'Let us entertain for a brief moment this immoral thought, gracious Khalifa and then toss it in the flames of Lethe. Would it really hurt our interests, if say he was to find out, through no fault of our own?'

Lord Jasi of Dia Castle

Longtime Royal Advisor and Confidant to Kaltha's Throne

(Born either in 156 or 155 to a well-trained Lorian female slave belonging to a wandering slavemaster's 'troupe of pleasure' and an unknown Cofol merchant, after his mother was loaned out to 'perform' in a local harvest festival. Neutered very young in order to stay with the rest of the female slaves and his mother. Bought by Prince Radin at age nine and then moved with him to Dia Castle, where he eventually rose to control the Prince's household affairs for almost two decades, while the latter was away adventuring. After Radin won the Princess Tourney in Riverdor and returned with Elsanne to Eplas, Jasi befriended the then very young princess, was instrumental in her escape out of Dia, and then served near the Khalifa of the Five Gulfs and future Issir Queen, since the distant 188 NC, despite overwhelming opposition to his 'deleterious' presence near the Queen, which gave him the unflattering moniker the 'Baleful Helot'.)

Here Lord Jasi's unexpected and rather cryptic response to a troubled Elsanne, when she sought his input on what to reply to King Garth's alien envoy's persistent queries about the fate of mercenary officer Liko of Shroudcoast.

Circa, summer of 196 NC

-

Cornelius Wilde

The Recruit | a road too far

Part II

-Get loud, get mad and bite their ankles off-

-

(large map, right click to open image in new page for more details)

Operation Main Market, opposing forces deployment a couple of hours after midnight of 16th to 17th

ACT I

-A captain's blade-

Issir's Eagle

Ninety minutes after midnight

Edge of Main Market east side kiosks,

Thirty meters from the Grain Silos lane,

The name for the large block of twenty six warehouses, ten stables and three granaries, facing the sprawling market stalls from start to finish.

Cornelius saw the torches flying in the air one after the other like gigantic fireflies, before dropping and splattering bright flames on fabric awnings and wooden canopies. Lode's rangers had reached the center of the tightly packed empty stalls to their right, but even they heard De Moss' loud curses, the badly hurt and bandaged Captain sounding more like an angry beast than a person. Half his growling words ineligible.

"FUCKING IDIOTS!" An irate Zalme roared, translating the foaming at the mouth captain's words to the overeager Desert Crows heavy infantry. "LEAVE THE STALLS BE! BURN THE SILOS!"

"Move across, Wilde!" Masin ordered and Cornelius cut left followed by his whole group of around fifty mercenaries. The rest remaining with the Chief Sergeant and Adam Di Cresta. They half-sprinted to reach the opening, not an easy thing when carrying a full load and you have to navigate a series of small or pretty big kiosks, with empty cases of vegetables, sacks and tools deposited in the narrow lanes in between.

"Petra's plump ole hips!" Brody cursed and plunged forward tripping on an empty bucket, kicking it in the street, with Tony grabbing his collar from behind to stop his fall.

"Hey, mind yer fucking mouth, Brody!" A mercenary cursed from the back rows, while Cornelius watched in horror one of Lode De Jagger's rangers butchering a civilian under a table twenty meters away.

Son of a bitch.

"That's rich coming from you, Fritz Dall," Brody grunted turning around to locate the other young recruit. Former recruit that is. "After you told on all of us, you cunt-led mongrel!"

A tensed Cornelius —he had no clear view of the main street separating the market from the warehouses— opened his mouth to admonish both of them, but spotted out of the corner of his eye the ranger collapsing on the table speared in the back, and snapped the other way raising his sword to point at this new development, mirroring the actions of the Khanate guard who had just crossed the street. Both Cornelius and the Khanate patrolman yelled a warning in their respective tongues for their comrades, almost at the same time.

The nearby mercenaries charged at his prompt, overturning tables and boxes, but the first young Issir to reach near the coming out of the thick wet mist Khanate guards, got scythed savagely in the face and died in an instant.

Shit.

Cornelius leaped over the bloody corpse as the momentum of the charging alongside him mercenaries petered out. He shoved the nearest Horselord away with the shield, lowering his left shoulder and hacked on the one next to him in the same move, the sharp blade splitting the mail rings and forcing the guard to retreat with a curse.

Cornelius took a high blow on the shield, the saber sliding on the metal edges producing bright sparks, and he had to pivot in order to stab the enemy soldier in the gut. The ringmail caught the tip of his blade, but Cornelius had put so much force behind the stab this time, he heard ribs break inside the groaning guard. Without halting his momentum, Cornelius slashed outwards in an arc parallel to the ground using even more force, deflected an incoming attack from the other side, and then sharply angling his own blade scored a deep gush in the guard's face that send the conned helm his opponent had on flying towards the market's stalls.

It was the Khanate guards that recoiled this time, with Brody's voice leading the charge.

"Ha! Big balls Lee got them spooked! Run motherfuckers!"

-

An hour after midnight on the 16th, the second month of 196, Rik De Weer's flotilla of transports departed Chinos River's south shores seemingly intent on crossing over to Lord Anker's controlled banks of the flooded, very cold river, in accordance with Duke Rik's public speech the prior day. The flotilla turned instead east and headed upriver under the cover of darkness and heavy mist, with the temperature just above freezing. The heavily packed with troops transports slipped past the Naval Yard's river side sentries —affected by the rising water levels some of the outer watches weren't manned— and reached the pebble beach underneath the overhang, where they made their landing.

The true forces involved perhaps the only detail of the daring campaign not lost in history due to many of its core protagonists and commoners perishing in quick succession in the dark years that followed. Rik De Weer used about two hundred soldiers taken from the three central Issir camps and built the whole operation around the Desert Crows veteran troops (including four hundred Gray Cloaks, Lode De Jagger's elite Rangers, Mads Struder's crossbow-wielding Castalor mercenary troops, and two hundred loyal Old Spears under the overall command of Gel De Moss out of Rusted. The latter was 2nd cousin to the Viscount, but had 'little else in common' according to an eye-witness of their lukewarm meeting, when the Viscount visited the Desert Crows camp to see Gel for the first time after seven years). They were assisted in their effort by a large number of well-trained mercenaries –from both Gallant Dogs companies involved- but also very green in the case of the Gold Contract.

