its engorged neck and lit it on fire. The Direwolf turned this way and that, rolled on the snowed ground, trying to smother it, but couldn’t. Lucius left it in its agony and went to help the others, passing next to the two former Legion men, Galio had brought him. Mamercus had another lit arrow loaded, aiming at a beast devouring one of their mules and Kaeso right next to him, casually dipping another into a small tar covered bucket.

“Naphtha,” The shifty man told him, more gold teeth in his smirk, than common ones. “Special recipe, to light fat on fire.”

“You mean their fat?” Lucius probed intrigued, seeing another beast flame up and running away.

“Ahm, it wasn’t meant for animals, milord,” The man explained and gave Mamercus another one. “We kinda improvised.”

 

 

The Direwolves were beaten back, or more accurately pulled back, when they realized that fire was in the menu. As suddenly, as they that appeared, they were gone. They left a couple of wounded behind. Two dead horses and a mule. The latter was half eaten alive. Luckily, as Zofia explained, they were after the animals.

“They don’t favor human meat that much,” The redhead explained, all flushed for having the chance to give them a lesson on the local attractions. “But they’re have been cases of them feasting on foolish hunters, more than once.”

“How much is more than once?” One of the men asked. It was young Arrun, Lucius noticed.

A sound query.

“Two-three times… a month,” Zofia explained with a shrug.

“At some point and given the numbers,” Roderick commented. “Ye got to bring up to date, what ye think they like, or not, my lass.”

Zofia curled one side of her lip upwards, white teeth showing underneath, alike a wolf. Not liking his comment at all. Lucius thought it funny, the tension of the encounter washing off of him.

 

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Having lost the day by the time the wounded were patched up, the hurt animals butchered, meat salted and placed in barrels, Lucius decided they should make camp, a little further up the path at the east side of the split. Five large boulders placed one next to the other, cracked and broken as they’d tumbled down the slopes years back, gave some protection from the elements, the ground solid for the carriage to park on. The mountain created some real caves further ahead, one or two large enough to have a small hunting party sleep in them, or a pack of wolves, but Lucius thought, testing the men in another encounter with the beasts so soon, was unwise.

An hour in, night bringing even more cold and the eerie quiet of the heights, their fire burning bright, Post pulled him aside and pointed towards the mountain side, where the caves were visible earlier.

“There are people there,” The hunter informed him. “I’ve sent Seia to check them out.”

“How do you know?” Lucius asked, tired eyes not making anything out in the dark.

“You can’t see them, standing so close to our fire,” Post explained. “If ye move to the edge of the camp, you’ll see the mist turn right orange, on that slant.”

“Northmen?” He asked. They hadn’t seen them, since the scrap almost ten days back.

“We know, they are ahead of us,” Post said, eyes shining in the flames, “They know, we stopped at the Fort, but left immediately. Word, probably spread by now.”

“They will risk hurting the Jarl’s daughter?”

“We don’t know, who likes the Jarl around these parts. Remember, milord. We’re still in Sovya,” The guide said.

Lucius puffed hard, white vapors covering his bearded face.

“That’s Crull land, well, disputed more like,” He wasn’t sure himself.

“No borders here, milord. No law, but the one the blade commands,” Post replied cryptically and went to wait for his wife to return.

 

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“I say we hit them,” Bryn said, left hand bandaged, where a beast had taken a liking at him. “Else they’ll ambush us on the morrow, in the open.”

“Are ye gonna volunteer?” Faustus asked, thick brows connected in the middle of his forehead with no skin showing and part of his nose missing, on what was an earlier injury.

Bryn grimaced. “I would, had I had me arm working proper.”

“Ye favor the left?” Faustus probed, not convinced. Lucius decided to stop a quarrel from starting.

“I will go, take Roderick with me and Hostus,” The spear wielding veteran fighter nodded. Roderick on his part not liking Lucius idea at all.

“We can’t have ye risking life and limb in the bloody dark,” He grunted.

“I’ll do it just the same,” Lucius snapped brusquely, his words enough to silence the loyal hand.

 

 

For a time, that is.

