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Before the Storm: Act 11, Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 05:03:36 +0000 UTC“I think we’ve got a rider coming in.”
“Where? I can’t see a damn thing with the sun in my eyes.”
“I think I see him…is he asleep? Ah, he fell off.”
Just inside the western gate of Re-Blumrushur, Liam sat atop a crate, watching the customs staff handle the trickle of evening traffic. It had been several hours since he had snuck back into the city, all of which had been spent waiting for Laval’s Knight to arrive. Given how long it had taken, Liam had indeed been successful in poisoning him.
“Hey, Tom, come and help me get him.”
Four Mercenaries were called from the nearby battlements by the gatehouse captain to reinforce the portal, and they proceeded to bar the way through the gate. The handful of Merchants queued outside sighed at the apparent delay. Their annoyed expressions were replaced by looks of concern as the Knight was brought in, draped over his saddle. The armsmen stationed at the customs stall exchanged surprised looks before stepping out from their posts.
“Isn’t that Sir Terrence? Did a Griffin get him?”
“He’s tough, but not that tough. If it was a Griffin, he and his horse would be food for the Griffin’s chicks by now.”
“Then what…look at that! His breastplate’s half torn apart!”
“Hey, you, get a Priest down here!”
The commotion had drawn the attention of a few citizens, who whispered between themselves as they watched the armsmen ease the Knight off his mount. House Blumrush was sensitive to such gatherings and would normally disperse them, but the grim state of Sir Terrence turned everyone’s attention outwards.
“He doesn’t look good.”
“You think? How would you feel if you ended up like this? Where’s that damned Priest?!”
The customs official pulled his chair out from behind his stall for the injured Knight. Curious whispers grew fearful as his condition was made plain for all to see. The Shadow Demon’s claws had rent great gashes across the man’s steel breastplate, under which his chain shirt was torn open to reveal a blood-soaked arming doublet. Sir Terrence’s pallid countenance and weak, erratic breathing made him look like he was in no better condition than his sundered equipment.
“Was there anything after him?” The gatehouse captain asked.
“Not that we saw, but he was still gripping his sword after he fell.”
“Maybe he beat whatever it was.”
“That’d be a tale I’d like to hear. A couple of years back, Sir Terrence defeated a tribe of Ogres that came down from the foothills to raid. Bet he’s done something big again.”
Excited chatter erased the initially grim undertones of the conversation as the subject in question quietly oozed in his chair. Liam frowned as the gathered citizens went from holding bated breaths over potentially dire news to expecting a sorely needed tale of chivalric heroics to lift their spirits. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.
“A man breaks into the inner cloister crying bloody murder, and here I find the lot of you casually discussing ridiculous adventures.”
The tinkle of golden chains and a whiff of incense accompanied the arrival of a robed Priest coming down from the city core. Liam’s frown of annoyance turned into one of disapproval as he took in the sight of the man and the cadre of Acolytes following him. Much like members of the senior clergy he had seen in his younger days, the Priest was adorned in a variety of expensive-looking icons and other accessories while the Acolytes wore simple, unassuming garb.
He might have forgiven the Priest’s appearance if he were wearing magical equipment that assisted him in his vocation, but a casual assessment revealed them to be nothing more than a collection of gaudy ornaments. Even the man’s vestments were embroidered with crimson gold.
“Vicar Emberson,” the gatehouse captain bowed respectfully as the Priest approached. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Sir Terrence is in a bad way. He didn’t even make it to the gate.”
The Vicar glanced at his Acolytes, who then came forward to tend to the wounded Knight. One of them, a boy who looked about the same age as himself, sucked in a breath through his teeth upon seeing the man’s condition.
“What is it, boy? Vicar Emberson demanded.
“Sir Terrence,” the Acolyte said. “It’s…I mean, he’s got one foot in the grave. There’s something…we can’t do anything about it.”
Shouldn’t you have noticed that from the start, you corrupt Priest?
Vicar Emberson stormed forward, roughly pulling the Acolyte aside. He stopped a good three paces from Sir Terrence, fingering the ornate golden flame pendant hanging from his neck while peering down at the man as if he were some dirty thing.
“What attacked him?”
“We don’t know,” the guard captain answered, “but his armour…well, what’s left of it is sitting on the wall over there. If your holiness would be so kind as to patch him up, we can ask the man himself.”
The Vicar remained where he stood, stroking his golden pendant. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of rapidly closing hoofbeats. Rather than do anything to treat his patient, Emberson seemed content to await the arrival of the unseen riders. Less than a minute later, a carriage arrived, flanked by four Knights and two squads of armsmen. A footman hopped off the side of the vehicle, opening the door to let Lord Laval step out onto the street.
“Vicar Emberson,” Lord Laval’s tone was brisk.
“Count Laval,” the Priest inclined his head slightly in greeting as he performed a ritual gesture.
“What happened to my man?”
“It appears that no one here witnessed what happened firsthand,” the Vicar replied. “As for my findings, Sir Terrence’s wounds are grievous, but they can be healed. The problem is that his vitality has been drained.”
“Drained?”
“Indeed,” Vicar Emberson nodded gravely. “Judging by both his dire condition and the damage inflicted to his equipment, I would say that he was attacked by a powerful Wight.”
Worried looks returned to the faces of the nearby crowd. Count Laval scoffed.
“A Wight? This isn’t the Katze Plains. Surely there is some better explanation.”
“The Temples have been warning House Blumrush about the consequences of the city’s deteriorating situation,” Vicar Emberson said. “So much misery and death can only lead to a rise in negative energy-related phenomena. Skeletons and Zombies were already crawling out of the mass graves outside the city walls. The escalation of such manifestations is an inevitability of this irresponsible practice.”
