The Village - Chapter 2, Complete, Unproofed.
Two weeks later, Near the border between the Grimlund and the Sein
Pillars of smoke on the horizon drew the patrol onward. The jangle of their tack and the thud of the horses hooves were the only sounds, as they galloped grimly forward. Ahead, what was surely the source of the smoke, was the village of Vargsbad, a small farming community near the border of the Grimsbok lands.
Around the patrol the endless flatness of the plains was only occasionally broken by the odd windmill or grain house. The rich fertile soil was churned beneath their hooves as they left the path to angle towards the smoke. This was some of the richest farmland in the Sein, the breadbasket of the realm, which for generations had been controlled by the Southern Usina, one of whom led this patrol.
Sir Hugh led the fast flying troop from atop his soot grey charger, leaning forward to get every ounce of speed he could. Under his antlered helm his face was youthful and unblemished, his hair long and blonde, the tips of which hung below his helmet and fluttered in the wind. Unfurled out behind him his dark brown cloak whipped wildly in the wind, revealing flashes of finely crafted armor beneath it.
Though he sought to show no outward sign of it, his mind was racing. In the four months he had held his command he had not yet seen any combat. All the men in his troop had faced all manner of foes from bandits to griffons in their years of service, but he was just a freshly knighted warrior whose family ties had earned him a commission into the famed Third Usina Lance. And while he did not doubt his martial ability, he did doubt his courage. But who knew how he would act when the blades were swinging in earnest?
The Third had been ordered to the westernmost Usina holdings this week, up from their southeastern border where they had been training. It was the job of Hughs patrol to get a feel for the land and report his findings to the company commanders. Rumors had been flying fast and heavy that war was brewing, and that once the winter season was over would likely erupt. Watching the smoke ahead, the young knight prayed that it hadn’t already done so.
The thought of that caused him to spur his horse on even faster. Behind him his two sergeants-at-arms shook their heads slightly and followed suit, determined to not let their shiny new officer get himself killed on his first outing. Unnoticing he just gripped his reigns harder and silently tried to will his horse to be even faster.
The patrol at last topped a low rise, allowing them the first sight of the village. All around the village were fields of corn, ready for harvest, those parts that were not ablaze at least. Of the score or so buildings that had made up the town, not a one was untouched by flame.
All of the buildings were a mix of stone and heavy wooden timbers, brought in from miles away, showing the relative wealth of the community. Most houses in this area were little more than mud huts with thatch roofs, but this community had done well enough to strive for better. It was because of that they had been targeted most likely Hugh thought. Some of the houses were still blazing heavily showing the attackers had to be near, perhaps still inside the village. With a shout the knight made his way towards the center of the town.
As he neared he began to see the bodies of the dead littering the streets, most peppered with short black shafts with red fletching. The killing had been indiscriminate, as the ranks of the dead contained women and children, young and old. Pulling his sword and fighting the urge to vomit he carefully guided his horse into the town, making sure to avoid the fallen. Behind him in one fluid motion his command drew their swords as well, their blades glittering weakly in the firelight. Ahead they could see a small cluster of people in front of a two story building that was still standing.
From its looks it was the home of the towns’ leader, which due to it being more stone than any of the other buildings had survived fairly intact. Dismounting before them Hugh looked over his shoulder to his men. “Half the men search the village for survivors. The other half try and get some of these fires out. Just focus on the smaller ones, any house too far gone just let it burn. Have Trooper Kivr find the attackers trail.” Without waiting to see if his orders were being carried out he turned back to the pitiful group. He hoped his men had not heard the faint quiver in his voice. The slaughter was affecting him far more than the men of his troop it seemed, though a few of the younger members were a bit pale faced.
Composed mostly of small children, the only adults were three elderly men dressed in faded yellow monks habits. The entire group where covered in streaks of soot, and many had blood stains on their clothing, though none looked to be theirs. Most of the children were sitting in shocked silence, while some of them sobbed quietly. Two of the priests were tending to a small boy who had a bad burn on his left side, while the third, a man with a full white beard faced Hugh.
“I’m Sir Hugh of the Third Usina Lance. Can you tell me who did this to you?”
Rubbing eyes red from smoke and tears the cleric looked the knight over. Seeming to notice the drawn sword in his hand for the first time the man grimaced, and turned his head. “You know the reason I became a priest was because of an attack just like this. Raiders killed most of my village, leaving me orphaned. We too were found by priests of Lord Jun'hel, and they raised us when no one else would. As we will do for these children I imagine.” The sadness in his voice pained Hugh to hear.
