Chapter 16 : Cold Steel
Chapter 16
Cold Steel
Midlandia - Rhomelia Border
Lansius had the last watch, staying awake through the cold hours before dawn while Anci slept beneath their crude canvas shelter. As the sun rose and the morning slowly warmed, birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves stirred Anci from his sleep. The shelter was far from ideal, but it had served its purpose through the night.
“Can’t believe we traded the inn for this place,” Anci complained as he munched on yesterday’s bread.
Lansius let out a sharp sigh, thinking of the inn’s comfortable bed. “At least we had the roasted meat,” he said.
“Oh, that finely seasoned, juicy meat,” Anci’s said.
“So tender,” Lansius said, and the two shared a laugh.
Anci pinched an insect crawling over his bread and flicked it away. Then he glanced at Lansius. “Oi, don’t go dozing off on me yet. Anything come out of that manor house?”
“Not a soul,” Lansius said, fighting off the grogginess from the night watch.
Anci grunted. “Not even a donkey taking a piss or something?”
“None. Unless you count birds.”
“You’ve got to learn fast. Only things with cocks or tits count.”
Lansius could not help but snort.
“Speaking of that, what’s your story with that blonde?” Anci changed the subject.
Lansius frowned. "Felis? We barely know each other. Why do you ask?"
Anci stroked his chin. "Well, she's not an ordinary girl, you know."
“What do you mean by that?” Lansius asked, expecting a crude joke rather than any real answer.
"Mm... should I tell you, or should I not?" Anci teased.
"Forget it. I can always ask her myself."
Lansius’s defiance drew a laugh from Anci. Despite the gap in their stations, the two had somehow taken to each other with little trouble. Anci, born Archibald, came from a family that had long served as squires. He told Lansius his grandfather had been a knight, but his father never rose that far. Anci himself had barely made it into Sir Peter’s service, more because of his imposing physique and innate talent with the sword than anything else.
To Lansius, traveling with Anci felt like traveling beside a friendly armed bear. In matters of security, the man was beyond dependable. And unlike other strong men he had met, this squire showed little interest in money, cared little for honor, and had no fondness for formal etiquette. He was easygoing, not the sort to demand respect.
The sun continued to climb, but nobody entered or exited the manor. Nevertheless, the two continued their scouting mission. The area was remote, with only a handful of hamlets within a day's journey, so the road was practically empty, with only the occasional birds flying and circling around.
With Anci taking his turn at watch, Lansius finally ate his cold breakfast and retreated to their canvas shelter. He soon fell asleep while the squire kept watch on the manor.
...
“Oi, oi . . .” called Anci.
Lansius wearily opened his eyes and crouched beside Anci. “What did you find?”
“A carriage.” Anci gestured in its direction.
Lansius turned and crawled to Anci’s side, then looked toward the lone carriage coming up the road, likely bound for the manor, his eyes still blurred from sleep.
“Well?” Anci asked impatiently.
“Well, what?" Lansius frowned. "I don’t think that’s our reinforcement.”
Lansius had expected tens of men and several warhorses, especially considering the six gold coins he had given.
“Not that. That’s one of the slavers, all right.” Anci grinned wickedly.
Lansius squinted, trying to follow Anci’s train of thought. Meanwhile, Anci withdrew deeper inside their shelter and retrieved his broadsword.
"What are you going to do with that?" Lansius blurted out.
“Information gathering,” Anci laughed and strolled out in a relaxed manner.
“By the Ageless,” Lansius muttered as he scrambled to tie his sword to his belt, grabbed his bag, and hurried after him. By the time he caught up, Anci was already standing in the middle of the road, blocking the carriage.
Though the squire was neither the tallest nor the biggest man Lansius had seen, Anci was well built and as intimidating as a beast.
The two horse-drawn carriages stopped as they saw Anci blocking the road. The coachman looked at Anci wearily, and shouted, "What do you want?"
"Just some questions," Anci said while shouldering his broadsword.
"Go on," the coachman replied.
"Do you know anything about slave trade?"
Anci received no further answer. Three men descended from the carriage, weapons in hand. The burliest of them, clad in ring mail, led the assault.
"My, my, so impatient," Anci jeered at them.
Anci stood his ground as one of his attackers lunged at him. Yet at the very last moment, he delivered a slash so swift it was almost invisible. Steel rang out in a sharp, violent clang as the blades crashed. The counter nearly ripped the weapon from the attacker’s hand and threw him off balance. He only just managed to steady himself when Anci followed with another murderous swing, his arms and hands moving with effortless precision despite the heavy sword.
Driven by instinct, the man tried to parry, but he misjudged Anci’s speed. His blade failed even to meet Anci’s. The broadsword struck with a hard metallic crack against his arm and chest. He groaned and fell to the ground. Only a few links of his ring mail had burst, but the force of the blow had broken his upper arm and cracked several ribs, leaving him writhing and gritting his teeth in pain.
Watching the exchange, the remaining two men were both terrified and enraged. They attacked in unison.