Commandant Martell's men —Rollon Martell himself wasn't part of the surprise operation, added about five hundred extra troops to the Duke's plan.

Several conflicting reports exist today on what exactly transpired during the night assault and the days that followed, with the prevailing opinion being that 'the Duke's men were held up at the walls and the Gallant Dogs inexperienced soldiers got lost or destroyed early in the attack, putting the Duke's whole plan in grave danger.'

-

Cornelius pulled out of the frontline, two rows or about thirty mercenaries spilling out of the scrap at the same time in order to take a breather, and rolled to the sides of their formation, men gently tapping his back to praise his efforts or offering words of acknowledgment whilst they waited their turn to join in the scrap. A very tired Cornelius ducked under the cover of Tony's raised shield at the end of the formation to avoid catching any stray arrow with his face.

He paused to watch Brody bandaging a cut on his hand and then had some water from his field flask trying to take in their situation. Cornelius quickly realized this was impossible. The Issir have clashed with the onrushing to the scene city guards inside the Main Market, and further east in the street right in front of the Grain Silos Lane. The mercenaries giving their positions to the more determined to push against the Khanate troops Desert Crows men-at-arms -on foot.

Apparently the latter was a thing, and the tight-knit group of veterans could do both without any protest.

"Them gnarly fowl-fuckers have different armours on under their priestly cloaks," Brody yelled walking near him, immediately recoiling frightened when a dozen arrows landed at the pavement's edge, the rattling sound interrupted by the yelps of fear from several still unbloodied former recruits. "We're talking heavy-looting here, from jewelry and fancy women's shawls, to gold dentures and of course all manner of weird armour."

"Shut up, Brody!" Masin barked cutting his friend off and marched near them. "Wilde, why are you still here? You need to head east son, down this alley, through the warehouses until you reach the ornamental Merchant's Guild building. It's painted red and blue. Can't miss it. Then it's either east, or south, it doesn't matter as it's just a single road to traverse in order to reach the blasted prison! Get on with it!"

"I'll message Zalme to charge his men on the guards and we'll cover his flank until they are pushed back, so we can safely hit the warehouses," Cornelius rustled hoarsely, the side of his neck swollen a bit where the splinter had pierced the skin.

The eyes of the soldiers resting or patching up their wounds watching their exchange, went from the junior officer to the veteran leader of their company. Masin took a moment to reply, shadows dancing on his face from the flickering torches and the burning kiosks of the market.

"Forget about it," he finally grunted. "You'll tell Zalme to attack and you'll cover his flank. That's it. No extra words," Masin argued crooking his mouth, "No further explanation. You'll peel off the moment he blinks, and I'll take yer place afore slow-footed Adam does the same. None will be the wiser in this tumult! Five minutes, petty sergeant. Make it happen."

Fifteen minutes later

Corner of Grain Silo number 3 & Merchant's Guild Building

"The Chief is down!" Henk barked, desperately trying to get Bardo Masin away from the collapsing Guild's building and Cornelius who had been hurled back with a broken shield got on his feet and attempted to test his numb left arm, by moving it slowly up and down. A gutted horse's innards cut a gory line on the cobblestone, right across the shieldwall with smoke mixed with wet dirt making it very difficult to draw breath.

The two mercenaries struck by the dead horse and its rider -right next to Cornelius- had been killed instantly, with the broken rider's body ending up on the Silo's wall across from them. The cavalry had stopped their charge at the last possible moment, but one blinded horse didn't and had almost destroyed their hastily built shieldwall by itself.

"Keep them shields up, brothers! Else we'll turn into porcupines gods damn it!" Brody yelled as Cornelius stumbled forward to help him dress up their line. "Are the Lancers going to come back?" Brody asked him. "Surely not, right?"

Cornelius of course had as much experience facing lancers as Brody, despite what his friend believed or preached with every opportunity. The number was a fat zero. The joke had been funny for a while and had convinced a lot of people to listen to Cornelius' advice, but the truth of it was that he could only guess.

But he did it with conviction.

"They won't," Cornelius grunted and stared tensely at the wall of heavy infantry marching on them, blocking the street from right to left. "Spread them out. We need another row of shields here! Henk, get those crossbows ready!" He barked at the other petty sergeant and Masin who was bleeding out of the wound very near his throat, pushed Henk away from him.

Cornelius rushed near the injured chief sergeant —it was a certainty Masin was getting promoted to captain after this mission— and tried to help one of the medics dressing the wound, but Masin slapped his hand away.

"Those that lock up shields… with the Jang-Lu… are dead," a sweat and blood-covered Masin rustled as if he was speaking out of a filled barrel, his voice breaking up. "Write them off… and move on to the next street. If they have men waiting there also… the plan is scuffed."

Ugh?

Cornelius stood back in shock and then stared again at the long-shafted halberds bobbing up and down as the masked Khanate heavies approached, keeping a thunderous step on the cobblestone.

"Arrows!" Tony warned and Huibert got stopped from rejoining the frontline by the listening to their exchange Brody. The latter had yanked their bewildered friend by the collar to pull him back.

"Wilde?" The medic helping Masin asked and a spasm distorted Cornelius' face, his eyes going from the arriving Khanate infantry, to the half-destroyed building and then the Dungeon's Keep, now half-visible behind the rows of leather military tents and the mist, as all other structures north and south of the prison had been levelled to create space.

"Here comes Di Cresta!" A mercenary yelled to inform them of the other sergeant's arrival with the bulk of their forces and signed for Brody to stick near him as he run to talk with the older officer. They were three years apart basically, with Adam just turning twenty and three winters a week before they departed, to Cornelius' twenty.

"Zalme is setting the warehouses on fire. Aye, but all this melting snow is making more vapors than flames, so this might take a while and many more oil barrels, I reckon," the other Lorian from distant Lesia, Adam Di Cresta informed them quickly, but then paused in horror upon seeing the pale face of the gore-covered Masin glaring back at him and managed to find his footing channeling his famous kin. "De Moss got his hands full inside the Market and Lode reported Khanate troops are attacking from the southwest, sir. The Captain had to call up the reserves from the North tower. They rolled up more supplies and oil barrels, but had to drop them and grab their blades instead."

"Who is keeping an eye on the guards at the North Gates?" Cornelius inquired, casting a worried look at the Jang-Lu wall of steel, which had just received a volley from Henk's crossbows. Injured or slain soldiers fell from their ranks, yet they quickly regrouped, hardly missing a beat.

