Here’s my blade,

Bless it and it shall cut through rock

Here’s my heart,

Take it and it shall fight to its last beat

Here’s my soul,

Offer it in battle and it shall be forever free

-

First prayer to Tyeus

One of the three sacred Knight oaths

Lucius

(Bloody Ridge IV)

His shield caught a spear, tip breaking through hardwood, splinters raining on his helm’s face-cover and Lucius stepped to the side, his blade dancing up slicing the Northman’s arm from elbow to wrist. He took a step and his boots slipped on the sludge, knees buckling, and the shield heavy and unwieldy, messing up his balance. Lucius cursed, run the blade on the outer metal finishing, as he retreated a couple of steps, severing the spear-shaft to get rid of the extra weight.

On his right hand, the shieldwall shuddered as if it was alive, men yelling, fear and pain all mixed in. Bowen on his left, stopped an axe with his, turned it aside and slashed viciously at his opponent’s unprotected chest. The Northman fell, another taking his place, two more opting to test Lucius mettle. He needed to decide this part of the fight fast. Create another opening as before, now… before it was too late.

Lucius jumped ahead leading with his shield, his eyes split between the fighters he faced and the chaos further on his right. The Northman with the spear, black braided beard covering his chest, attempted a thrust, but Lucius turned it aside with his shield expecting it, parried the sword slash his friend tried with his own, turned defense into an attack in the blink of an eye and cut the young man across the face, deep enough to see his brains spill out.

The spear wielding warrior recoiled in fright, and Lucius advanced on him, giving the panicked man no time to recover. The man slipped and went down, mud watery under their feet. He jumped up as fast as he could, but Lucius opened a deep wound on his thigh, bashed his head with his shield and sent him right back down unconscious.

Or dead.

He opened his mouth and sucked in greedily as much cold air as he could, through the face slits. Air tasted of blood, oil and iron. His whole body hurting and tired, throbbing fingers in his left hand driving him mad. Before Lucius could take another breather Bowen squeaked miserably on his back and he turned just in time to see him getting a dagger through the ribs, all the way in, damn mail failing him. The bodyguard pushed his opponent away with a cry of defiance and dropped on one knee, left hand desperately trying to stop the blood from pouring out.

Lucius rushed to his aid, but had to stop boots slipping in the sludge, a huge warrior with a double battleaxe barring his way. Chest bare and painted white, no helm but a wild mess of long red hair. The heir of Regia cursed and made to charge him, stopped again shocked, when an arrow struck the big Northman below the ear and went out the other way, his eyes bleeding, before he collapsed on his face.

“Milord! HELP THE WALL!” Post cried, running towards Bowen short sword in hand, bow on his back. Lucius nodded and moved there to help, the mass of men clashing before him impossible to tell apart.

Galio's booming voice was what guided him proper.

A warrior bumped onto him, weapons clanging, shields breaking, people crying, the noise maddening, ringing in his ears a constant. Lucius turned to attack him, saw a bloody mess instead of a face and pushed him away. Gasped scared when Galio stopped a thrown axe intending for his chest with his spear. The ex-sergeant broke its business end in the process, cursed the gods something fierce and used the broken part to kill a young warrior that had grabbed Lucius shield in the same breath.

The man fell still holding the edge of the shield in a death grip.

Lucius let go of his shield, the guige dragging until he cut it away. Kicked a Northman at the back of his knee, but not before the tall and wiry warrior smashed his axe on Arrun’s helm splitting it in two. The young man stumbled back, blood on his face, but Mamercus took his place, stabbing the Northman in the right eye, blade going in to the hilt.

The wall would hold.

Roderick pulled him from the shoulder hard and turned him around, fury in his eyes.

“GET BACK TO YER PLACE!” He yelled in his face. “THEY WILL FLANK US!”

Lucius nodded snapping out of the battle haze that had consumed him, the last ten minutes a blur in his mind.

The old man was right.

It wasn’t a proud moment.

He reached them just in time to see three Northmen overwhelm the desperately defending merchant. The poor man armed with a cleaver. Bowen had bled out, glassy eyes staring at the dark skies and Post was laying a couple of meters away, his chest cut open, lungs exposed and bleeding, his breath coming out fast and short, a strange look of wonder on his frost-cracked face.

Nonus lost his arm, the blade biting him at the elbow and his shriek matched Seia’s that had just realized Post was deathly wounded. Lucius saw her out of the corner of his eye, dropping her bow and running towards them, face haunted.

Here’s my blade, Lucius thought lips pressed tight and attacked the first warrior, an upwards cut that took his arm off completely at the shoulder. Down his blade went, ruin following it, feet dancing forward past the howling man, always in rhythm, his anger fueling every slash and every cut. The second tried to block with a sword, but Lucius bounced his blade on his, and slashed his nose guard clean off, most of the fleshy part along with it. He sidestepped to avoid a spear to the gut, grabbed the shaft with his left hand and pulled weapon and man forward on his expecting sword. Pushed almost half the length of his blade through the Northman’s lips, breaking teeth, severing his tongue, and splitting his brain in two, when it exited out the back of his head.