“I didn’t see the Temples offer to do better,” the Count grated. “Our manpower is stretched thin as it is. We don’t have the time or resources to give every peasant and pauper a proper burial.”
“We would have been able to had the city not settled on so many reckless policies,” the Vicar retorted. “Instead, our hands are full dealing with masses of sick and starving people.”
The gatehouse captain politely cleared his throat.
“Sir Terrence wasn’t attacked anywhere near the city,” he said. “It looks like he rode quite a ways before his wounds were too much for him to stay in his saddle. Speaking of which, is anyone going to heal him?”
“Yes, let us hear what Sir Terrence has to say,” Lord Laval said. “I’d wager it will be far more reasonable than this ridiculous claim of Wights and what-have-you.”
Vicar Emberson let out an affronted harrumph before reaching for a scroll case tucked into his belt. Liam itched to snatch the thing and use it for him as the Priest went through a painfully long set of deliberations punctuated by unnecessary ritual.
This damn heretic should just fall over and die.
Everything the man did reeked of his perverse motives. His adornment overstated the importance of his station, and did so in a way that the wealthy, powerful, and those dwelling in the city responded to. He prioritised leveraging the situation with the Count, purposely leaving the wounded Knight in his miserable state to be bargained over like some hostage. The Priest showed no signs of mana exhaustion, yet he had decided to use a scroll. He would undoubtedly charge a premium for it.
A corrupt Priest for the corrupt capital of a corrupt land ruled by a corrupt Noble. It would have been nice if there had been at least some variety to the place.
The scroll was consumed in a burst of azure flame as all scrolls were, and the telltale light of restorative magic washed over Sir Terrence.
“His condition has been remedied,” the Vicar said after releasing a shaky breath. “Would you like for us to heal his wounds, as well?”
Count Laval rolled his eyes. He seemed to be well aware of the Priest’s ploy.
“Yes, of course. Will he be able to speak immediately after that?”
“He should, but I must remind you that healing magic is no substitute for food or proper rest.”
The Vicar gestured for his Acolytes to tend to the Knight. His wounds closed, and his laboured breathing relaxed. After a few moments, his eyes cracked open.
“Where–”
Sir Terrence went into a fit of hacking.
“You there,” Lord Laval pointed at one of the armsmen, “some water for my man. Sir Terrence, you made it back to the city. What happened out there?”
“...what happened?” The Knight’s eyes focused and unfocused unsteadily. “I…the…it’s the town, my lord! We must save the town!”
“What do you mean by that? What happened to the town?”
An armsman came forward with a flask. Sir Terrence accepted it with a nod of thanks before eagerly quaffing its contents. He wiped his mouth with a torn sleeve before answering the Count.
“Sir Charles arrived from the city earlier this week. He said you had ordered him to mete out justice against those who had failed to meet their levy obligations and clear the countryside of vagrants. He and the other Knights split the men between them and left to carry out your orders. A few days later, we were being swarmed by rebels.”
“Are you sure they were rebels? Could they have been bandits or a rogue Mercenary band?”
The Knight shook his head.
“They were clearly Farmers, with a sprinkling of woodsmen. Furthermore, they claimed that they were attacking us because House Laval had betrayed its oath to protect them by attacking their villages.”
“Preposterous!” Lord Laval snarled, “It is the law that protects them, and I acted to uphold the law! Those ungrateful peasants…how long will the town hold?”
“I would still be there leading the defence if it were still holding, my lord,” Sir Terrence replied. “The western gate had fallen and rebels were streaming into the streets when I finally deemed the situation unsalvageable.”
“Impossible,” the Count intoned with incredulity. “This is simply impossible! Are you asking me to accept that some paltry peasants prevailed over our palisade? That the very same palisade that withstood the Great Green Tide of my grandfather’s generation was overcome by rabble bearing pitchforks and hoes? No, I refuse to believe it! There must be more to these rebel scum!”
“My lord is most astute in his assessment,” the Knight nodded. “These rebels are far more than they appear to be. They had a functional order of battle carrying out a clear stratagem when they assaulted our walls. Wherever we resisted their offensives, they fought like men possessed. Nay, they had literal Demons on their side!”
Vicar Emberson’s gaze turned sharp.
“What are you claiming?”
“I’m saying that they had Demons among them!”
The shout drew gasps from the nearby citizens. Vicar Emberson took a step back, clutching his golden pendant.
“I find this to be highly unlikely,” he said. “Demons are evil beings who act directly to bring about chaos and destruction. They do not seek to subvert and corrupt mortals as Devils do. One would be far more likely to butcher these rebels than work with them. What leads you to believe that you saw a Demon?”
Sir Terrence wasn’t shy about displaying his offence over having his word questioned, turning to gesture angrily at the ruined breastplate propped up against the wall.
“Do you not have eyes, Emberson? Or do you believe that peasants are so strong that one can rend steel as if it were cheesecloth?”
The Vicar held up his hand, palm outwards, as if to hold back the Knight’s ire.
“Peace, Sir Terrence. I am not disputing the fact that you encountered a powerful foe; I am merely pointing out the possibility that it was misidentified. When I inspected your wounds, I found the injuries inflicted to be consistent with attacks performed by certain types of Undead.”
“Undead? I know what I saw. It was no mere Skeleton or Zombie.”
“Then could you describe to us what you saw?”
Sir Terrence looked over at his lord, who nodded silently in return. He took another long draught from the flask in his left hand before beginning his tale in a tired tone.