“Father, who…”
Sadness turned to anger and before he could finish the priest had locked eyes with the officer. “Did this? Why so you can go off and kill them? Well I don’t know and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. Violence only begets more violence. We only showed up a few minutes ago and found these kids hiding in the cornfields. Just go on glory hunter, we’re here to pick up the pieces so you can go off and do this to someone else. Hopefully they have some priests around to pick up their pieces.”Spinning around the cleric stepped back to the children and began trying to comfort some of the more distraught ones.
Hugh went to open his mouth, but thought better of it. Walking back he climbed back onto his mount, pausing to look one last time at the group. Staring at them for a few moments, he reached to his saddlebags and pulled a small pouch out, containing his last few gold pieces. Bouncing it in his hand a few times he tossed it on the ground by the priests. Not waiting to hear what the sharp tongued priest might say about that, he spurred his horse towards the outskirt of the village where he saw Trooper Kivr waiting for him. As he rode he weighed the man’s words, unsure how he felt about them. He only sought justice for the village. But what if they didn’t find the raiders, just their source? Some raider bands ruled villages just like this…was it right to burn it to avenge those that had fallen here? He was still debating internally when he pulled up even with the grizzled trooper.
Kivr was a northerner and an elf, from lands near the snowy lands of the White Princes, who had come south years ago seeking warmer climes. His incredible skills as a tracker had landed him a job with the unit, though his odd accent made him hard to understand at times. Pointing down at the loamy soil before them with a delicate wave of his hand he reported his findings. “Lieutenant, twenty two men on horseback rode through here. Heavily loaded and riding fast. Rode through here no more than half an hour ago as with a total disdain for what condition their horses will be in if they keep at that pace.” The last bit was said with a disdainful sniff, as the elf prided himself as a master horseman. “Also, you should know the shoes are military. These were no farm horses out on a lark.”
Frowning Hugh looked at the mess of tracks on the ground between them, wondering how anyone could read anything in that jumble. “Military? How can you tell Trooper?”
Looking over at his commander the tall elf cracked a slight smile, clearly proud of his skill. “The nails give it away. Farm horses tend to have fewer, smaller nails because metal is so expensive. These all have heavy nails so they don’t throw a shoe at the wrong time.”
Grimacing at the implications Hugh nodded in Kivrs direction. “Good work Trooper. When we ride out I want you beside me to make sure we don’t lose the trail, doubtful as that could be given their obvious lack of care of what they are leaving behind.” Wheeling his horse back to the village he approached the elder of his two Sergeants, a stout, greying man of about fifty named Jurgen who, due to his longevity and general toughness he had acquired the nickname Old Man Hardtack. The veteran of a dozen small border wars over the past thirty or so years he was one of the most respected men in the entire Third. With his age came a truly impressive knowledge of efficient ways to do just about anything, especially kill. If it hadn’t been for his low birth he would have gone far in the ranks. As it was Hugh had come to the conclusion that the reason he had been assigned this troop was so that he could hopefully learn enough from Jurgen to not die in the first fight and hopefully become a passable commander.
Reigning in beside the man, Hugh looked over the ruins of the village. He could see that most of his men had given up looking for survivors and had moved on to helping to put out blazes. Jurgen spoke first. “This was no ordinary raid. Most raiders they kill a few, burn a few. Otherwise you have nothing to raid next year. But these men were obviously trying to wipe this town out. Been a long time since I seen a raid like this.”
“We need to find out why. This looks like a message, and while the Grimsbok seem to be an obvious choice, we need proof. And who knows, this could just be some cross border vendetta that got out of hand.”
The Sergeant gave him a doubtful look, and then shrugged. “Shall I get the men to start digging graves?”
Sighing heavily Hugh began to turn his horse back towards trooper Kivr. “No. There is no one left to tend the graves, and we don’t have the time if we hope to catch these bastards before they reach the border. The monks will take the children and raise them, so hopefully this will one day be no more than a distant memory for them. They won’t need graves to remind them of what they’ve lost. Have the men stop what they are doing and gather the bodies and throw them on one of the worse fires. Before that though have two of the men leave with the children and monks. They don’t need to see that and I want them escorted to the nearest town. The troopers can then return back to base, we’ll rejoin them there. Have the rest of the men ready to ride in ten minutes.”
“Very good Sirrah.” With a flurry of shouted orders Jurgen was off, ensuring orders were followed to the letter. With a minute to spare the troop began to reform on the edge of town, two rows of grim fighters, the need for revenge etched on their faces. With a nod towards the column the knight raised his hand and signaled the start. Soon the troop was galloping towards the border of the kingdom of Ogunis, a nation so thoroughly dominated by the Grimsbok that where that House ended and the Orgunian royal house started was very unclear.