Holy fuck. This ain't good.

"Severs. He informed De Moss that the guards stationed there rushed out to assist the Dock's sentries in battling Lu," Adam responded, and this at least prompted the pressured Cornelius to exhale in relief.

"Can Lu hold his ground?" Brody questioned —not as convinced as Cornelius, though he maintained a calm demeanor despite the dire situation, at least for one more sentence. "Losing the walls is one thing, but losing the access to the boats quite the other. I'm not worried, but Huibert is. Look at that poor soul!" Brody finished with the proper panache and a fierce toothy grin, pointing at the ogle-eyed miserable figure of Huibert.

"Don't fret about the Cofol, soldiers," Adam reassured them before turning to address Cornelius, who was closer. "Can we cut through the alleys and reach the next street, is the query?"

Though Adam carried an air of refinement and civility in his manners, this was an order and not a query.

"You want me to continue heading east? The Dungeon lies to the south, sergeant, and this will leave De Moss' flank vulnerable!" Cornelius shot back, while Masin let out a frustrated groan.

"Get… the men… moving," he rasped, his breaths heavy between words. "If Pourem is dispatching his best troops to safeguard the grain… the route to that cursed Dungeon…" Masin stood up, grinding his teeth and using the medic as a crutch. "Must be clear," he added with a rustling sound.

And of course it wasn't.

-

Gel De Moss' soldiers penetrated deep into the Main Market, reaching as far as the warehouses across the market's street, but got counter-attacked by Khanate forces converging there from at least three directions. Lode De Jagger's rangers met up with Pourem's guards coming from the West Gates and barely held up to their positions inside the market in a scrap that devolved into a chaotic melee.

Sergeant Ard Zalme's central group burned their way through half the warehouses and Grain Silos 2 & 3 almost single-handedly achieving Duke Rik's core objective, but trying to keep control of the vital market street to avoid encirclement proved very difficult. Norem attacked the Desert Crows with everything he had, bringing even a couple of catapults from the walls. The latter showcased perhaps a certain foreknowledge by Pourem about the Duke's plan despite efforts to conceal it. Jang-Lu yet again met with the Issirs but the heavily-armoured and armed Gust's men-at-arms fought back and stopped the Khanate's army advance, fighting ferociously in the semidarkness and amidst heavy mist and half the buildings burning around them.

Martel's mercenaries were the easternmost attacking prong, guarding Zalme's flank from an attack coming from the guards stationed near or around the Royal Palace, utilizing the second route towards their rear lines via the parallel street from the Palace's gates. Norem had left a detachment of Jang-Lu there and the local Khanate officer in charge marched them forward. They clashed with Bardo Masin's Gold Contract troops, an inexperienced unit despite its fancy moniker, and notwithstanding efforts to reinforce them from both De Moss and Zalme, the strong force of mercenaries appeared to be melting away into the dark city alleys.

A large number of them reached as far to the southeast as the Dungeon's Keep and the Jousting Grounds —utilized as a campsite by Pourem to house one of his rear groups, tasked with responding quickly to calamities— where they clashed with Remas' Ghouls, who were an amalgamation of his own slavers and locally recruited 'warriors' of dubious character, mostly Issirs.

There is no coherent account from the survivors as to what transpired during the night hours at this remote front of the main battle, but it is generally accepted that the split up from the main force green mercenaries fought their way heroically as far as the East Gates, where the bulk of Remas' force had relocated the previous day.

How a previously broken up and freshly dispirited group of young recruits —which is what the official theory claims to be the reason they abandoned Zalme's flank— re-discovered their lost courage after running away, is one of the war's many still unsolved mysteries. It did birth some tantalizing stories of outright treachery, epic scenes of gallantry and another great motto for the infamous outfit to utilize in its recruiting offices. Perhaps the current mercenary command could explain it and satisfy the bitter teenage Duke's persistent queries, but Martell was 'convinced' to retire last year is the rumor circulating by the Guild and the rabbit Dogs of Eikenport have in the years since… well, let us at least attempt to remain objective here as we have been up until now. According to all news dispatches out of Kaltha, the Gallant Dogs are now back on Eplas, probably to do another dubious Queen's bidding.

-

Cornelius watched their lines collapse in real time just as they appeared to break through the Khanate staggered shieldwall. He could see the lit up stairs to the Dungeon's Keep and the archers lobbing arrows from the openings. The guards had been pushed back, splitting in two big groups and the Dogs had cut through them despite taking casualties. Then the lancers reappeared and the larger width of the street coming from the palace worked into their favor, perhaps just as much as the guards' lines opening up at the right time if not more. Cornelius had been pushed aside in the chaos of the sudden charge and when he turned around Cornelius spotted Di Cresta's group –who was following right behind them with the rest of the men, their injured and the supplies— now entangled with the Lancers.

"Bunch up on them!" He roared to the shattered mercenaries around him and grabbed Henk by the arm, but the crossbows officer took two steps on his own and then went down on the cobblestone. His body expelled a pile of gory innards from its ripped open sides, with broken ribs poking out of the gruesome wound.

"Argh…" Henk grumbled ineligibly somehow still alive despite been split open like a trout and Cornelius stumbled, his legs shaking, in the attempt to gather his wits amidst the chaos.

A horse came at him, but he had no rider and Cornelius stopped it grabbing at its reins. He turned it around, tried to yell for the panicked mercenaries of his group to stay and fight, but a limping lancer came at him wielding a saber cutting his words short.

Cornelius twisted still yanking at the horse's reins and the Horselord halted his attack not to hit the neighing scared animal. The Khanate rider cursed and rounded the horse with Cornelius letting go of the reins to defend himself.

He blocked a slash taking a couple of steps back and the emboldened Horselord attacked again, not giving him the chance to gain any momentum. Cornelius defended parrying the curved blade away, got a glancing slash bellow the chest that bit into the leather before denting the plate and was pushed back.

Takes a lot more to learn on yer own what those with means pay to find out or brought to them, his father had told him some years back, refusing to look his way. Even so, naught will replace field experience son. A man needs to learn fluency in tongue and manners from a tutor, but he also needs another kind of repetition to deal with the learned women out there and obviously with matters of war. Else, the unknown will turn into fear and fear is a monster that brought many-a-young men down.

Are you are going to get killed like a clueless plebe because you are scared? Cornelius challenged himself.