“It was a few hours after we withdrew from the town. We were ambushed by a horde of rebels on our way back to the city along the highway. My men and I had just fought to hold the town for the whole of the evening and into the night, but I reckoned we still had it in us to put down those filthy reprobates.”
The Knight rose to his feet, moving his upper body about as if fighting on his mount.
They charged us, shrieking like a tribe of savage Goblins, but, like Goblins, the most threatening thing about them was their rancid stench. We scythed them down like the very crops they were meant to cultivate, but our rightful victory was robbed from us when that damn Fiend arose from the darkness!”
The air grew still as the crowd leaned in to better hear the Knight’s account. Vicar Emberson gripped his gaudy amulet tightly while Count Laval glanced between his escorts. The Mercenaries posted at the gate looked back through the half-lowered portcullis, as did the Merchants still waiting to enter the city.
“At first,” Sir Terrence said, “I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Then, the creature unfurled its batlike wings: a shadowy span that plunged us into the blackest of nights. The rebels cheered in profane exultation as my men were each devoured in turn. In the end, I alone remained to square off against our fiendish foe.”
I guess he didn’t actually beat a tribe of Ogres.
At first, the Knight’s recounting of events could reasonably be seen as how things appeared to play out from his perspective, but it rapidly became more falsehood than fact. Everyone else didn’t share in Liam’s opinion, however, and their collective tension was palpable as Sir Terrence piled more lies onto his tale.
“Fiercely I fought, deftly manoeuvring Clementine as we battled along the highway and over the fields beyond. The thing’s evil cackling filled the air with every sequence of savage swings it made with its steel-rending claws. I do not know how many blows I sustained, but I bore through the pain knowing that any distractions would have surely spelt my doom.”
One of the men near Liam glanced at the Knight’s torn equipment and audibly swallowed. Liam began to wonder if his Shadow Demon had done what it did on purpose. In his experience, they did seem prone to engaging in theatrics.
Liam stifled a yawn as Sir Terrence’s account of his panicked flight was twisted into a tale of tavern-worthy proportions. Ten minutes later, the crowd erupted into excited applause as the Shadow Demon was split from crown to crotch by the very same Martial Art that Sir Terrence’s great-grandfather had won his spurs with. Even the stern-faced Count Laval seemed genuinely moved, coming forward to enthusiastically clap his vassal on the shoulder.
“Well done, Sir Terrence, well done! Such a powerful Fiend was surely the culprit driving these rebels’ evil cause.”
“I have still not heard compelling enough evidence to identify your foe as a Fiend of any sort,” Vicar Emberson said.
“As opposed to one of the Undead?” The Count’s voice cooled considerably, “You say that Demons are unlikely to collaborate with mortals, yet is it not even more the case with the Undead? How do you explain that?”
“It could be the work of an evil Wizard of unprecedented power,” the Vicar offered. “One with designs on Laval or the region at large.”
Count Laval scoffed.
“Now you’re just grasping at straws. ‘Evil Wizards of unprecedented power’ do not so conveniently appear to immiserate us! Come, Sir Terrence: Lord Reginald should hear of this. Your vanquishing of the main threat means that the remainder of this ‘rebellion’ will be simple to quell.”
Liam scratched his temple as the Noble and the Priest parted ways. Were they just going to leave it at that? What happened to connecting everything to the Sorcerous Kingdom? Then again, cutting that particular conversation short and leaving the spectating citizens with the idea that the nobility had just won a significant victory was probably a calculated decision.
“They said it was controlled by a Wizard, yeah?” A man in a worn craftsman’s apron said.
“An evil Wizard,” the man next to him said. “One that can control the Undead.”
“Or Demons,” another man added.
“Hmm…”
“Hmm…”
“Hmm…”
Come on, put the pieces together already…
“Doesn’t that make all this the Sorcerer King’s doing?”
All eyes went to a boy standing just behind the first artisan who spoke. The artisan drove his fist into the top of the boy’s head.
“Don’t be stupid,” the artisan said.
“Yeah, the Sorcerer King’s a Sorcerer, not a Wizard. It’s right in the name, you idiot.”
“But–”
“What’s this world coming to? As if everything that’s gone on isn’t already enough. Now we have to deal with an evil Wizard? What did we do to deserve this?”
Liam stormed off in disgust. He might have set things up to lead Re-Blumrushr’s to the logical conclusion, but their ignorance – or whatever it was – of basic facts had soundly defeated his efforts.
He lingered in the city streets to hear how the newest set of rumours spread and developed, but Sir Terrence’s struggle only seemed to get lost in the sea of fantastical tales inundating Re-Blumrushur. Eventually, he gave up hope that his work would serve as the spark that would finally ignite the people’s piled-up fears and made his way back to the upper city to see what was for supper.
“Move those damn feet! We need more people out there!”
The harsh shouting of a Blumrush Knight sounded just as Liam stepped through the gate to the nobles’ quarter. Rushing in the opposite direction was a trickle of men and horses sporting the livery of various houses. He stepped aside and looked up at Sir Damien as he guided his steed through the gate.
“Sir Damien, what’s going on?” Liam asked, “Are we under attack? I just heard about Laval.”
“Laval?” The ends of the man’s moustache twitched, “No, even if those foul reprobates decided to show their faces, it would take them some time to arrive. It’s those wretched Mercenaries we’re dealing with at the moment: they’re trying to flee the city.”
“Did they at least give us our money back?”
“Hah! You no doubt already know the answer to that. While useful, Mercenaries and the like occasionally show their true colours – that is, nothing more than the stains on their undergarments. It is in those instances that we must demonstrate that their contracts cannot be so frivolously breached.”
“Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”
“Three times thus far in my service to House Blumrush,” the Knight replied before his lip curled slightly. “The timing has always been obnoxious, but this time it feels especially so.”
Then don’t rely on them in the first place!
Of course, the thought would be considered foolish to House Blumrush. The entire power structure of the Azerlisian Marches was built on a style of rule that kept everyone, including the nobility, weak, poor, and competing for their patronage. Mercenaries tended to go to the highest bidder, keeping the Marquis squarely on top militarily. Incidentally, Adventurers and Merchants operated on similar principles, which also made House Blumrush the most economically secure.
“Is there anything House Beaumont can do to help?” Liam asked.
“We’ve already sent messengers to every manor, but it would be appreciated if you could help convince your lady to spare all of the men that she can. The Mercenary filth always grows bold if they perceive that they have an advantage.”
Liam nodded before jogging into the upper city. Men continued to emerge from the manors that he passed, but he wasn’t sure if the House Blumrush could muster enough men to make a convincing show of force. By his reckoning, thousands of Mercenaries had left the city over the past week, but that still left thousands more.
One of House Beaumont’s armsmen nodded in his direction as he approached the gate of the manor.
“Liam, some guy just ran over from the castle. The hell’s goin’ on?”
“The Mercenaries are quitting the city,” Liam replied. “Blumrush is trying to stop them.”
“A showdown, huh?”
“Pretty much,” Liam nodded. “The ‘gangs’ in this case are a lot bigger, though.”
“We in?”
“I think so, yeah. Get the men armed and ready. Even if it comes down to a fight, your forces should be the least at risk since they use bows.”
“You sure ‘bout that? I can already hear these uppity shits whinin’ about us being ‘dishonourable’ for it.”
Liam shrugged.
“They might later on, but who cares? Like you said, it’s a showdown. The better of a show we put on, the more likely the other side is to back down. A few dozen longbows on the wall are a bigger threat than adding a few more armsmen to the crowd down in the street. Don’t tell me you want to be right up in that mess…”
“Nope. You didn’t hear none of that from me. I’ll go on ahead and get the boys together.”
“Make sure they’re wearing their colours,” Liam said. “Getting attacked by the wrong side would be annoying.”
Before he entered the manor, Liam could already hear Blumrush’s messenger urging Countess Beaumont to lend her retainers to their cause. The young noblewoman looked past him to Liam as he entered the drawing room.
“Oh, Liam! Thank the gods you’re safe! Have you heard about what’s going on out there?”
“Yeah, I spoke with Sir Damien coming out of the gate. Is he from House Blumrush?”
The man inclined his head slightly, gesturing to the sole piece of livery pinned to his floppy cap.
“As you may guess from my lack of proper attire, this is a matter of utmost urgency.”
“I agree,” Liam said. “If we lose the Mercenaries, House Blumrush will be stretched thin and public order will collapse. But stopping them from leaving en masse won’t stop them from slipping away later. A lot of them are already gone.”
“Lord Reginald has already taken measures regarding that particular issue,” the messenger said. “Relief from the territories will arrive within the week. After that, these Mercenaries will have outlived their usefulness and will be made to answer for their actions.”
That’s new…
While he had done so several times over the winter, the castle was still a pain to infiltrate. At the same time, he had been tasked with keeping an eye on the entire city, which was impossible for one person. That being said, House Blumrush’s movements outside of the city were unlikely to have gone unnoticed by Raul.
“With your permission, my lady,” Liam said, “I will bring our men out to show solidarity with House Blumrush.”
House Blumrush’s messenger nodded at Liam’s words, but the Countess’ expression remained conflicted.
“Won’t this be dangerous?” She asked, “We’re talking about confronting Mercenaries…”
“Such risks are the lot of a lord, my lady,” the messenger told her. “Order must be maintained, else anarchy will reign. Of course, your hesitation is understandable given your nature as a noblewoman, but these Mercenaries cannot be allowed to come away with the confidence that they can come and go as they please. Allowing them to depart would be a show of weakness that will surely encourage acts of lawlessness amongst the citizenry.”
Several long moments passed before Lady Beaumont gave the messenger a reluctant nod. Her armsmen were already assembled in the yard by the time Liam fended off her worries and got away. One of the sergeants stepped forward and offered him an awkward salute.
“We’re missing a few of the guys who went to the pleasure quarter,” he said apologetically. “Should I send someone to get ‘em?”
“No, we’re in a hurry,” Liam replied as he eyed the three dozen or so men lined up neatly in front of him. “By the time you drag those guys out of there, it’ll be too late. Let’s go.”
Liam jogged out of the manor grounds at the head of the small column of woodsmen. The gate captain gave them a curious look as they approached the entrance to the lower city.
“I don’t recall Lord Beaumont having so many armsmen,” he said.
“They’re not exactly your everyday armsmen,” Liam replied. “Most of these guys are relaxing between caravan escorts. I’m sure you’ve seen them come and go over the winter.”
“Now that you mention it, I have. I suppose it’s just startling to see them all at once.”
“Where do you need us?” Liam asked.
“We sent men to each of the gates,” the captain answered, “but it looks like they’re trying to get out through the south.”
“Got it.”
Countless eyes followed them as they made their way down out of the inner wall to the south side of the city. The idea that they could join up with Blumrush’s forces was invalidated the instant they saw the swarm of sellswords stuffing the streets.
“Uh, what now?” One of the Sergeants asked.
“I doubt they’ll let us through,” Liam answered. “Get to the rooftops over High Street. It’s probably safer up there than on the wall anyway.”
“Alright. Wait, you’re not comin’ with us?”