It began to rain on them as they traveled, fat wet drops soaking them in a matter of minutes, causing cloaks to cling damply to their horse’s flanks. As the path turned to mud beneath them they soon all became heavily splattered with it, brown soil turned almost black covering most of them to the chest. Over the sound of rain and horse’s hooves Kivr shouted and was still barely heard by his commander. “We are gaining! They are too heavy laden, they had to slow, so we may just catch them before they reach the border!” Grinning grimly Hugh just nodded and leaned into the wind, ignoring the sting of the rain that found its way inside his helmet.
The terrain had turned more to rolling hills with the occasional copse of trees, which obscured their vision ahead. The downpour only made it worse leaving Hugh to if it was an advantage. On the one hand the raiders wouldn’t see them coming until to late to escape. On the other they could ride up on them sooner than expected and be caught equally unprepared. To ease his concern he drew his sword to be ready and looked behind him to order the rest to as well. When he did though, he saw that his men had already beaten him to it. Sheepishly he turned back and focused on the road ahead, somewhat ashamed that they had all thought to do so before he could order it. Being him Jurgen grinned wolfishly realizing what had happened. He thought the young knight would become a fine officer if given a chance, he just had quite a bit to learn first.
Edging up Jurgen pulled alongside Hugh pointing to a windmill that was close enough they could see it through the rain. “That windmill is two miles from the border,” he shouted. “We catch them soon or not at all!”
Hugh just shook his head and frowned. He was about to respond when to his left he heard Kivr shout. Looking towards where the keen eyed scout was he saw through the rain a steady flicker of movement a hundred yards ahead. Squinting harder he still couldn’t quit tell what it was, though the way Kivr was animatedly pointing meant he had identified it as the tail end of the raiding party. Raising his sword high above his head he lowered it, pointing straight ahead, signaling the charge. Behind him the well trained men of his command spread out into a narrow wedge with himself at the point. Kivr, with two elvan short swords drawn was to his left, and Old Man Hardtack with a brutal looking bastard sword was to his right. Four men dropped to inside the wedge and pulled out small recurved cavalry bows, ready to add a ranged element to their assault.
Now came the waiting. Hugh had done all he could to prepare, and all that was left was to actually catch up to them. Anxious seconds ticked by as they closed, still unnoticed. Hugh could now see them fairly clearly. Thought they looked like typical brigands, much like those he had seen hanged a number of times, there were some slight differences. First were the horses. These were no farm ponies, each was fine beast. Secondly he could see they looked to be rather heavily armed for simple brigands. So either these were very wealthy raiders, or something else was at work here. If it had not been for the disordered formation they traveled in and their lack of uniforms they would have looked more like a military unit than marauders.
At last within bow range Hugh signaled his archers to fire. Four shots quickly arched up and fell amongst the foe. Three missed, throw awry by wind and rain, but one lanced through a man’s chest causing him to stumble out of the saddle. The raiders now looked hurriedly over their shoulders and saw the troop for the first time, coming out of the rain like vengeful wraiths. They began to whip their horses frantically trying to revive their tired beasts, to no avail. Another round of shafts fell among them, catching one man in his shoulder, while the end horse in the party was hit in its back leg, laming it. Realizing the futility of running most of them turned to face the coming charge, some even counter charging. A half dozen continued on running however, abandoning their fellows to their fate.
With a roar of hooves and battle cries the troop slammed into the raiders line.The screams of horses and men reverberated across the battlefield as Hugh bore down on one of the men who had decided to meet their charge. Hideously ugly, with a series of vicious scars covering his face he wielded a razor sharp looking cavalry saber in one hand and a long dagger in the hand that held the reigns. As the young knight swung towards the man, he was shocked to find the man was leaping from the saddle towards him. Before he could strike the man down he was pulled from the saddle, the hilt of the saber bashing against his helmet.
Hitting the ground drove the wind from him, compounded by the raider landing atop him. He could smell the man’s foul breath as they scrambled around in the mud. Sword and saber were rendered useless due to the closeness of the two of them, but the long dagger of the scarred man was perfect for this style of fighting. Hugh felt the knife scrape his armor several times trying to find a gap before he could grab the man’s wrist and pull it away from his vital regions. Growing increasingly angry Hugh drew on a wellspring if inner rage and used it to at last throw the man off of him and quickly climb to his feet.