“What if there are a score of them, in there?” Roderick whispered an hour later. It had stopped snowing and the winds had ceased, thank Uher. The cold piercing their leather coats, the night sky lit by Ora’s Eye, the blue borders of Nesande’s moon barely visible right behind it. The morning light still hours away.

Lucius had left his armour plate and spurs behind and wore a sturdy leather armour instead to make less noise. The rocks they walked on were covered in broken ice and hardened snow that creaked under their boots, the sound carrying up the slopes.

The Heir of Regia half-turned to answer him, saw a man coming down the slope, axe in hand and closed his mouth. The man kept walking down, till he spotted them coming up the other way and stopped, boots sliding on thin ice for a moment.

“Who goes there?” The man boomed, his voice carrying over the mountain sides, all a ruse to warn his friends, Lucius thought, looking about them.

Four of them had gotten up from where they were watching their ascent, behind the lip of the rock and in front of one the larger caves. One of them Lucius recognized right away. Bulky, right arm heavily bandaged, where he’d cut him days back.

“Ask Clarence, he knows us!” Lucius yelled his response, remembering the Northman’s name, keeping the sword ready in his hand, as he didn’t expect it to work.

The man frowned, made to look back, but got a javelin right through his chest. Hostus even less assured than him, being the culprit. His scream cut in half, blood bubbling out the sides of his mouth the Northman dropped, gravity pulling him down, head hitting a rock and popping like a watermelon. The sudden explosion painting a pinkish red everything around him in a three meter radius.

“BASTARDS KILLED SHANE!” One of the Northmen bellowed and hurled a throwing axe towards them, as they rushed up the slippery slope. Roderick swatted it away using the flat of his blade, cursing the man’s female relatives with gusto.

Lucius, a tense grin on his lips, reached the lip first and jumped over it. Went under a wild swing from a spear, opening the wielder’s thigh from crotch to knee. Parried a clumsy sword cut from Clarence, the man using his left hand with no power behind it. Roderick coming up behind him, stopped one of the sneaking Northmen from taking his head, the old fighter’s brutal attack chopping the man’s arm clean off above the elbow. Hostus finished him off with his spear, steel tip right through the mouth, he had opened to scream in pain.

All done, in less than a minute.

Roderick went after the retreating big man and Lucius paused, recognizing the strange figure standing in the entrance of the cave, one hand in a sleeve -what was left of it- the other carrying an axe and face painted white, but for the eyes and mouth.

“Sir Lucius,” Eccentric Asmund spat, grinding his teeth. “Had ye waited, we would’ve come for you.”

“Give it up, Asmund,” Lucius said, keeping his sword lowered. “It’s over.”

“No it’s not,” The painted man replied, hate in his eyes. “Ye killed Benton’s brother, ye cursed Lorian. He’s coming for ye.”

Lucius sighed, seeing out the corner of his eye, an out of breath Roderick returning. Clarence Toothless, whatever he lacks in… the mouth department, has in spades in agility it seems, he thought. Asmund taking advantage of him being temporary distracted, moved faster than he’d anticipated, axe blade gleaming in the moonlight. He made a step back raising his sword, realizing halfway through the move, he couldn’t block it.

Darn it!

Tyeus will, be done, Lucius thought.

Roderick roared a belated warning, Hostus standing right behind him grunted unable to help and Asmund’s eyes grew twice their size elated, seeing him slow to react. Lucius cursed and started to turn his torso, axe blade reaching him too fast for that, right over his sword hand, grazing his shoulder and missing his head completely in a stunning turn of events.

CLANG!

The sound of the axe landing on the granite rocks, underneath their feet.

Lucius blinked his muscles all frozen, surprise on his face, when he saw a meat hook sprouting out of Asmund’s neck, the wound bleeding and grotesque. The painted man made a scratching noise, trying to speak or breathe, eyes turning to the white, before he collapsed unceremoniously on the ground.

An ashen-faced Issirian with copper-colored hair and thin as a board, stepped out of the large cave’s shadows, iron cuffs heavy on his hands, one of them missing a couple of fingers.

“Had to grab whatever was near,” The man croaked in an attempt to explain, barely standing upright. “Told myself, I had to get out the shaggin’ circle tonight.”