"Nah!" He growled trying to restart his frozen from fear limbs and a large man appeared behind the advancing unmounted Lancer. Wild blue eyes visible, sunken into bushy red brows and two thick arms raising a big axe over the Khanate rider's head. The Horselord saw Cornelius bewildered expression and made to twist around alarmed, but the large double-headed axe came down with viciousness before he could.

It split his opponent's cranium in two even parts like a piece of log and splattered pulverized brain matter, gore and bone splinters in a three meter radius. Such was the ferocity and expert timing of the downed axe, its blade split down the Horselord's throat and opened up half his chest through flesh, bones, scaled armour and gambeson.

Right behind the tall Northman, a lankier, but equally richly-bearded, redhead brute beheaded another rider who had turned his horse around to attack the first Nord with a wild swing of a custom-made chopper.

"Severs," the second Northern wild man rustled, stopping the horse from getting away. "Gotta be fast. The East Tower's guards are twenty minutes from the turn."

"Where is Masin?" Severs asked Cornelius and then reached to examine his blade afore the shocked mercenary could reply. "That's Wyncall's blade, lad."

"It's mine," Cornelius croaked and wiped some of the blood spatter from his face with the back of his shaking hand.

"Uhm," Severs grunted, seemingly ready to set the issue aside for now, before he made his way toward the mercenaries who had arrived with Adam Di Cresta in order to converse with the seriously wounded Masin.

"They are regrouping," Adam yelled at the returning mercenaries after the surviving Lancers had dispersed, leaving a mess behind. "They are spent and we got them where we want them, soldiers!"

Cornelius spat some of the water he had sipped down to clean his mouth from the taste of gore and soot, then started counting their numbers. He paused to stare at Fritz Dall's cut, the heavy blade that had ruined his shield, breaking through to slash at the knuckle tendons between the mid and ring finger of his left hand.

"I'm fine, Wilde. Fuck off," Fritz told him and Cornelius nodded licking his dry lips, whilst trying to keep an ear on the conversation happening at the same time between the Nord Scouts and the grim-faced Bardo Masin. "We got scared for a bit, but we came back," Fritz added, sounding much older than nineteen winters all of sudden. "For Liko and our guys."

"Tell yer boy that ain't happening," Severs rustled. "Too many units reacted too soon. This isn't a matter of skill or will, but proper rehearsal, East Lorian. The Khanate fox has a copy of the locked henhouse's keys and yer chickens are going to be dead come morrow."

"The Chief is right," Cornelius intervened. "We came this close," he raised his voice to be heard by the nearby mercenaries, seeing the resignation in the old sergeant's eyes. "Adam's group is mostly intact, sir." Cornelius implored the injured officer. "For the love of Uher, I can see the prison's front yard from here!"

"The Khanate has guards marching up following the northern walls," the other Scout named Weather said.

"Eh?" Cornelius gasped trying to understand what the stout Nord meant.

"Sir!" A nervous Adam yelled standing in front of a row of reassembled mercenaries, lined up in the street from pavement to pavement. "We are ready to push forward again!"

"Pourem is going to press ye from all directions alike a hangman's noose," Severs elucidated gravely. "Every gap you left he'll fill, because he has many more men than you and knows the city."

"Shut up!" Cornelius barked in the Northman's face and Severs lips formed a nasty smirk.

"The moment word spreads the north tower and yer ladders are in danger, De Moss will have to pick between two very bitter options, or the men will pick them for him," Severs continued, reaching fast to snatch Cornelius arm at the elbow joint and block his blow, and then he shoved him away. "Either commit to a fighting retreat, abandoning the wounded, all those cut off and too-far away, or recall Lu Douc-Re from the Docks in order to defend the walls, which in turn will risk losing him the boats for the whole army."

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"Chief," Cornelius protested and heard the whistles coming from across the Dungeon Keep, no more than two hundred meters away. "We can hold them off for a while. Let me try to break inside and get our brothers out! Don't let this be for naught!"

"Who has… the bird?" Masin croaked, his teeth and tongue a dark red. The sergeant sounded as if was drowning in his own blood and despite the fresh cloth the medic had inserted into the wound, Bardo was losing blood with every rugged breath.

"Huibert," Brody replied quickly. "It got loose. Aye, it was an accident, but them birds always return to sender no?"

"It wasn't me!" a scared Huibert protested from the back.

"What bird?" Severs asked.

"Sir," Cornelius tried again. "Just give us one more chance, please. We are so close!"

"We are…not," a deathly pale Masin grunted and coughed up a mouthful of blood. "This is like quicksand… the desert all over again. Teases ye to move… to suck ye even further in. Devilry… is afoot. It's a stone's throw away… aye, but… this darn road is a road too far, Wilde. You could have learned it… another time, I reckon. But alas… not every accursed plan… works lad. Be it a good… one, or a bad… it matters… not, in the end. Use the Eunuch's man… save as many as you can."

"Sergeant," Cornelius grunted and knelt before the sitting at the back of a market's cart officer.

Bardo stared in his strained youthful face with haunted eyes. "The boy shall be a horrible mercenary Nate…" the veteran said and cracked a bloody smile as if could see his late friend in Cornelius' face. "But… a fucking great… officer. Yer sword… is in good hands."

Cornelius flinched feeling a set of rough fingers grabbing his right shoulder and Severs' voice rustled in his ear.

"He's gone," the Nord said in his heavy accent, and when the depressed Cornelius stood up to glare at his pitiless eyes, he added. "It was a good death, lad. But now ye need to think about the living."

-

ACT II

-Another missive, a different set of instructions-

-

Two hours later

Four hours after midnight

The Gold Contract recruits fight their way to the Irde District barely escaping the Khanate forces advancing from the East Tower on their backs and then turn to the south again followed by some of Remas' units and a group of Lancers in order to reach the junction leading west back to the Royal Palace and east towards the East Gates. The large paved boulevard the clear border between Ikete and Irde District. Unfortunately for them the moment they reach the easier to navigate and far straighter route, their intentions finally make sense for the hunting Remas, who keeps his slow-moving units back and convinces Norem —fighting with the Desert Crows inside the Market still— to release more mobile elements to him. Upon receiving them, Remas dispatches them down Main East Avenue after the fleeing mercenaries. Remas takes his time to move various units about as the untouched and distant East Gates of the Capital are well-guarded by Jep Ipsen, the latter commanding a large force of thugs and criminals supposedly loyal to the Khanate Slavemaster.