The two men now circled each other warily testing each other’s defenses with a series of quick thrusts. Hugh had been trained by some of the best swordmasters in the realm on his path to knighthood, and within the first few moments he realized he was fighting someone equally trained. This was no common brigand that was clear. Around them the skirmish still continued, though most of the fighting had moved past them as the troop drove the raiders back. A dozen men lay dying around them, though none seemed to be Usina troopers Hugh noticed thankfully.
Hugh grabbed the edge of his muddy cloak with his free hand and held his sword high, in a southern dueling style his trainer taught him to use against such an opponent. Whipping the cloak back and forth he shook most of the caked on mud free, leaving the cloak able to whip round and hopefully cover the eyes of his foe. At the least it made him a harder target as the constantly moving cloak made part of his frame less clear to thrusts.
With a flurry of blows the two men closed in earnest neither giving an inch. Hughs armor stood him in good stead on the one instance a saber blow glanced off of his wrist, while the lightly armored bandit was less fortunate as the knight slashed him above the eye, causing blood to flow into his eyes. The bandit leapt back quickly to wipe the blood from his eyes, and Hugh paused as chivalry mandated. Te bandit signaled his readiness and raised his saber to leap forward again when an arrow took him through his armpit, sinking in and rupturing his lungs.
Coughing up a spray of blood he sunk to his knees, the mud squelching as he hit. “Not…very sporting…aye lord,” he coughed out, managing to weakly wink at the knight. Dropping his saber at last he fell face first and died. Hugh wheeled around in a rage to find Jurgen sitting there on his horse, a bow in his hands.
“Lord, you don’t show honor to honorless men. This is war. Show him the mercy he showed those villagers.” Leaving Hugh sputtering with anger he kicked his horse back to a trot and headed towards the rest of the troop, who had either killed or routed all the remaining raiders.
Standing there for a moment Hugh weighed the sergeant’s words, at last seeing the wisdom in them. Walking over to his horse which waited nearby, he slung himself into the saddle and followed Jurgen. All around were the corpses of the raiders, violent deaths for violent men. He felt himself start to become sick, but through incredible force of will he managed to not wretch in front of the men. He couldn’t stop his hand from shaking however; he just prayed the men wouldn’t notice.
Looking over his men he saw that mixed in with the mud covering them, there was quite a bit of blood, though thankfully most of it seemed to be the foes. One of his troopers had died, stabbed through the throat, and another seven were wounded, though none life threateningly so. Only three of the raiders had escaped, and Kivr and three other troopers were trying to catch them before they made it to the border. Overall it had been a surprisingly one sided fight, for which Hugh was thankful.
He had the men gather up the weapons of the fallen and round up their horses, they would be needed in the months to come he was sure. Looking pointedly at the corpses he spoke. “Sergeant we need to leave a message. Hopefully a deterrent.”
With a savage grin Jurgen leaned forward in the saddle to spit on one of the bodies. “What did you have in mind exactly, Sirrah?” It was then that Kivr and the others rode back into their midst.
The slim elf’s face was awash with rage, his pale features reddened. “They escaped lord. They made it to the border. And right as we were debating whether to slip across real quick and get them while they thought they were safe a patrol of Grimsbok riders rode up. They just sat there and laughed at us sir. Bastards! I bet they knew those raiders were crossing there, and they just let it happen. Hell they might have encouraged it!”
“Calm yourself Trooper. We got most of them, that band won’t be butchering any more families anytime soon. You did well.” Speaking louder he addressed all the men. “You all did. Your skills were an honor to see in person, and I am proud to serve with you. I could not ask for finer men to lead, I can see I will learn much from you all.” The men grinned proudly at each other while finishing up the last of the duties as they readied themselves to ride.
“Sergeant, loop rope onto these bodies, I have an idea.”
***
One hour later.
Hugh and his command rode away from the border, filled with grim satisfaction. Behind them their Grimsbok counterparts on the other side wheeled away in disgust. Between the two groups a small, horrific forest had sprouted, bearing a crimson fruit. Near a score of heads on poles stared at the Grimsbok lands, agape mouths looking as though they were trying to warn off any trespassers to save them from their fate.
Which was exactly the point that Sir Hugh, sought to impart. Leading the dead raider’s horses behind them the troop set off to return to their encampment and rejoin their fellows. Having survived his first battle the knight rode high in his saddle, proud of himself and his men. Behind him Jurgen nodded approvingly, a faint smile playing around the edges of his mouth.
Within moments the border was empty again, the rain washing away all signs that anything had happened here.