“They broke!” Roderick yelled running where he’d stopped to watch Seia cry her eyes out over Post’s dead body. “Lucius… God damn it! SNAP OUT OF IT SON!”

“How many did we lose?” Lucius asked him, his soul hurting.

Roderick sighed, sparing a glance at the mourning scout.

“Arrun got his bell rang, but he’s fine. Same as the girl—”

“What happened?” Lucius snapped, trying to locate Zofia in the chaos.

“Stopped a hammer wit her head… it’s a glancin’ wound,” Roderick explained seeing him, lose his color. “She’s just out for the count.”

He pulled him back, when he started going towards the spot where she’d fought.

“Lucius we need to decide what to do, ye hear that?” Roderick said. “That’s more men fighting down there. We either leave—”

“We won’t.”

Lucius stared at the broken Northmen running as fast they could towards the ridge. Running a misnomer. Most could barely walk.

“We ain’t leaving,” Lucius added brusquely. “Bring the horses here.”

“What are you saying?”

Lucius grabbed him by the collar and pulled him near his face.

“Bring the horses, old man. It’s an order.”

“Easy boy,” Lucius whispered over Stormbolt, less than five minutes later, the stallion snorting loudly excited at what was coming. “We will go on a ride now. You won’t fail me and I won’t fail you.”

“Lucius!” Roderick atop Butter hissed, his plan not agreeing with him.

“SPEARS IN HAND!” Lucius roared to the rest of his men, circling with his horse around them at a slow trot. Galio and his two legionnaires, Faustus, face grim, bleeding from several places and Dirk, the half Northman. Six riders all, with Roderick. Canutia was tending to the merchant and Seia was to stay with the unresponsive Zofia. The latter gnawing at him from the inside. “I’LL LEAD AT THE TIP AND YOU’LL FOLLOW!”

“Bah! Damn ye boy,” Roderick said as he reached him and tossed him his heavy warspear.

“THROW THEM OFF THE RIDGE!” Lucius roared, Stormbolt rising high on his hind legs and neighing as angry as he’d ever remembered him.

When you charge, spear in hand, horse and man become one. You can feel the beast’s heart, same as your own. You can feel, what it feels. Everything else diminishes.

Lucius went through the retreating Northmen like a hot blade through butter. He killed three before he scaled the ridge, everyone behind him tearing at their foes with surprising precision, following his lead. At the top of the ridge they stopped, the Kas valley opening up before them.

A host of at least a hundred Northmen before its walls, facing a smaller one coming from the west road, leading to Eaglesnest. From their banner colors and skin they looked Issirs for the most part. Benton Numbers remaining warriors were attacking them from the rear.

“They have them boxed in,” Roderick commented, breathing heavy. “Almost half of Benton’s men are there. Is why they didn’t have the numbers to break us, I reckon.”

“Aye,” Lucius said and kicked his legs to force Stormbolt down the slope.

“Lucius, we can’t…” Roderick tried to stop him grabbing at his horse’s reins, but he whacked his hand away.

“If they finish them, they’ll turn on us, old man. All this… would be for naught,” He explained, seeing his hurt eyes. “We have one chance to win this all.”

“Lucius, for the love of Uher!” Roderick pleaded desperate now. “Think of Regia son. Yer father!”

It’s all I’m thinking of.

He closed his eyes, breathed deep through the nose and then slapped his face-cover to close it. Once more, he thought, patting Stormbolt’s frost covered mane.

For Regia.

“Victory is before us men of Regia! CHARGE!” Lucius bellowed, his voice carrying over the frozen slopes, down the valley, reaching the men fighting there, well before they did.

The Northern lore says that when Lucius, third of his name, came down the Bloody Ridge, with only six men on his back, the Gods rode with him. Seven men, became seven hundred. An exaggeration for sure, but still such an effect his sudden charge on the Northmen backs had that their lines disintegrated.

The second row of warriors forming the shieldwall that blocked the Issir forces, turned hearing cavalry on their backs and scrabbled to form up again, men and shields moving frantically. Whatever spears they had were brought to the front, or back depending which side one picked, the whole line split in two, the front buckling under the pressure of the hapless defenders that attacked seeing their chance, giving it their all.

“Go boy!” Lucius cried thundering down on the mass of warriors, half a horse ahead of the rest of his men that rode their animals hard to keep up with him. He rode like a madman for their left edge, Tyeus incarnate; as if he’d committed to strike them there; but turned hard towards the center seconds before he reached them, losing some speed, enough for the rest of his men to synch up with him.

The men never keen on taking a charge head on, despite that being the only way one could be successful, when faced with one; broke a breath before their spears touched them. Making it worse. They fell on them almost at the same time, seven wide.

Lucius spear disappeared inside a torso, his own shoulder almost popping out and he let it go, Stormbolt jumping over a warrior the next moment, hooves smashing the hapless man’s face in. Warriors were hurled away right and left, spines breaking, hands and legs splintering, at least a dozen of them killed outright.

Someone cried that Sovya had come and panic set in, but Lucius was too busy to judge the bigger picture. He kicked a Northman at the side of his helm, sent him sprawling on a Issir warrior that stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost, before slitting the man’s throat with a razor sharp dagger, showing great professionalism. Lucius grunted and unsheathed his blade, turning the horse this way and that amidst the chaos.