“Blumrush’s men need to know we’re here,” Liam said, “or they’ll think we held out.”
“Can they even win this?”
Liam examined the backs of the crowd.
“No one will win this,” he said. “But we can make one side lose more.”
In his time working with them, Liam had become almost certain that the woodsmen-turned-gangsters-turned-armsmen were not only Rangers through their background growing up in Beaumont County, but had also become Rogues while working for the Eight Fingers. It went a long way towards explaining why they were so potent at what they did, and an ambush against the Mercenaries crowding the streets would be particularly devastating.
“Make sure the men prioritise their own safety,” Liam told the Sergeant. “The other Nobles will resent you if you show them up, anyway.”
“Got it, boss.”
Liam slipped into the nearest alley, scaling a shophouse and making his way along the rooftops to a spot near the wall. Seeing no way to get to his destination conventionally, he leapt over, startling a pair of armsmen focused on the crowd below.
“Who’s in command of the southern gate?” Liam asked.
“Er, that would be Sir Damien,” one of the armsmen replied as he glanced at Liam’s surcoat. “Where are the rest of Beaumont’s men?”
“They couldn’t get through this mess, so I positioned them in a defensible spot along High Street. I’m going to report to Sir Damien.”
As he made his way to the gatehouse, Liam silently tallied the armsmen stationed on the wall. There were too few of them to present a real threat the the Mercenaries. More men from the upper city were likely on their way, but they would come across the same obstacle as he did.
What’s holding these Mercenaries back, anyway?
The answer to that question came in the form of Lord Reginald’s voice, which echoed down from the top of the gatehouse. After the armsmen guarding the entrance let Liam through, he climbed the stairs to speak with Sir Damien. The Knight stood behind Lord Reginald, arms crossed as he glowered at the crowded street.
“Sir Damien,” Liam said.
The Knight looked over his shoulder.
“You made it. Where are your men?”
“They’re on the rooftops overlooking High Street,” Liam replied. “If fighting breaks out, they’ll do their best to thin out our opponents.”
Sir Damien grunted in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the street. Lord Reginald continued his exchange with a goateed man in the silver and sable of the Silver Foxearth Company, who sat astride his mount well beyond the line of armsmen barring his path.
“I fail to see how our departure is a breach of our contract,” the Mercenary said. “If anything, House Blumrush’s deception invalidates it!”
“For the third time,” Lord Reginald replied patiently, “there is no deception. You have been hired to perform the services outlined in your contract. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Do you think we were born yesterday? We’ve all seen the signs. Spectres haunting the city walls. Fell creatures stalking the streets in the dark of night. Demons inciting peasants to revolt. The evil gaze of the Sorcerer King has clearly fallen upon this land. We are not so foolish to believe that his army of darkness will pass us by simply because our contract doesn’t include fighting them, nor are we so naive to not understand that you would consider us convenient fodder in that event.”
A chorus of angry voices rose in support of the Mercenary’s words. Liam’s eyes went back and forth between them and the lordling addressing them from atop the gatehouse.
“This isn’t a safe place for Lord Reginald,” Liam said. “Why is he even here?”
“He insisted on coming,” Sir Damien quietly replied. “And it’s a good thing that he did. If not for Lord Reginald’s quick thinking, these scum would have forced their way through before we could muster our forces.”
“I’m pretty sure they can still do that…”
“Perhaps for now,” the Knight said, “but not for long.”
Sir Damien glanced sidelong to the curve of the city wall, where multiple figures headed towards the gatehouse under the shroud of dusk. It appeared that the Nobles’ forces were bypassing the crowd by accessing the wall through the other gates. Liam stepped aside as a footman from a rival house appeared to report his men’s arrival. It didn’t stop the man from sending a dirty look his way.
How long can Lord Reginald delay them?
Did it even matter? Everything Raul had done so far was meant to weaken House Blumrush. The Mercenaries leaving would strip Re-Blumrushur of most of its defences, and dealing with that deficit would severely strain Lord Reginald’s resources. He supposed that the best outcome was for the Mercenaries to neutralise a good chunk of those resources on their way out.
Liam tugged at his gloves as impatience filled the tone of the Mercenary speaker. He wasn’t the only one who sensed the shift. The nearby armsmen fingered the pommels of their swords. Sir Damien shifted closer to Lord Reginald. Even the citizens watching from their apartment windows prudently vanished from sight.
“Lord Reginald…” Sir Damien said under his breath.
The lordling moved his hand slightly to acknowledge the Knight’s warning.
“If you will not see reason,” Lord Reginald said, “then we have no choice but to–”
Before he could finish his statement, one of the Mercenaries rushed forward and buried his axe into the collarbone of an armsman guarding the gate. The men to either side drew their swords with angry shouts, but were immediately pressed by a wave of silver and sable.
Sir Damien grabbed Lord Reginald by the shoulder and yanked him back.
“Hold!” He shouted as he hefted his shield and drew his sword, “Defenders of the March, feed these scum to the Slimes! For the white waters! For Blumrush!”
“For Blumrush!”
The roar reverberated off the walls and the buildings lining the street. The line below, which had warped and buckled under the Mercenaries’ assault, solidified and held. Rocks and bolts rained down from the battlements, blunting the initial rush to take the gatehouse.
Liam raised an arm to signal his people on the rooftops, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t necessary. After that, he peeked through the crenels of the gatehouse, trying to locate valuable targets.
Wait, I don’t need to do that here.
His training as an Assassin was getting the better of him. Quickly disposing of officers and other key figures would only result in a quick resolution, which was the exact opposite of what needed to happen. The only time that the elimination of such a person was called for in their case was if it would extend the fighting.