Except for the heads that is.
Pillars of smoke on the horizon drew the patrol onward. The jangle of their tack and the thud of the horses hooves were the only sounds, as they galloped grimly forward. Ahead, what was surely the source of the smoke, was the village of Vargsbad, a small farming community near the border of the Grimsbok lands.
Around the patrol the endless flatness of the plains was only occasionally broken by the odd windmill or grain house. The rich fertile soil was churned beneath their hooves as they left the path to angle towards the smoke. This was some of the richest farmland in the Sein, the breadbasket of the realm, which for generations had been controlled by the Southern Usina, one of whom led this patrol.
Sir Hugh led the fast flying troop from atop his soot grey charger, leaning forward to get every ounce of speed he could. Under his antlered helm his face was youthful and unblemished, his hair long and blonde, the tips of which hung below his helmet and fluttered in the wind. Unfurled out behind him his dark brown cloak whipped wildly in the wind, revealing flashes of finely crafted armor beneath it.
Though he sought to show no outward sign of it, his mind was racing. In the four months he had held his command he had not yet seen any combat. All the men in his troop had faced all manner of foes from bandits to griffons in their years of service, but he was just a freshly knighted warrior whose family ties had earned him a commission into the famed Third Usina Lance. And while he did not doubt his martial ability, he did doubt his courage. But who knew how he would act when the blades were swinging in earnest?
The Third had been ordered to the westernmost Usina holdings this week, up from their southeastern border where they had been training. It was the job of Hughs patrol to get a feel for the land and report his findings to the company commanders. Rumors had been flying fast and heavy that war was brewing, and that once the winter season was over would likely erupt. Watching the smoke ahead, the young knight prayed that it hadn’t already done so.
The thought of that caused him to spur his horse on even faster. Behind him his two sergeants-at-arms shook their heads slightly and followed suit, determined to not let their shiny new officer get himself killed on his first outing. Unnoticing he just gripped his reigns harder and silently tried to will his horse to be even faster.
The patrol at last topped a low rise, allowing them the first sight of the village. All around the village were fields of corn, ready for harvest, those parts that were not ablaze at least. Of the score or so buildings that had made up the town, not a one was untouched by flame.
All of the buildings were a mix of stone and heavy wooden timbers, brought in from miles away, showing the relative wealth of the community. Most houses in this area were little more than mud huts with thatch roofs, but this community had done well enough to strive for better. It was because of that they had been targeted most likely Hugh thought. Some of the houses were still blazing heavily showing the attackers had to be near, perhaps still inside the village. With a shout the knight made his way towards the center of the town.
As he neared he began to see the bodies of the dead littering the streets, most peppered with short black shafts with red fletching. The killing had been indiscriminate, as the ranks of the dead contained women and children, young and old. Pulling his sword and fighting the urge to vomit he carefully guided his horse into the town, making sure to avoid the fallen. Behind him in one fluid motion his command drew their swords as well, their blades glittering weakly in the firelight. Ahead they could see a small cluster of people in front of a two story building that was still standing.
From its looks it was the home of the towns’ leader, which due to it being more stone than any of the other buildings had survived fairly intact. Dismounting before them Hugh looked over his shoulder to his men. “Half the men search the village for survivors. The other half try and get some of these fires out. Just focus on the smaller ones, any house too far gone just let it burn. Have Trooper Kivr find the attackers trail.” Without waiting to see if his orders were being carried out he turned back to the pitiful group. He hoped his men had not heard the faint quiver in his voice. The slaughter was affecting him far more than the men of his troop it seemed, though a few of the younger members were a bit pale faced.
Composed mostly of small children, the only adults were three elderly men dressed in faded yellow monks habits. The entire group where covered in streaks of soot, and many had blood stains on their clothing, though none looked to be theirs. Most of the children were sitting in shocked silence, while some of them sobbed quietly. Two of the priests were tending to a small boy who had a bad burn on his left side, while the third, a man with a full white beard faced Hugh.
“I’m Sir Hugh of the Third Usina Lance. Can you tell me who did this to you?”
Rubbing eyes red from smoke and tears the cleric looked the knight over. Seeming to notice the drawn sword in his hand for the first time the man grimaced, and turned his head. “You know the reason I became a priest was because of an attack just like this. Raiders killed most of my village, leaving me orphaned. We too were found by priests of Lord Jun'hel, and they raised us when no one else would. As we will do for these children I imagine.” The sadness in his voice pained Hugh to hear.