He couldn’t find a target as he was now surrounded by Issirs and some Lorians. The latter were even more shocked to see him. His knight’s armour making him stand out.

“STAND AND FIGHT!” A man was yelling somewhere up front. “YOU DARN BASTARDS!”

Probably Benton, he thought and kicked his legs wanting Stormbolt to reach him.

“Lucius!” Roderick cried from where he’d ended up, his chainmail painted in gore, but not as much as Butter, the poor horse seeming terrified.

His words reached the men around him, proving their suspicions correct and another chorus started, spreading like wildfire.

“LUCIUS IS HERE!”

“REGIA SAVES US!”

Lucius forced his way to the edge of the line and realized the fighting had stopped the moment Benton’s front had collapsed. A good three meters separated Northmen and Issirs now and the men looked to pull back even more. He saw Benton foaming at the mouth trying to get his men to return to the line, but it was a losing cause, as they’d lost too many already.

Another man stood out, this one on a large horse, the same he’d seen up on the ridge earlier this day, talking with Benton. The impressive warrior noticed him as well. It wasn’t difficult to spot Lucius as men were constantly patting him on the back, calling out his name and petting Stormbolt in a state of jubilation around him, and he pushed his horse to the front. The Northman stared at Lucius long before speaking.

“Who are you knight of Regia?”

“I’m Sir Lucius Alden,” Lucius replied, pushing his face-cover up. “How shall I address you?”

The Northman brought a big hand up and stroke his long red beard.

“Name’s Twotrees Mcloud,” He said in the common tongue, voice deep, his accent heavy. “Didn’t expect to find the heir of Regia, so far north.”

“I didn’t expect to find Fetya’s men, on Sovya’s lands,” Lucius replied.

“All is North up here, Sir Lucius.”

“I’ll have to disagree, Mr. Mcloud.”

Twotrees frowned at his words, stared at the men standing next to Lucius.

“These are Black Skulls men,” He said, contempt in his tone palpable. “Baker Morris’ mercenaries. They don’t belong here.”

“I don’t know him, nor do I care about it. Will you leave the field?”

Mcloud stared at the darkening skies this time.

“Day is almost gone,” He said. “Reckon we move to our camp.”

“Where is that?” Lucius probed.

“Up North,” The man replied with a smile.

“No!” Benton snarled stepping from behind a row of warriors, eagerly watching the exchange. “We had a deal Twotrees!”

Most appeared less than pleased with his words.

“You want to fight, through the night?” Mcloud asked him. “Your men run. I don’t see how you can help Feral Benton. That was the deal.”

Benton grimaced, and checked around him, eyes narrowed. He realized, there was no support to his plea.

“This bastard killed my brother,” He said bitterly.

“You could always fight him, if he agrees to it,” Twotrees replied sympathetically.

“His brother ambushed my people,” Lucius explained. “Brought it on himself. I owe this man nothing.”

“He did it to save the O’ Dargan’s girl, ye southern fiend!” Benton snapped and made to come at him unsuccessfully. No one wanted him starting something, so late in the day.

“What do ye mean?” Mcloud asked with a frown, his interest piqued.

“I’m bringing her home,” Lucius explained.

“You have… what’s her name? Do ye even know it?” Mcloud asked, suspicion all over his hardened face.

“Zofia. She’s back at our camp.”

Hopefully still breathing.

“Give her to us,” The warrior offered.

“I can’t do that,” Lucius replied. “I was tasked to return her to her father. I aim to do just that.”

Twotrees stared at him, as if he didn’t believe his words, but seeing he was serious, threw his head back and laughed hard.

“You’ll never reach her father, Sir Lucius,” He said, now serious. “As a matter of fact, how about we settle it here now.”

“What do you propose?” Lucius asked, his mouth dry. Things had taken a turn for the worst.

“We fight it out. The old way.”

“You and me?”

“It’s Benton ye’ve wronged,” He stared at the fuming brigand. “Allegedly.”

“I win, you take your men, over the border,” Lucius said confidently. “I get free passage to her father.”

“You win, I’ll retreat to Fenford Burg and wait for orders,” Twotrees countered, measuring his words. “Whether you’ll make it to Ludr, or not, is none of my business. If you lose, I’ll let your men go, but I will keep the girl. She’s a pain in the arse, but I guess it will make the old man happy.”

Lucius turned his head and looked back, saw Roderick close his eyes, despair written all over his face. He was cold and tired. His back hurt and the sun was almost gone. Thinking about it, wouldn’t help anyone, much less himself. Better do it while you can move your muscles, he thought and jumped off his horse.

Twotrees stare held as much surprise, as admiration.

“I will fight him,” He said simply and watched Benton’s smirk growing.

“In the circle?” The Northman inquired, just to be certain.

Lucius shrugged his shoulders, the pain making him flinch. Every eye was set on him. Friends and foes waiting for confirmation.

“In the circle,” He replied his tone nonchalant, despite the nervousness he felt.

And that was that.

The battle of Bloody Ridge, was to end with a duel to the death.