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Chapter Twenty-One (TIBK)
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 09:28:05 +0000 UTCKael’s certainty was magnetic. Footmen staggered towards the sound of Kael's shield, their polished leathers smeared with mud and chemical residue. Shields clanged together as they formed a rough crescent facing the forest edge. Spears lowered over shield rims.
Good, Kael thought, counting swiftly. About thirty footmen, mostly intact. Six knights still capable…
He saw the terror in their eyes, the humiliation. They needed a leader, not a spoiled boy. He spared a glance at Garrick, who was fuming atop Silvermane, yelling incoherent threats.
"Lord Garrick!" Kael barked. "Hold the center! They won't break a Stormcrow shield wall!" He turned back to the forming wall. "SERGEANT BREN! Flanks anchored! Close up! Brace for spears!"
The veterans responded to Kael's drill-ground tone. The shield wall solidified, a dense hedgehog of wood and metal facing the silent trees. Panicked coughing subsided, replaced by harsh breathing and clinking armor.
They're regrouping fast, Eirik noted from behind a thick oak beyond the first chokepoint. Kael. Should've known. He's the real commander there.
He glanced back at his own force filtering through the trees behind the secondary chokepoint. Olaf had his recruits ready, eyes alert behind cloth masks. Leif leaned against a tree, face pale, cradling his injured arm. The Fenrir guards looked grim but determined.
Phase one worked better than expected. Knocked their cavalry charge out cold. But we only "killed" maybe a dozen, mostly knights. They've still got nearly forty fighting men forming up. Kael won't charge blindly again. Time to bait trap number two.
"Olaf," Eirik said quietly. "Second point. Make it look messy." He turned to the young noble. "Leif! You're visible bait. Look vulnerable. Angry. Get Garrick's attention."
Leif's pale eyes flashed with resentment but also understanding.
Eirik slipped behind another tree, moving silently toward a position overlooking the planned engagement zone. The path narrowed sharply between boulders and thorny brush. Jens's men were hidden in the undergrowth, ropes taut around heavy logs suspended above.
Back at the shield wall, Garrick's rage crystallized into a burning need for vengeance. He saw Leif Fenrir stagger into view down the path, clutching his arm, glaring back at the Stormcrow lines. Behind him, Eirik's Talons milled about in apparent confusion. One recruit dropped his shield; another tripped over a root.
Look at them! Fleeing like scared rabbits!
Garrick's humiliation curdled into savage triumph. One hit and they break! Leif's hurt! That bastard Eirik's exposed!
"THEY BREAK!" Garrick screamed, pointing his sword. "SEE?! AFTER THEM! FORM THE RANKS! ADVANCE!"
He kicked Silvermane forward.
"MY LORD! HOLD!" Kael's roar stopped him short. The veteran stepped in front of Silvermane, visor open, eyes blazing. "It's too open! They want you to charge!"
"WANT?!" Garrick sputtered. "They're RUNNING, Kael! Look at them! Leif's right there! That bastard is there!" He pointed again, trembling with impatience. "They've shot their bolt with their jars and logs! NOW is the time!"
Kael held his ground, studying the terrain ahead. Narrow point. High ground left and right. Perfect for another swinging log, another cloud, or a spear volley from cover.
"Lord Garrick," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "They are luring you. That 'disorder' is staged. Look – no real panic, just noise. Send scouts. Flank them through the thickets."
"FLANK THEM?! There's no TIME!" Garrick gestured wildly toward the fleeing figures. "They're getting away! While you talk, they regroup!" He glared at Kael, suspicion darkening his features. "Or are you afraid to fight my battles? Perhaps you think the bastard deserves a chance?"
The insult struck Kael. His jaw clenched. He saw eager, bloodthirsty looks on the faces of Garrick's younger knights and footmen. They wanted payback. To defy the heir openly now? Impossible.
"Fine," Kael ground out. "ADVANCE! SHIELD WALL FORWARD! CAUTIOUSLY! Eyes on the treetops! Eyes on the flanks! Garrick, stay behind the wall. Lead from the rear."
Garrick bristled but the lure of pursuit was too strong. He nodded curtly. "Just crush them!"
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The Stormcrow shield wall began its advance. Kael positioned himself at the left front corner, shield high, eyes scanning the dense woods and thick canopy. The formation moved with deliberate slowness, a crawling fortress inching toward the boulders where Eirik's men seemed to be frantically retreating.
Leif stumbled again, deliberately, glancing back with fear and anger aimed directly at Garrick.
Come on… come on… Eirik thought from his concealed position on a low ridge. Bite on the hook, Kael. But bite carefully.
He saw the disciplined advance, the wary eyes scanning. The shield wall reached the narrowest point between the boulders and thicket. Leif and the last visible recruits scrambled around the bend, disappearing from view. It looked like complete rout.
Garrick couldn't contain himself. "NOW! AFTER THEM! BREAK FORMATION! RUN THEM DOWN!"
"NO! HOLD THE WALL!" Kael roared, recognizing the danger. But the sight of the "fleeing" enemy, combined with Garrick's order and pent-up frustration, broke discipline. Younger footmen and knights surged forward, squeezing through the gap. The tight shield wall bulged, then fragmented at the bottleneck.