Huibert brought everyone in their group water from the captured horses, as they rested in this brief 'ten minutes' break with the distant sound of heavy fighting still reaching their ears. The sight of red color painting the cold winter night and the clouds above the houses of the capital a deep mauve. Nothing could beat the eerie vision of the large four-lanes wide and paved with large bricks avenue, illuminated with lightposts from gates to the palace, the yellow flickering lights within the hanging oil lamps, barely penetrating the thick mist dominating the area between the two rivers, but still strong enough to create quite the spectacle. Each lamp creepily creaking as they swayed to the silent breeze, back and forth like a pendulum.

"A hundred and eleven," a worn-out Adam informed him, a permanent grimace of pain marring his once youthful face. The sergeant had aged ten years in four hours it seemed and Cornelius believed the same was true for him also. "We are running out of water by the way and unless we find troughs or a working tavern, we might need to get rid of the captured horses."

"Then the corpses must stay as well," Cornelius said hoarsely. "Officers or not, we can't justify it, when so many have been lost and abandoned already."

"You don't know that, Wilde," Di Cresta retorted and made a grimace of pain. "My legs are killing me, as if the flesh under my soles has melted and I'm walking on pointy bones and a bit of skin."

"That's an eloquent way to put it," Cornelius commented and the Lorian sergeant cracked a sad smile.

"Always thought I'll write a book at the end of it," Adam replied gloomily and stood up. "I'll stay at the back, form a rear unit with the more experienced of the men. I can't have you do all the hard work tonight. Masin wishes have been recorded by the way. This is a field promotion sergeant Wilde. I won't oppose it in my report."

"There won't be a report, if Ipsen hasn't cleared the gates."

"What happened with the bird?"

"You heard the story," Cornelius replied leading it vague and Adam nodded once, before heading to the rear of their resting formation to rouse the soldiers. Mo Du-Ga, the Cofol medic, stopped him for a moment to report on the wounded and it didn't appear to be good news.

Cornelius stood up as well with a groan and tapped his friends one after the other on the shoulder to remind them the break was over, before walking into the middle of the street to stare east, in an attempt to discern the gates fortifications from afar.

He couldn't but heard boots approach and turned his head to perceive the taller Nord who came to park next to him. Rad Severs and his group scouted in front of them, through the empty roads of Irde District.

"What happened to the civilians, you think?" Cornelius asked the sober-faced warrior and Severs unbuttoned his collar digging under the chainmail's opening with his calloused fingers, as if the cold weather felt too-hot for him, afore replying.

"Pourem moved them poor fuckers where he can control them. It's not a building or two of course, but to a whole other neighborhood less easy to slip out than this one. Plenty of real estate in a half-empty city for would be looters and tyrannical scum. Darn easy, aye."

"What's so easy about it?"

"The walls are broken. De Moss should have taken the time to control the better opening in a Burg."

"The broken walls are patrolled and located too-deep from our lines for the boats," Cornelius retorted.

"Ayup. Not by many Horselords in this part of the city though," Severs argued with a rustle. "Not near enough of them vultures to cover this forest of stone and concrete. You should have done to him, what he's doing to you from the start and spread him out. Fuck politics and optics, sneak in through the back door and chop the snake's head. There's a bit of planning for ye! Ha!"

"You are always this cynical?" Cornelius grunted and Severs crooked his mouth –the part visible amidst all the dark red hairs of his braided beard.

"Decency will have ye killed like a sad mongrel," Severs finally replied and stilled his ruthless eyes on him. "Liko was like that. He cared about the little things and it got him in trouble. For there is a certain breed of people in this realm, capable of seeing the bigger picture. The bigger gains, than a bunch of prisoners inside a dungeon or a couple of nicely burning Silos. Aye. You can care for about two-three people and that's it lad. Push comes to shove, ye need to be ready to ditch them also in a pit and move on by yer lonesome."

"Fucking Carrion Severs," 'Nod' Weather grunted coming out of the mist, his boots and weapons making little sound as he had them wrapped with cloth. "Best friend I ever had in me sorry life, but if ye ask me whether I have one or not, I'll laugh in yer face. Ha-hah!"

Cornelius stared numbly at the heavily laden Nord, both in armour and battlefield loot. Weather, a deeply scarred man, with even colder eyes than Severs returned his stare unperturbed.

"Grass found the road blocked about three kilometers from here. Five minutes by horse, over forty on foot for ye," Jed 'Nod' Weather grunted. "Anyways… nasties they are, Bordon inscribes, but not Horselords. A different breed them characters must be, nigh unsavory Rad. For Bordon to make the trouble to use such fancy words."

Cornelius could barely understand the Nord's heavy jargon and thick accent.

"What did Bordon write?" He asked.

"Many nasties afore gates," Weather replied all-serious. "That's plenty of complicated words for the likes of Bordon to put on scroll, lad."

Right.

"Did you release the bird, Wilde?" Severs queried. "Brody wouldn't have covered for another man." Cornelius nodded. "Do you trust him?"

"I don't know him. Never heard of Ipsen before that meeting a month back," Cornelius retorted with a grimace. "But leaving us a second option is sound planning."

"Was talking about the Eunuch. Eh, fuck it. Never figured that one out," Severs commented. "All you cultured n' erudite warm-climate dudes stupid belief in complicated plans. That shit never works and you people never learn. Weather here never planned for a thing in his life, but see whether ye can get the drop on him and you'll be rudely surprised."

"Fuck is erudite?" Weather grunted and Severs made a face as if he'd made his point.

Forty five minutes later

Cornelius was able to made out Jep Ipsen from the crowd of mostly armed Issirs blocking the road towards the seemingly open gates, by the figure of the pretty Issir girl in the red cloak standing next to him, although whether the drawbridge had been lowered over the moat or not, he wasn't certain.

"He has archers on the interconnected rooftops," Severs reported. "Jed is heading up there to help Grass clear them out. But you boys can talk it out first."

Cornelius walked to where Adam Di Cresta stood to inform him they had made contact with Ipsen's group. They were outnumbered four to one at least, although the locals weren't as nicely armed as the mercenaries. They were also nowhere near as tired as the Gallant Dogs.