“Your men appear to be quite effective.”
Liam looked over his shoulder at Sir Damien, then back into the shadowed street. The rear of the Mercenary force had turned their attention away from the front, shields raised against the arrows assailing them from above. Their efforts were largely in vain, however, as defending against attacks from one rooftop simply resulted in being struck down by attacks from another.
“Beaumont has no shortage of woodsmen,” Liam said. “Hunting deer is a lot harder than hunting men trapped in a crowded street.”
“Hmph.”
Liam twisted around, looking up at the Knight.
“Isn’t it dangerous standing out in the open like that?” He asked.
“Now that the initial burst of emotion is over, no,” Sir Damien replied. “This place is far too valuable to carelessly attack.”
He looked past the Knight to Lord Reginald, who stood amidst the footmen who had reported in. Now that he thought about it, the footmen were all sons of Nobles too. It was yet another reminder that they played by a different set of rules.
A commoner had to wrestle with the very real possibility that they could die in a battle between Human forces, but Nobles were confident that they would live even in defeat. By the same token, combatants did their best to capture Nobles unharmed because their ransoms made them more valuable alive than dead. Anyone who stood between them and their prize was merely an obstacle to be removed.
“Well, I’m not that valuable,” Liam grumbled. “So I’ll just stay sitting here.”
Sir Damien chuckled before leaning over the battlements to shout at some of the men fighting below.
“You lot! Quit your lollygagging and get in there! Bulk up that line!”
Liam peeked through the crenels again. The battle wasn’t playing out like how the Bards described them: it was more like a giant shoving match between the two sides. House Blumrush’s forces were five ranks deep, effectively plugging up the gate. Quarters were so tight that nobody could use a sword, never mind a spear.
His hand went to the dagger on his belt. Now that he saw what the fighting looked like, it didn’t seem so bad for a Rogue to be in. Barely anyone could move, but a smaller weapon like his could do a lot of work. People wouldn’t even notice who was doing the stabbing.
“That big one there! Get some bolts in him!”
Liam followed the line of Sir Damien’s pointed blade to a space that had opened in the Mercenary ranks. There, a man as massive as a Death Knight leaned into an aggressive stance.
“「Aurochs’ Might」!”
“Bring him down!” Sir Damien thundered.
“「Fortress」! 「Shield Charge」!”
The man rushed forward in a blur, the few crossbow bolts that found him impotently plinking off of his helm and pauldrons. Liam winced as he smashed into the Blumrush line, sending the hapless armsmen in his path flying into the gate. The Mercenaries surged forward to fill the gap.
“Lower the portcullis!” Sir Damien ordered.
All at once, the Blumrush line folded. Some armsmen stumbled back, while others simply turned to flee before their escape route was cut off. Sir Damien unleashed a vicious curse, then turned to pick up his helmet from a nearby table.
“Lord Reginald,” he said, “you must withdraw to the castle.”
“Withdraw?” Lord Reginald said incredulously, “But we’ve barely started butchering these–”
“GO!” Sir Damien roared before pointing at the footmen, “Make sure Lord Reginald reaches his destination. Go along the wall to the eastern gate, then head straight to the inner city. Do not stop for anything, and, for the gods’ sake, do not try to fight. Go, now!”
The footmen picked up and fled, pulling the still-protesting Lord Reginald along with them. Sir Damien rifled through the bags on the table behind him, taking a few items before donning his helmet and hurrying down the stairwell. The sounds of battle renewed shortly after.
Liam pondered his options. Should he join the fight? House Blumrush might have lost the street level, but they were still holding the gatehouse and the walls. Unless the Mercenaries wanted to spend hours chopping down the door, they would have to gain control of the machinery on the wall level.
Actually, didn’t I see some other things in there?
He went down to the captain’s office to examine the various chains and levers. After looking below to see who he would be hitting, he gave the one labelled ‘Alchemical Oil’ a tug.
Nothing happened.
Liam tested several other devices to no avail. Frustrated, he turned to an armsman putting bolts through a nearby murder hole.
“Hey, how do I get these traps to work?”
“Traps?”
“Yeah. There’s these things labelled ‘Alchemical Oil’, ‘Iron Spikes’, ‘Grease’…”
“Ah, those,” the armsman huffed as he laboured to crank his weapon. “The old lord had an engineer to look after all that, but our current Lord Blumrush dismissed him. Too expensive. Things haven’t worked for ages.”
How stingy is this stupid Marquis?!
He knew that Blumrush had a reputation for enriching himself at the expense of everything else, but the full extent of his idiocy only seemed to expand the longer Liam stayed in the Azerlisian Marches.
The clash of battle echoing up the stairwell grew louder. Two armsmen, followed by Sir Damien, appeared a minute later, hacking down at the Mercenaries trying to get past them. Liam picked up a piece of office furniture.
“Table,” he said.
Blumrush’s men ducked as the small wooden desk sailed over their heads. A corner of the thing caught one of the Mercenaries square in the face and sent the entire lot of them tumbling back down the stairs. Did Sneak Attacks work with furniture? It looked like it hurt a lot.
“I swear Foxearth’s got an Ogre,” one of the armsmen said as he laboured to catch his breath.
“Half an Ogre, at least,” the other armsman said.
“Uh, I don’t think that can happen,” Liam said. “Are we done here?”
Sir Damien exchanged a look with the two armsmen before craning his neck to check the stairwell. The Mercenaries were hacking away at the desk, which had somehow gotten lodged in the narrow passage halfway down.
“We can still do damage,” the Knight said. “Get some more furniture over here. We can hold them here while the men on the walls do their work.”