A harsh whistle split the air – Screee! Screee! Screee!
From hidden positions in the thicket and behind boulders, men counted: One… two… three… four… five… PULL!
WHOOSH! CRUNCH!
Two heavy logs swung down on ropes. One slammed horizontally into the cluster of Stormcrows, crushing shields and sending men flying. The other came at their legs. The sound of breaking shinbones echoed.
HISSSSSSS-SHHHH-CRACK! CRACK!
Two cloud bombs exploded simultaneously. Twin plumes of choking yellow-white gas erupted, engulfing the front ranks and swirling back into the fragmenting shield wall.
Chaos erupted again, compounded by physical trauma. Men screamed – real agony now. Shields dropped. Formation dissolved. Knights stumbled blindly into their own men.
"SHIELDS UP! COVER FACES! PUSH THROUGH!" Kael bellowed, shoving his visor down. "TO ME! FORM ON ME!" He slammed his sword against his shield, trying to recreate the rallying point. But the logs and gas created a lethal funnel.
"NOW, OLAF! SPEARS!" Eirik commanded from above.
From cover, Olaf's recruits leaned out. "VOLLEY! THROW!"
A concentrated hail of blunted practice spears arced into the mass of disoriented Stormcrows. Thuds, cries of pain, and sharp cracks of wood on armor filled the air. More men went down, declared "dead."
Kael snarled, deflecting a spear with his shield. His veteran instincts screamed. Ambush confirmed. Bottleneck is death. He needed space.
"LEFT FLANK!" Kael roared, spotting a less dense patch of thicket. "BREN! BREAK LEFT! PUSH THROUGH THE BRUSH!"
Kael became the spearhead. He lowered his shoulder behind his shield and charged diagonally into the thorny thicket. Bren and others slammed into the bushes beside him, shields battering a path through. Thorns scraped armor, branches whipped faces, but they pushed forward with desperate strength.
Garrick saw Kael leading a breakout. Panic warred with rage. "KAEL! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" He spurred Silvermane forward, trying to follow through the churning mass of his own men. A spearman stumbled into Silvermane's path. The horse reared, screaming.
Eirik saw Kael's maneuver. Damn. He's adaptable. Breaking out sideways. He signaled Olaf with a sharp downward chop.
Olaf blew the recall whistle. "TALONS! FALL BACK! NOW!" The recruits and Fenrir guards melted back swiftly, abandoning the second chokepoint, dragging more "dead" Stormcrows. They vanished deeper into the woods.
Kael burst from the thicket onto clearer ground off the main path. Sergeant Bren and eight footmen stumbled out behind him, coughing, bleeding from thorns, but alive and combat-ready. He looked back. The bottleneck was utter carnage. At least another dozen men were down – tangled near the logs, blinded and gagging, or lying where spears had struck.
Half our force was gone. In two ambushes. Kael's blood ran cold. This isn't luck. This is calculated savagery.
His gaze swept the forest. He saw movement ahead – the briefest flash of dark leather disappearing behind a massive pine.
There! Retreating!
"BREN! With me!" Kael pointed his sword toward the fleeing figure. "The rest! Hold this ground! Find Lord Garrick!" He charged toward the pine, shield ready, Bren close behind. He vaulted roots and ducked branches, driven by veteran fury.
He's coming. Eirik knew it the moment Kael locked onto his position. The veteran moved with terrifying speed despite his armor, cutting through undergrowth like a winter wolf. Eirik dropped from his perch, landing lightly thanks to his boosted Agility. He didn't run. He turned to face the threat, heavy practice sword in high guard.
Kael slammed through the last bushes, spotting Eirik alone in a small clearing. No shield. No apparent support. Just the bastard and his sword. Rage surged.
"EIRIK!" Kael bellowed. He didn't break stride. He lowered his shield and charged the last ten paces, his longsword snapping out in a vicious horizontal slash aimed at Eirik's neck.
Eirik saw the blow coming. His agility upgrade gave him a crucial microsecond. He didn't try to parry the massive force head-on. Instead, he pivoted sharply into the charge, ducking under the sweeping blade. His own sword hammered down onto Kael's vambrace with a jarring THWACK!
[SWORDSMANSHIP EXPERIENCE +5]
[MANA FRAGMENT +5]
The impact jolted Kael's arm, spoiling his follow-through. Surprise flickered in the knight's eyes. Faster than he was! Much faster! Kael recovered instantly, slamming his shield boss toward Eirik's face.
Eirik jerked back, the metal boss whistling past his nose. He spun away, putting distance between them.
Kael pressed relentlessly. Shield forward, sword probing – thrusts to the face, low cuts to the legs. Eirik danced back, parrying, deflecting, using trees as cover. His movements were fluid, defensive. Kael's strength made his blows terrifyingly heavy. He couldn't trade blows.
He's used to fighting knights, Eirik analyzed, dodging another thrust. Big swings, solid blocks. Close for the shield bash.