"We have cavalry on our rear. They came from the Royal Palace," Adam said before he could say a word. "Some horse-archers, but mostly Lancers. Quality troops or not, this is not good odds given our guys poor morale and general condition."

"You need to speak with Ipsen. He asked for El Capitan. The man grew up in Irde's slums," Cornelius noted and Adam grimaced.

"Eh, what's in a rank? It's your plan. See to it, Wilde. I'll stay back, see if I can discourage Remas from coming after us too-fast."

"Damn it, Adam," Cornelius grunted in frustration. "We can drop the carts and the supplies."

"Hah, it'll happen naturally, I fear. We can't outrun horses and we have too-few of our own to make a lick of difference," Di Cresta argued and took a big rugged breath, he let out slowly. The sergeant run a hand through his pale blond hair and then pursed his mouth. "Super was supposed to be in charge of this. I'm a staff officer. Aye. But he couldn't walk on that foot, so here I am. Martell will look to sweep it under the rag. Don't let him, Wilde."

"Thought Masin picked you because you are both from Lesia," Cornelius noted with a glance behind his shoulder at the approaching group escorting Ipsen. Over Di Cresta's shoulder in front of him, he could see the first of the arriving Khanate riders, making probing runs towards their thin line of defenders stationed across the large street.

"Lesia is a big country, not everyone knows each other and by the way my young man, I volunteered," Adam elucidated a little affronted and is if he stood twenty years older than Cornelius. "If Ipsen helps out we might yet again push the riders back, but it won't be for long. Eh, I shall do my duty as a Di Cresta and tackle the more difficult task. Let the gods above and historians of the morrow judge me fairly. Give unto to Caesar, what the Caesar is owed, right?"

Damn it man, I doubt they'll write essays about this disaster or even mention us at all.

Cornelius knew of Caesar, only because Adam –a deeply educated officer- had mentioned him in their discussions the previous months.

"You are a family of scholars, Adam, but not anymore," Cornelius said instead playing along and the sergeant responded with a satisfied nod, before slotting his conned helm on and walk away.

"You know," Ipsen said, a Hydra tattoo marring the left side of his face, from temple to the neck. "I expected a much older officer, Mister Wilde. You are late."

"I'm not," Cornelius replied, staring at the fellow Issir under the rim of his helm. "Are the gates secure, Ipsen?"

"Since midnight," Ipsen replied with a nasty smirk. "We started early and done the deed without much fanfare or lightshows."

"You knew we were coming tonight?" Cornelius asked a little surprised and Ipsen nodded. The young officer stared at the girl by his side and then heard the worried calls from Di Cresta's men getting ready to defend against the arriving cavalry.

Morale is a fickle thing, Masin had told him and Cornelius breathed out, feeling the burning in his empty stomach increasing tenfold.

But it can run both ways, he reminded himself.

"We don't have much time," he told Ipsen. "We'll let the wounded pass through and then repel Remas together. Keeping control of the gates is vital. Plenty more of our own might come this way."

"What happens if more Horselords come instead?" Ipsen reasoned, not in a hurry to get moving and Cornelius felt that something was horribly amiss with this whole arrangement. From Martell keeping their plans from the Duke and the Eunuch working on his own little scheme.

Perhaps even, a larger scheme no one had figured out yet.

Or was supposed to.

Decency shall have ye killed, the now absent to join his friends Severs had told him just minutes earlier.

For there are people in this realm that can predict the future.

It ain't even magic most of the time. Just callous intelligence.

"Then we'll retreat out of the city," Cornelius replied and Ipsen closed his eyes as if in an attempt to visualize the scene, the pale light from the posts by the side of the avenue making his tattoo shift seemingly. It didn't. Jep Ipsen was just under tremendous stress, Cornelius realized. He was shaking. The young officer glanced at the Issir girl and she smiled as if this was a social occasion and meeting. "How did you know about the attack, before our bird reached you?" He asked Ipsen and the armed with a saber man puffed out, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Or perhaps just his own future survival.

"Another bird arrived afore yours," Ipsen said hoarsely. "Another missive. A different set of instructions, painting a rather gloomy future for yer men, senior."

"By whom?" A dismayed Cornelius grunted, although it was fairly obvious to a degree who had gotten involved.

"Ah, what's in a name?" Ipsen retorted and pursed his mouth. "Your Dogs shan't pass the gates, el Capitan. Better for all, if you perished here."

Cornelius clenched his jaw, stunned at the profound betrayal and Ipsen shrugged his shoulders. Then a screaming man dropped from a nearby rooftop and crashed on the paved street with a loud thud.

"You'll regret this," Cornelius warned the alarmed Ipsen, who recovered enough to reply in a sad voice.

"Aye. I know," Ipsen surprisingly agreed and slowly retreated towards the bulk of his men, standing fifty meters behind him, while a second man dropped from another rooftop with a high-pitched scream of horror that ended abruptly in an equally hair-raising splatter.

"Well?" the worried Brody queried the moment he reached the Gallant Dogs grouped in the middle of the street. "While you were talking dinner with the locals, Adam is facing big trouble back there, Lee."

"We fight our way out," the pale Cornelius said and his friend stood back astounded. Huibert let out a small gasp of panic, he bravely drowned out with a grimace.

"Are you serious? Didn't you say—" Brody protested and Cornelius raised his voice to cut him off.

"We got betrayed," he barked to the young mercenaries listening to him and unsheathed his sword. "Written off like Liko and the others," he continued over the groans of despair from the tired soldiers. "We could cower, get fucking deflated and lay down to get butchered by a bunch of thugs, turned into slaves if we're lucky," Cornelius rumbled, letting anger warm up his blood and rebuild his courage. "Or we could do the other thing," he now roared hoarsely to be heard even by those in the back rows. Some howled wildly in response and the otherworldly sound influenced more and more mercenaries with each passing second.

Morale is such a fickle thing, the late Bardo Masin had told him. Comes and goes at the flick of one's fingers. The best generals know how to use it to their advantage, but you have to be able to feel first what the men feel, Cornelius Wilde. "And charge at these blasted turncoats, who think they can bully these junkyard Dogs around! We do the bullying, brothers!" Cornelius growled from the depths of his soul and then took a deep breath, trying to stare earnestly in the eyes of each one of the howling young men standing before him. There was not even an ounce of doubt in his next passionate words. "Get loud. Get mad, and bite their fucking ankles off! Run those thugs off the field!"