“Father, who…”
Sadness turned to anger and before he could finish the priest had locked eyes with the officer. “Did this? Why so you can go off and kill them? Well I don’t know and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. Violence only begets more violence. We only showed up a few minutes ago and found these kids hiding in the cornfields. Just go on glory hunter, we’re here to pick up the pieces so you can go off and do this to someone else. Hopefully they have some priests around to pick up their pieces.”Spinning around the cleric stepped back to the children and began trying to comfort some of the more distraught ones.
Hugh went to open his mouth, but thought better of it. Walking back he climbed back onto his mount, pausing to look one last time at the group. Staring at them for a few moments, he reached to his saddlebags and pulled a small pouch out, containing his last few gold pieces. Bouncing it in his hand a few times he tossed it on the ground by the priests. Not waiting to hear what the sharp tongued priest might say about that, he spurred his horse towards the outskirt of the village where he saw Trooper Kivr waiting for him. As he rode he weighed the man’s words, unsure how he felt about them. He only sought justice for the village. But what if they didn’t find the raiders, just their source? Some raider bands ruled villages just like this…was it right to burn it to avenge those that had fallen here? He was still debating internally when he pulled up even with the grizzled trooper.
Kivr was a northerner and an elf, from lands near the snowy lands of the White Princes, who had come south years ago seeking warmer climes. His incredible skills as a tracker had landed him a job with the unit, though his odd accent made him hard to understand at times. Pointing down at the loamy soil before them with a delicate wave of his hand he reported his findings. “Lieutenant, twenty two men on horseback rode through here. Heavily loaded and riding fast. Rode through here no more than half an hour ago as with a total disdain for what condition their horses will be in if they keep at that pace.” The last bit was said with a disdainful sniff, as the elf prided himself as a master horseman. “Also, you should know the shoes are military. These were no farm horses out on a lark.”
Frowning Hugh looked at the mess of tracks on the ground between them, wondering how anyone could read anything in that jumble. “Military? How can you tell Trooper?”
Looking over at his commander the tall elf cracked a slight smile, clearly proud of his skill. “The nails give it away. Farm horses tend to have fewer, smaller nails because metal is so expensive. These all have heavy nails so they don’t throw a shoe at the wrong time.”
Grimacing at the implications Hugh nodded in Kivrs direction. “Good work Trooper. When we ride out I want you beside me to make sure we don’t lose the trail, doubtful as that could be given their obvious lack of care of what they are leaving behind.” Wheeling his horse back to the village he approached the elder of his two Sergeants, a stout, greying man of about fifty named Jurgen who, due to his longevity and general toughness he had acquired the nickname Old Man Hardtack. The veteran of a dozen small border wars over the past thirty or so years he was one of the most respected men in the entire Third. With his age came a truly impressive knowledge of efficient ways to do just about anything, especially kill. If it hadn’t been for his low birth he would have gone far in the ranks. As it was Hugh had come to the conclusion that the reason he had been assigned this troop was so that he could hopefully learn enough from Jurgen to not die in the first fight and hopefully become a passable commander.
Reigning in beside the man, Hugh looked over the ruins of the village. He could see that most of his men had given up looking for survivors and had moved on to helping to put out blazes. Jurgen spoke first. “This was no ordinary raid. Most raiders they kill a few, burn a few. Otherwise you have nothing to raid next year. But these men were obviously trying to wipe this town out. Been a long time since I seen a raid like this.”
“We need to find out why. This looks like a message, and while the Grimsbok seem to be an obvious choice, we need proof. And who knows, this could just be some cross border vendetta that got out of hand.”
The Sergeant gave him a doubtful look, and then shrugged. “Shall I get the men to start digging graves?”
Sighing heavily Hugh began to turn his horse back towards trooper Kivr. “No. There is no one left to tend the graves, and we don’t have the time if we hope to catch these bastards before they reach the border. The monks will take the children and raise them, so hopefully this will one day be no more than a distant memory for them. They won’t need graves to remind them of what they’ve lost. Have the men stop what they are doing and gather the bodies and throw them on one of the worse fires. Before that though have two of the men leave with the children and monks. They don’t need to see that and I want them escorted to the nearest town. The troopers can then return back to base, we’ll rejoin them there. Have the rest of the men ready to ride in ten minutes.”
“Very good Sirrah.” With a flurry of shouted orders Jurgen was off, ensuring orders were followed to the letter. With a minute to spare the troop began to reform on the edge of town, two rows of grim fighters, the need for revenge etched on their faces. With a nod towards the column the knight raised his hand and signaled the start. Soon the troop was galloping towards the border of the kingdom of Ogunis, a nation so thoroughly dominated by the Grimsbok that where that House ended and the Orgunian royal house started was very unclear.