Angry shouts and curses drifted from below as chairs, stools, and cabinets bounced down to clog the stairwell. At the last, they dragged a heavy Ironwood table over to block the top of the stairs.
“I hope they don’t have any mages,” Liam said.
“Mages?” Sir Damien’s sneer could be heard from within the gatehouse’s tiny armoury, “No credible force would rely on those flimsy charlatans.”
The Knight emerged with three spears tucked under his arm and several quivers of quarrels. He looked at Liam and jerked his head towards the room behind him.
“Take a few crossbows out of there,” he said, “keep them reloaded while we fight.”
Liam opened his mouth to suggest that it was better for him to do the fighting, then thought better of it. Crossbows were powerful weapons. There would be questions if he unwittingly exploded people’s heads with one.
The first of the Mercenaries returned to the top of the stairs. One of the armsmen popped up from behind the table to spear him through the neck. The second Mercenary to appear got a quarrel in the chest for his trouble, forcing a palpable pause in the enemy’s advance. Some time passed before a familiar-looking shield filled their view.
“Brace!” Sir Damien shouted.
Blumrush’s men put their shoulders to the table, but it wasn’t enough. They, along with the table, were thrown halfway to the ceiling before crashing to the floor.
“That damned brute,” the Knight groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Fall back!”
They scrambled out of the gatehouse and onto the wall. To Liam’s surprise, not only were the armsmen there still putting up stiff resistance, but a column bearing torches came jogging towards them from the eastern gatehouse. His surprise turned into annoyance when he saw who was at their head.
“Sir Damien!” Lord Reginald called out, “I’ve come with reinforcements!”
The look on Sir Damien’s face couldn’t be described even if Liam dedicated a whole report to it.
“There he is!” A cry came from the gatehouse, “Nab ‘im and we’re set for life!”
As if things couldn’t get any worse, the walking battering ram burst through the door. Lord Reginald’s reinforcements rushed forward to confront the brute, only to be swept off the wall two and three at a time. The Knight interposed himself between the towering Mercenary and the lordling.
“I believe I told you to return to the castle, Lord Reginald.”
“But–”
Lord Reginald’s response was overpowered by the thud of the brute’s huge warhammer striking Sir Damien’s shield. To the Knight’s credit, he managed to stand his ground against his towering foe, if only barely.
Two Mercenaries rushed past Sir Damien, heading straight for Lord Reginald. Liam stuck out his foot to trip one up, shoving him off the wall as he stumbled. The second got tangled up with a crossbowman just before he reached his target.
“You should probably go, Lord Reginald,” Liam said.
The lordling backed up by two steps. Liam turned his attention back to the stream of men who only saw him as an obstacle to obnoxious wealth. He was tempted to let them go by and carry off their prize, but he wasn’t sure if they would take a swing at him along the way. His dagger punched through the mail of a Mercenary who thought to simply run through him, tearing his belly open before he was shoved back into one of his fellows. His next opponent lunged at him with a Rapier, which Liam let glance off his enchanted Lanca Leather armour as he stepped into the man’s attack and drove his dagger into his chin to the hilt.
Liam drew back, flicking the blood off his weapon as he gauged the next set of opponents. His display had earned him some respect, as they all stopped trying to bypass him.
“That rotten lordling isn’t worth your life, boy,” one of them said.
“I know, right?” Liam replied.
“Wha–?”
A kunai in the eye ended the man’s confusion. The remaining two men split up, raising their shields warily as they tried to flank him on the narrow wall. Liam backed away, seeing no reason to let them.
Where did all the damn armsmen go?
Ahead of him, Sir Damien was still locked in his battle with the brute. Had everyone else withdrawn along with Lord Reginald, leaving them to their fate? He pondered doing the same. It would be easy to jump off the wall and disappear into the night, but what would the result be? Would House Beaumont fall in standing? If Sir Damien were taken out of the picture, would order deteriorate too quickly? The rebellion was supposed to take the Azerlisian Marches intact: having Re-Blumrushur fall into anarchy and burn down again wasn’t exactly in line with that objective.
The Mercenary on Liam’s left sprouted an arrow from his neck. Liam’s blade slipped between the second Mercenary’s ribs as the man’s attention shifted to his falling comrade. He gave the gasping Mercenary a shove, sending him over the battlements to join the corpses piled outside, then looked over to the nearby rooftops. At least some armsmen hadn’t fled.
Liam scanned the length of the wall, finding that only Sir Damien and the ‘brute’ remained. It looked like neither had gained an advantage over the other. Then, as if the world itself disagreed with Liam’s assessment, Sir Damien was sent sprawling by a brutal blow from the Mercenary’s massive warhammer, rolling to a stop at Liam’s feet.
“How’s it going?” Liam asked.
“Things could be better, I admit,” Sir Damien answered with a grimace. “Lord Reginald?”
“He ran off with the other armsmen,” Liam said.
“Did you hear that, you big lug?” Sir Damien said as he rose to his feet, “Your prize is no longer within reach.”
Liam sized up the towering Mercenary, who was clad from head to toe in gleaming plate. Going by the number of Martial Arts he had used at the same time when he first appeared, he was somewhere around Platinum-rank by the Sorcerous Kingdom’s standards. The sense of danger Liam felt coming off of him suggested the same.
An arrow exploded upon striking the Mercenary’s helm, sending a spray of wooden splinters spinning to the floor. The Mercenary clicked his tongue before turning to leave. Liam gripped his dagger tightly, feeling the huge man’s thumping footfalls through the soles of his boots as he lumbered away. He only relaxed after the Mercenary’s massive frame disappeared through the gatehouse doorway.