-

This piece of poetry, the later promoted to captain, Cornelius Wilde, supposedly uttered in a passionate manner, in what it is a much touted story today by the Soldiers of Coin and just over a hundred desperate Gallant Dogs charged at Remas' men guarding the Gates. Histrionics and hyperbole aside, there are glaring holes to this tale, like why were the gates guarded only by Issir troops? Turncoats sure, but still it is peculiar and strange Pourem wouldn't leave some of his better troops there. It's like as if the thoughtful Khanate General had been betrayed, but not fully, or not enough. And what were so many surviving mercenaries doing so far away from De Moss' main army and in such an organized manner for soldiers that had been broken and run away just hours before?

-

Half an hour later

Issir's Eagle East Gates

An hour before dawn on the 17th

Cornelius felt the much larger in size turncoat army break, more than saw it in the chaos of the manic close quarters struggle. It happened right after he dropped Ipsen with a chop to the neck, at the tail end of a mad dash that had helped him break through the thugs' lines.

It was impossible to get a sense of what was going on, with men killed right and left indiscriminately. At close quarters fighting everything is personal and with superior training, the former recruits reverted to what they had learned faster than the surprised at the ferocious attack men Ipsen had assembled. As if the thugs didn't expect them to fight back or had been lulled into a false sense of security, after fighting against ambushed sentries earlier and probably a lot of unarmed civilians for months.

In the end, a young determined soldier's worth was that of three or four criminals and ruffians, even if they were seasoned murderers. A vile criminal's capacity to stand his ground was even lower, almost non-existent.

But for their numbers, it could have gone even better, but three or four times more men, was bound to get a lot of the mercenaries killed. Cornelius, who had gotten no other wound other than the one on his neck from earlier, found Fritz Dall dead the moment he stumbled out of his melee with Jep Ipsen.

After picking the silver dog pendant from the slain mercenary, he walked about in silence, stepping over butchered bodies in the semi-dark and with the sounds of heavy fighting from their rear reaching his ringing ears. Adam Di Cresta had honored his family's name and had stood his ground to buy them some time.

Then a sullen Brody approached him, his friend sporting an injured arm. The surviving Dogs coalescing around Cornelius, now walking like zombies; injured, tired and with their energy drained after the intense scrap.

"Tony?" Cornelius asked hoarsely, the image of the slain Fritz Dall still fresh in his mind, and Tony was heard.

"Here," pronounced 'thiar' per usual, but Brody's face and what had just transpired, made Cornelius unable to crack even half-a-smile.

"Huibert is hurt," Brody blurted out and he looked to be devastated. "It's my fault. My foot slipped and he rushed in to help me. I ain't worth that much mate."

"Ah," Cornelius groaned and pushed the distraught Brody away, some of his drained rage returning. He walked past the grimacing Tony Hoyer, the mercenary's thin frame adding to his sorry appearance and reached the slumped figure of Huibert Bok. The barely nineteen mercenary's chest was covered in gluey blood. The wound just under the sternum, where the armour had failed.

"The plate was missing," Mo Du-Ca explained, shaking his head. "Or not tied properly. Nothing more can be done."

"I'm… sorry, Lee," the fainting Huibert sniffled and Cornelius knelt near his friend, trying to keep the despair from his strained face.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Cornelius rustled, tears carving lines down his dirty cheeks.

"I don't… want to die, Lee," Huibert croaked, trying hard to keep his bloodshot eyes open, and breathing ruggedly. Blood splattered from his lips, and Cornelius tried to wipe it with his shaking hand. "It's… such an ugly… place… the capital," Huibert whispered and departed the world much as he had lived it in the short time the gods above had given him.

Telling the truth, much as his innocent soul understood it.

Cornelius groaned, feeling his soul hurting and stumbled backwards in the attempt to stand on his feet. For a moment he couldn't see or hear anything and then Brody was heard, and his friend looked even worse than before.

"It's not your fault," Cornelius said hoarsely, willing himself to the present and out of despair's embrace. "We need to cross the drawbridge and leave the capital afore it is too late."

And all this is for naught.

"What about Adam?" Brody asked crooking his mouth. "They are still fighting back there!"

"Adam knows what to do," Cornelius retorted. "Everyone that can walk, must help those injured," he ordered and with a spasm that distorted his face, he added raspingly. "Leave the dead."

Less than thirty mercenaries got out of the East Gates, Severs' crew and the only surviving medic Mo Du-Ga, out of the four that had come with them on the boats. Cornelius knew the number of the survivors because he counted them all, and only stepped onto the lowered drawbridge after everyone had already left.

They crossed the flooded, six meters deep, moat and then turned south towards the Corn Fields and Maizeville. Fearing a foray by Remas' cavalry, Cornelius decided to enter the nearby woods and avoid the road. It was very difficult terrain for everyone, but for the three tireless Nordic warriors, and the young mercenary officer ordered a halt, right after the sun appeared between the thick branches.

Trying to lift the plummeting morale, as he feared another confrontation might be just around the corner, Cornelius ordered all available supplies and water to be shared equally, much to the chagrin of the three Northmen, who had the most on them.

Two hours later they continued to cut their way through the King's Forest, keeping their eyes behind them towards the Capital, half in hope some more of their brethren might get out, and half in fear of pursuers.

Cornelius ordered a second halt after noon, and with the river's bridge still far away, in a spot where the fertile but now covered in snow corn fields, could be seen spreading across the country road's edge. Cornelius, who couldn't sleep, not because the sun was up in the sky, but fearing to close his eyes, decided to scout ahead. So, he walked carefully through the old oak trees, trying to get as close to the road as possible.

Under a thick-branched tree's shade, and with the forest's humidity penetrating his soaked outfit, Cornelius pressed his back on the rough trunk, feeling a new wave of despair flooding him.

"You can't think of tomorrow," he murmured to himself and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Stay in the present. Focus, not to miss the obvious."

A breeze interrupted his monologue. It brought a whiff of cinnamon to his nostrils and something else, even more exotic. Cornelius breathed out, shaking his head with the tricks a mind can play, but just in case it didn't, he cast a stare at the trees around him. Other than a couple of chestnuts, no flowers could be seen. The branches and ground soaked, either all dark mud, or fresh un-trotted snow.

For the most part.