Kael feinted high then swept low at Eirik's ankles. Eirik leapt back, avoiding it. He saw controlled fury in Kael's eyes, absolute focus. Past Kael, he glimpsed Bren holding the clearing's edge, and Garrick emerging from the thicket with more footmen.
Can't let them join in. Need to end this duel. Fast.
He backed toward a massive, gnarled oak, its roots forming a treacherous mound. Kael followed, relentless. Eirik stepped onto the roots, testing his footing.
Kael saw the unstable ground. Trying to trip me? Predictable. He advanced more cautiously.
Eirik saw the hesitation. He committed to a desperate gamble. He lunged, not at Kael, but past him – a feint toward Bren. Kael shifted his shield slightly, momentarily opening his center.
Eirik's real target wasn't Kael. It was the ground.
With a grunt, Eirik slammed his sword's pommel down onto a thick, exposed root near Kael's left foot. The wood splintered. Simultaneously, he kicked hard at loose soil beside it.
Leverage.
The treacherous mound gave way beneath Kael's weight. The knight's armored boot slipped violently on the shifting ground.
"Wha—?!" Kael windmilled his arms, shield flailing. His eyes met Eirik's cold gaze for an instant.
Eirik didn't hesitate. He channeled his strength into a savage upward cut, aimed at the vulnerable juncture at Kael's hip and thigh.
CRACK!
The thick wood connected solidly. Kael roared in pain from the impact and brutal wrenching of his compromised footing. His leg buckled. He crashed sideways into the oak trunk, sword flying, shield pinned beneath him.
Bren shouted and charged forward. Garrick screamed, "GET HIM! KILL THE BASTARD!"
But Eirik was already moving. He used the tree trunk as cover, dodging Bren's thrust, and darted back toward where his men waited.
"KAEL!" Garrick rushed to the fallen knight's side, genuine alarm mixing with fury. "Are you—?"
Kael pushed himself up, face pale, jaw clenched against pain radiating from his hip. He batted Garrick's hand away. "I'm… functional," he gasped. He looked toward the forest where Eirik had vanished. Cold, lethal respect burned in his eyes. "He fights… like a cornered ice-cat. No honor. Pure survival."
He grabbed his fallen sword, using it to lever himself upright. He spat blood.
He turned his fierce gaze on Garrick and Bren. "Forget the formations. Forget the tactics he expects. We go through the forest. " He grimaced, adjusting his weight. "He has no more tricks he can spring on a scattered advance. Only open battle remains. And in open battle, Eirik," he muttered toward the empty trees, "will drown."
Eirik reached the third chokepoint, a natural defile where rocky slope met frozen stream. Olaf and the Talons were waiting, tense. Leif leaned against a rock, injured arm held close, face drawn.
"He got away?" Olaf asked, seeing Eirik alone.
"Not unscathed," Eirik panted, fighting the adrenaline crash. He quickly relayed Kael's injury. "But he's smart. And he just learned not to play my game."
He looked at his force. They looked tired but fierce. They'd bloodied Garrick badly. But they'd lost their element of surprise. Kael wouldn't be baited into another prepared kill zone. The numbers favored them – maybe twenty-five Garrick’s men to his forty-five, but those twenty-five were much better skill-wise and equipment-wise, and now led by a furious, smart veteran who would not be easily baited again by guerrilla tactics.
He saw the clay jars slung on his throwers' backs. About ten left. His mind raced. No more funnels. No more predictable traps. They'll flank, probe, surround. We need to draw them together. Force the decisive clash on our terms. But how?
His gaze fell on Leif Fenrir, clutching his useless arm, his hatred radiating like heat.
A plan began to form.
"Kael won't come at us head-on again," Eirik announced. "He learned his lesson."
He saw confusion flicker across the faces.
"So we give him what he expects," Eirik continued, a hard edge entering his voice. "We keep looking like we're scared. Trying to avoid a fight because we know we'll lose it in the open."
Olaf frowned. "But… m'lord? We outnumber them now. Why hide?"
Exactly the question Kael will be asking himself.
"Because Kael expects the timid rabbit, Olaf. They lost men to our dirty traps and tricks, but not on an open field. He expects us to cling to the forest shadows, hoping for another lucky ambush. He wants to force us into the open, where his armored knights and disciplined footmen can grind us to paste. That's the image we paint."
Olaf's weathered face split into a fierce grin. "So we're not hiding. They will think that they are seeing through our baits all and try to corner us in an open field. But that is exactly what we wanted, because…"
"Because we won’t be standing still to receive it," Eirik helped Olaf finish the thought. "We’re going to surround them."
He gestured towards a section ahead, where the dense pines gave way to a flatter, more open area – still dotted with trees and large boulders, but wide enough for maneuver. It was at the far edge of Frostmire, near one of Jens's boundary stones.
He pointed at two clusters of recruits, numbering about ten each. "You two groups. Break off left and right, behind the main retreat path. Stay hidden. Get into position here and here." He used his boot to scuff rough marks in the forest floor, indicating points flanking the clearing.
"Questions?" Eirik scanned them. There were nervous glances, but no objections. "Good. MOVE!"