It began to rain on them as they traveled, fat wet drops soaking them in a matter of minutes, causing cloaks to cling damply to their horse’s flanks. As the path turned to mud beneath them they soon all became heavily splattered with it, brown soil turned almost black covering most of them to the chest. Over the sound of rain and horse’s hooves Kivr shouted and was still barely heard by his commander. “We are gaining! They are too heavy laden, they had to slow, so we may just catch them before they reach the border!” Grinning grimly Hugh just nodded and leaned into the wind, ignoring the sting of the rain that found its way inside his helmet.
The terrain had turned more to rolling hills with the occasional copse of trees, which obscured their vision ahead. The downpour only made it worse leaving Hugh to if it was an advantage. On the one hand the raiders wouldn’t see them coming until to late to escape. On the other they could ride up on them sooner than expected and be caught equally unprepared. To ease his concern he drew his sword to be ready and looked behind him to order the rest to as well. When he did though, he saw that his men had already beaten him to it. Sheepishly he turned back and focused on the road ahead, somewhat ashamed that they had all thought to do so before he could order it. Being him Jurgen grinned wolfishly realizing what had happened. He thought the young knight would become a fine officer if given a chance, he just had quite a bit to learn first.
Edging up Jurgen pulled alongside Hugh pointing to a windmill that was close enough they could see it through the rain. “That windmill is two miles from the border,” he shouted. “We catch them soon or not at all!”
Hugh just shook his head and frowned. He was about to respond when to his left he heard Kivr shout. Looking towards where the keen eyed scout was he saw through the rain a steady flicker of movement a hundred yards ahead. Squinting harder he still couldn’t quit tell what it was, though the way Kivr was animatedly pointing meant he had identified it as the tail end of the raiding party. Raising his sword high above his head he lowered it, pointing straight ahead, signaling the charge. Behind him the well trained men of his command spread out into a narrow wedge with himself at the point. Kivr, with two elvan short swords drawn was to his left, and Old Man Hardtack with a brutal looking bastard sword was to his right. Four men dropped to inside the wedge and pulled out small recurved cavalry bows, ready to add a ranged element to their assault.
Now came the waiting. Hugh had done all he could to prepare, and all that was left was to actually catch up to them. Anxious seconds ticked by as they closed, still unnoticed. Hugh could now see them fairly clearly. Thought they looked like typical brigands, much like those he had seen hanged a number of times, there were some slight differences. First were the horses. These were no farm ponies, each was fine beast. Secondly he could see they looked to be rather heavily armed for simple brigands. So either these were very wealthy raiders, or something else was at work here. If it had not been for the disordered formation they traveled in and their lack of uniforms they would have looked more like a military unit than marauders.
At last within bow range Hugh signaled his archers to fire. Four shots quickly arched up and fell amongst the foe. Three missed, throw awry by wind and rain, but one lanced through a man’s chest causing him to stumble out of the saddle. The raiders now looked hurriedly over their shoulders and saw the troop for the first time, coming out of the rain like vengeful wraiths. They began to whip their horses frantically trying to revive their tired beasts, to no avail. Another round of shafts fell among them, catching one man in his shoulder, while the end horse in the party was hit in its back leg, laming it. Realizing the futility of running most of them turned to face the coming charge, some even counter charging. A half dozen continued on running however, abandoning their fellows to their fate.
With a roar of hooves and battle cries the troop slammed into the raiders line.The screams of horses and men reverberated across the battlefield as Hugh bore down on one of the men who had decided to meet their charge. Hideously ugly, with a series of vicious scars covering his face he wielded a razor sharp looking cavalry saber in one hand and a long dagger in the hand that held the reigns. As the young knight swung towards the man, he was shocked to find the man was leaping from the saddle towards him. Before he could strike the man down he was pulled from the saddle, the hilt of the saber bashing against his helmet.
Hitting the ground drove the wind from him, compounded by the raider landing atop him. He could smell the man’s foul breath as they scrambled around in the mud. Sword and saber were rendered useless due to the closeness of the two of them, but the long dagger of the scarred man was perfect for this style of fighting. Hugh felt the knife scrape his armor several times trying to find a gap before he could grab the man’s wrist and pull it away from his vital regions. Growing increasingly angry Hugh drew on a wellspring if inner rage and used it to at last throw the man off of him and quickly climb to his feet.