Cornelius furrowed his brows, seeing a set of fresh, lonely footprints clearly visible in the snow not two meters to his left. The delicate footprints reached a nearby younger oak tree and stopped there. The young mercenary blinked and then shook his head again. Nobody walked inside a blasted tree mate, he scolded himself. Or even climbed the soaked, slippery trunk. The branches start three-four meters high, for crying out loud!

Still the feeling he was being watched was so strong, he couldn't ignore it.

Nerves are shot.

I'm going mad. That's it.

The end of the bloody line.

Cornelius raised his bloodshot eyes up the tall tree, located right next to his shoulder. Up to the first couple of very thick branches and then the longer, but thinner ones. Ever higher, the sturdy branches exchanging some thickness for even more length as they blended into the canopy of the forest and then he saw the lithe, hooded figure, staring down on him with strangely glowing eyes.

Cornelius heart skipped a beat. He swallowed slowly and then dropped his arm to the pommel of his blade, while desperately trying to understand what it was that he was seeing. Who in his right mind climbs up a fifteen meters tall tree and then parks his arse on a thin branch?

A sneaky demon?

A shy fairy?

"Reike," the unknown female sang in a completely alien tongue sounding as much pissed as stunned. "Tu cenite alame?"

"Ugh?" A bewildered Cornelius grunted. "What?"

The female was heard audibly clearing her throat.

"I said," she told him in passable Common, with that same strange accent. "Shit. You can see me?"

"Yes?" Cornelius retorted even more confused. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Eh," the weird female griped and then dropped from her branch. She landed nimbly, slightly bending her knees in front of the open-mouthed Cornelius and then stood up, her flapping hood blown off of her head.

The female with the strange eyes, had blue hair.

Blue, Cornelius grimaced.

And big fucking ears!

Holy shit. Not a fairy.

Could it be the elusive Gish?

The old captain?

Wait…

Where is the pink hair from the painting?

"It didn't work," the female alien explained, seemingly unaware of the young man's inner turmoil. "Too much moisture in the incense. This is a very wet forest. Very cold. Yes?"

"Get away," Cornelius grunted and unsheathed his sword, but the female snapped her fingers and his whole arm went numb. His fingers let go of the blade and it clanged down before them. "Fuck! I can't feel my arm!" He growled and the feeling slowly returned. "What did you do?" Cornelius asked accusingly and added. "Vile creature!"

"I'm a Zilan," she explained with a slight pout on her lips.

Cornelius had figured that out, although it was still too-big a shock to process. "Ahm," he murmured and stared at his dropped sword perturbed. "What where you doing up on that tree? Who does that?"

"I'm a Zi-lan," she repeated equally perturbed. "A Zilan girl can live on a tree?" she added and Cornelius remembered Brody's words from months back. About pretty girls with arousing accents living on trees and how he had corrected him. The memory brought a bitter smile on his cracked lips.

"Motherfucker was right. I'll be damned," he murmured trying to wrap his mind around the whole affair.

"Oh," she said and paused unsure. "Who is this vile creature?"

"No… it was an expression, ahm… Brody."

"Brody is other name for mother-loving fiend?"

"A friend," Cornelius explained and pursed his mouth. "What… are you doing here?"

"Keya of Taras," she replied and then made a face. "Eh, you want us to exchange a formal greeting? Apologies. I always skip that part and has gotten me grief in court."

He had no idea what she was talking about.

Keep it simple. Stick to verifiable facts.

"I'm Cornelius Wilde," he told her, and then sobered up, regaining some of his wits. "What are you doing here Keya?"

"Do you serve the Queen?" She asked him and Cornelius crooked his mouth.

"I'm a mercenary," he grunted, leaving it vague.

"Which outfit?" Keya asked taking control of the conversation and stooped to pick up his sword. Then she offered it to an uncomfortable Cornelius, who took it with a frown.

"The Gallant Dogs," he replied guardedly and the Zilan female chuckled, a pleasant chirping sound, otherworldly… almost as much as the warmth emanating from her.

"Such fortune," Keya finally said excited and then touched his face with a burning hand that felt really good. "We both serve the Monarch! Cornelius… ah," she paused and brought her finger on her lips. "Here they come," Keya whispered and the Khanate patrol galloped twenty meters away from the treeline following the road towards Maizeville.

Cornelius breathed out, realizing they had been very fortunate not to run on them.

"They come each day, same time," Keya explained answering him the reason she had stayed on that tree. "They head up to the bridge, but never cross the river. Others though, looking like you, do. Some visit the friendly queen's camp. You know of this?"

Issirs was her meaning.

Don't let Martell sweep this under the rag, the heroic in his final moments Di Cresta had implored him.

"Aye," a sober-faced Cornelius replied and gulped down, looking to measure carefully his next words. "But I'd like to learn more."

For Fritz Dall and Henk, both brutally murdered like animals. Bardo Masin and all the others left to suffer inside Pourem's dungeons. The brothers left forsaken and mayhap still pursued within the walls of the city. For Adam and Liko, whom Cornelius had never met, yet everyone held in great regard.

For Huibert Bok, whom Cornelius was quite familiar with. The young soul who wished to have no part in this cruelty, yet had found himself caught up alongside the rest of them, just the same.

And had died with tears streaming down his horrified face.

"Pourem has patrols controlling the Corn Fields," he told Severs, who waited for him to return with a strange look in his eyes. "We tough it out, wait for nightfall and then we'll cross the bridge."

"Find anything in the woods?" Rad Severs asked and Cornelius kept his real thoughts from his face.

"Nothing of import," he replied. "We'll learn what happened, when we get back."

"Aye," the Nord scout murmured and glanced behind Cornelius. The young officer turned around and saw the most elusive of the three scouts, Grass Bordon, coming out of the foliage. Bordon paused, exchanged a look with Severs and then shook his head right and left.

"No sign," Bordon rustled and rubbed his hands together to warm them up.

"Um," Severs grunted, his eyes searching the foliage and the wilderness, up to the canopy above their heads. "It was a good call," he told the aloof Cornelius. "Avoiding the road. The captain's sword, in the captain's hands," Severs added in a warmer manner and grabbed his shoulder reassuringly. "The right call, aye. For it's the second thing that can kill you and everyone under yer command."

"What is?" Cornelius asked although he had it figured out on his own.

"Trust," Severs rustled and crooked his mauve lips in a strange grimace.

It was Rad 'Carrion' Severs' rendition of a friendly smile.

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