“Was the last time like this?” Liam asked as he sheathed his daggers and went to recover his kunai.
“Most certainly not,” Sir Damien answered. “I suppose we should have cut them down to size two or three years ago. A mistake that will not happen again, I assure you.”
Liam placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he watched the Mercenaries stroll out of the captured gate. Were the Nobles here so set in their ways that they learned the wrong lesson every time? At least that particular cycle of stupidity would come to an end soon.
“Let’s get ourselves to the cathedral before they run out of healing for the day,” the Knight said.
But I’m not injured? Well, whatever.
“Where did they get you?” Liam asked.
“Bumps and bruises mostly,” Sir Damien answered, “but that Ogre bastard broke my arm through my shield. I cannot fathom how Foxearth can stomach keeping such a creature.”
Liam was pretty sure he was just a big guy, but arguing about it would be a pointless exercise. Instead, he opted to silently accompany the Knight as he slowly made his way to the eastern gate.
“House Blumrush will require the cooperation of its vassals to keep the city in order,” Sir Damien said.
“How bad do you think our losses were?” Liam asked.
“I doubt that there were too many fatalities,” the Knight answered. “But splitting our men between the walls and the streets would have overburdened us even before this evening. How many men will House Beaumont be able to lend to our cause?”
“I’m not sure,” Liam replied. “The armsmen I brought tonight were mostly men taking a break from caravan escort duties. We have three regiments dedicated to that. I’m not sure how many my lady will be able to spare, especially now that those Mercenaries are running loose in the countryside.”
“Three regiments…” Sir Damien frowned, “I knew that Lady Beaumont was seeing success in her efforts to reorganise her territory, but not to this extent. She was barely a woman when she left the city last summer.”
Woman? She’s still a girl…
“The famine helped,” Liam said. “People were worried about how they would survive the winter, so a lot of them offered their services to help secure what our people need.”
“Hmm…”
Liam stole a few surreptitious glances at the Knight, unsure if he had come up with a compelling explanation. Did he understand that people could come together to weather a crisis, or was his worldview so twisted by the realities created by House Beaumont that he believed people only acted out of greed and cynicism?
“The circumstances behind House Beaumont’s newfound strength aside,” Sir Damien said, “Countess Beaumont stands to gain greatly in prominence by cooperating with Lord Reginald.”
“Of course, Sir Damien.”
I guess that answers that.
They found Sir Damien’s mount still tied up at the eastern gate, and then Liam found himself leading Sir Damien’s mount through the city streets. Things had grown calm in the aftermath of the battle, though that was probably because the citizens were still holed up in their homes. The temple district, by contrast, was filled with injured armsmen awaiting treatment from the local Priests and Clerics.
“Take us to the stable in the rear of the cathedral,” Sir Damien said. “There should be someone there to receive us.”
He did as instructed, taking the Knight and his steed past the camps of the poor and sick to a relatively quiet alley behind the city cathedral. An Acolyte came out to take the horse’s reins as Liam helped Sir Damien dismount.
“Where is Vicar Emberson?” The Knight demanded.
“He is taking supper in his office, Sir Damien,” the Acolyte replied.
“What! Are you all blind? My men have just fought a battle to protect the city and require healing. Get Emberson out of that perfumed seat of his.”
The Acolyte put his hands in his sleeves and lowered his head apologetically.
“Of course, Sir Damien. Please come with me.”
They followed the young man through a marbled cloister, past gardens of herbs and secluded spaces for quiet contemplation. Eventually, they were ushered into a richly furnished room with beds sectioned off along one wall. The Acolyte brought Sir Damien to one of the beds, pausing for a long moment before doing the same for Liam. Liam sat down and closed his eyes, reviewing the evening’s events. How would Raul react to his report?
This is good, right? The Mercenaries are gone and House Blumrush is stretched thin. What else will he need to make sure the rebels win?
The door of the hall banged open, jarring Liam from his thoughts. He wrinkled his nose as Vicar Emberson swept into the room at the head of a half-dozen Acolytes, sending waves of perfume wafting through the air as he went.
“Sir Damien,” the Vicar said, “Word of your battle against those dastardly Mercenaries has just recently reached my ears. Thank the gods you were able to expel them from the city before the people could be subjected to their avaricious predations. They have suffered too much already.”
“Yes, well, they will suffer all the more if we don’t hurry to reestablish order. I need healing for my arm before I go to meet with Lord Reginald. Liam over there needs to be looked after, as well.”
Vicar Emberson gestured to the Acolytes behind him, who came forward to minister to the injured Knight. Liam did his best not to squirm as the odious Priest turned and approached him, wearing an expression of grave concern as he fondled his golden flame amulet.
“My word,” he said, compassion filling his voice, “For one so young to be wounded so gravely! Worry not, young man: by the grace of the gods, you will surely live to see the morning.”
Liam leaned back in his bed, letting out a tired sigh.
Comments
Vinka
Liam was lvl 11 at the end of Paladin of the holy kingdom, spent a few months in E-rantel doing homework, so probably no level. Then in Re-estize I don't believe he's been doing that much? A lot of infiltration and intelligence gathering, but so far nothing to really challenge him. Might have gained 1-2 levels in a spy class maybe? Might have gotten a lvl from that last fight, so at best level 14 which is close to platinum I think? So far Liam has no (genius) mention next to one of his class so his leveling speed should be relatively slow?
Brian Buslon
I wonder what adventurer rank Liam is sitting at?
John E vanidestine
I feared the worst but was rewarded with something great. I hope your health stays good and your imagination active.