The two men now circled each other warily testing each other’s defenses with a series of quick thrusts. Hugh had been trained by some of the best swordmasters in the realm on his path to knighthood, and within the first few moments he realized he was fighting someone equally trained. This was no common brigand that was clear. Around them the skirmish still continued, though most of the fighting had moved past them as the troop drove the raiders back. A dozen men lay dying around them, though none seemed to be Usina troopers Hugh noticed thankfully.
Hugh grabbed the edge of his muddy cloak with his free hand and held his sword high, in a southern dueling style his trainer taught him to use against such an opponent. Whipping the cloak back and forth he shook most of the caked on mud free, leaving the cloak able to whip round and hopefully cover the eyes of his foe. At the least it made him a harder target as the constantly moving cloak made part of his frame less clear to thrusts.
With a flurry of blows the two men closed in earnest neither giving an inch. Hughs armor stood him in good stead on the one instance a saber blow glanced off of his wrist, while the lightly armored bandit was less fortunate as the knight slashed him above the eye, causing blood to flow into his eyes. The bandit leapt back quickly to wipe the blood from his eyes, and Hugh paused as chivalry mandated. Te bandit signaled his readiness and raised his saber to leap forward again when an arrow took him through his armpit, sinking in and rupturing his lungs.
Coughing up a spray of blood he sunk to his knees, the mud squelching as he hit. “Not…very sporting…aye lord,” he coughed out, managing to weakly wink at the knight. Dropping his saber at last he fell face first and died. Hugh wheeled around in a rage to find Jurgen sitting there on his horse, a bow in his hands.
“Lord, you don’t show honor to honorless men. This is war. Show him the mercy he showed those villagers.” Leaving Hugh sputtering with anger he kicked his horse back to a trot and headed towards the rest of the troop, who had either killed or routed all the remaining raiders.
Standing there for a moment Hugh weighed the sergeant’s words, at last seeing the wisdom in them. Walking over to his horse which waited nearby, he slung himself into the saddle and followed Jurgen. All around were the corpses of the raiders, violent deaths for violent men. He felt himself start to become sick, but through incredible force of will he managed to not wretch in front of the men. He couldn’t stop his hand from shaking however; he just prayed the men wouldn’t notice.
Looking over his men he saw that mixed in with the mud covering them, there was quite a bit of blood, though thankfully most of it seemed to be the foes. One of his troopers had died, stabbed through the throat, and another seven were wounded, though none life threateningly so. Only three of the raiders had escaped, and Kivr and three other troopers were trying to catch them before they made it to the border. Overall it had been a surprisingly one sided fight, for which Hugh was thankful.
He had the men gather up the weapons of the fallen and round up their horses, they would be needed in the months to come he was sure. Looking pointedly at the corpses he spoke. “Sergeant we need to leave a message. Hopefully a deterrent.”
With a savage grin Jurgen leaned forward in the saddle to spit on one of the bodies. “What did you have in mind exactly, Sirrah?” It was then that Kivr and the others rode back into their midst.
The slim elf’s face was awash with rage, his pale features reddened. “They escaped lord. They made it to the border. And right as we were debating whether to slip across real quick and get them while they thought they were safe a patrol of Grimsbok riders rode up. They just sat there and laughed at us sir. Bastards! I bet they knew those raiders were crossing there, and they just let it happen. Hell they might have encouraged it!”
“Calm yourself Trooper. We got most of them, that band won’t be butchering any more families anytime soon. You did well.” Speaking louder he addressed all the men. “You all did. Your skills were an honor to see in person, and I am proud to serve with you. I could not ask for finer men to lead, I can see I will learn much from you all.” The men grinned proudly at each other while finishing up the last of the duties as they readied themselves to ride.
“Sergeant, loop rope onto these bodies, I have an idea.”
***
One hour later.
Hugh and his command rode away from the border, filled with grim satisfaction. Behind them their Grimsbok counterparts on the other side wheeled away in disgust. Between the two groups a small, horrific forest had sprouted, bearing a crimson fruit. Near a score of heads on poles stared at the Grimsbok lands, agape mouths looking as though they were trying to warn off any trespassers to save them from their fate.
Which was exactly the point that Sir Hugh, sought to impart. Leading the dead raider’s horses behind them the troop set off to return to their encampment and rejoin their fellows. Having survived his first battle the knight rode high in his saddle, proud of himself and his men. Behind him Jurgen nodded approvingly, a faint smile playing around the edges of his mouth.
Within moments the border was empty again, the rain washing away all signs that anything had happened here.
Except for the heads that is.