Anci parried the slimmer man’s blade aside and stepped back, giving ground as he drew the larger opponent in. Rising to the challenge, the bigger man came on with a heavy slash. Anci blocked it and deliberately let the blades bind, turning the clash into a grapple at sword’s length. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slimmer one readying another attack. Still straining against the larger man’s sword, Anci kept yielding ground and lured him farther forward, until the bigger man’s back cut off his companion’s path.
Confident in his superior strength, the bigger man kept pressing down on Anci’s sword with a smug grin, already preparing a follow-up. But Anci had no interest in wasting his strength, nor in proving it, and certainly none in giving a nobody a fair fight. Drawing on better training, he took a longer step back, upsetting the man’s pressure, then forced the enemy blade downward and drove a hard knee into his groin.
The move came so fast that the bigger man managed only a wide-eyed gasp before pain overtook him and his eyes rolled back.
Without waiting for his last ally to crumple, the slimmer man bared his teeth and launched a desperate attack. Anci met the thrust with a solid parry and knocked it aside. The man followed at once with a slash, but his stance was sloppy and his movements ill-coordinated. Anci’s heavier sword was already singing through the air. The blade struck the slimmer man’s right shoulder, ripping through layers of linen and flesh while hurling him sideways.
The opponent crashed to the ground, and Anci calmly advanced, ready to finish it.
“I yield, I yield!” the slimmer man shrieked as he tried to keep his distance, kicking at the ground while his right arm dangled uselessly. Blood poured from the deep gash, soaking his gambeson red.
Lansius was supposed to be Anci’s support, yet he could only stand there in awe. Three against one had ended so swiftly. And the opponents were not exactly amateurs, with one even bigger than Anci. He was deeply glad the squire stood on his side.
Anci heard the plea and answered as he stood towering over the fallen men, “That is why you should name yourselves first, so I know whether to keep you for ransom or end you in the fight.”
“Money, I have money, take it,” the slimmer man scrambled for his money pouch with his left hand. "J-just let me live—"
A horse's neigh alerted them.
“Stay there,” Anci ordered the fallen men, then turned to Lansius. “Keep them down. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he casually ran after the speeding carriage.
Lansius, with a drawn sword, watched over the man who sat on the ground whimpering from his injury. Lansius pitied the man. “Cut some of your cloth and press it on the wound. That’ll stop the bleeding. Otherwise, you’ll be going cold soon.”
The man nodded in fear and tore some of his cloth to dress the wound.
Meanwhile, Anci chased after the slowing carriage as it climbed the hill. With startling agility, he caught the rear of it, hauled himself up, and within moments sent the coachman flying overboard. The man hit the dirt road and tumbled like a sack of wheat.
The man groaned loudly from the bruises, but Anci was in no generous mood. He seized control of the carriage, turned it around, and drove after the man until he brought it to a stop near Lansius.
As the cart slowed to a halt, the coachman collapsed onto the ground, battered and short of breath, his body already mottled with bruises. He pleaded for mercy. “Please, forgive me. No more harm. No more,” he said breathlessly.
As Lansius drew near, his eyes widened. “I know you,” he blurted at the coachman, then turned to Anci. “He’s the one who tried to kidnap Felicity.”
The fresh accusation sent the coachman into panic. He glanced at Lansius, recognized him, and began to beg. “Please, have mercy. I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, I’ll give you my mercy,” Anci declared as he jumped down from the carriage and held out a bloodied surcoat for Lansius to see.
Lansius recognized the heraldry of a river and a small castle. "Riverstead garrison," he exclaimed.
The coachman trembled with fear as he realized he was dealing with Arvenians.
"Lans, you better climb up. There are kids and women."
Lansius dashed toward the crude-looking carriage and climbed up. Inside, he discovered scattered baskets of clothing, along with three frightened women hugging two children. He didn't recognize any of their faces, but it did not matter. "Don't be afraid," he said. "We'll get you out of here."
***
It was past midday when Anci and Lansius, with help from the women and children, managed to drag the carriage off the road and hide it from sight. All the captured men, whether unconscious or not, were tied up. The big burly man might not survive, but there was little they could do except turn him onto his side so he would not choke on his own blood.
Just as they finished concealing the carriage with leafy branches, the promised reinforcements appeared in the distance. Hugo led thirty men, most of them still in their teens. They arrived in four horse-drawn carts alongside three warhorses.
Lansius waved them over to their temporary hideout. Once they met, he quickly informed Hugo and the others about what had happened.
Without wasting time, they went to question the coachman, who confessed that he was a smuggler dealing in everything from contraband to slaves. Today, he had been sending a fresh batch of slaves from Arvena.
Realizing his safety depended on cooperation, the coachman-smuggler glossed over his own role in acquiring slaves from Arvena and instead focused on details about the manor complex.
“The Den is fortified. They have lots of men, a hundred if not more,” he said convincingly.
Lansius and the others were surprised. Normally, a knight could muster only himself, his son, and his squire. A baronet, who ranked above a knight, might raise a dozen men or perhaps two. Only a baron could field over a hundred.
Hugo, however, did not let that trouble him. “Why do they need to keep them there?”
The coachman looked like he might snigger at such a question, but Anci had slapped him once, which broke one of his front teeth and made the cheeks swollen. He no longer dared to give a crass answer. “T-the slavers wanted to keep the price high. They kept the slaves there and sold only a few at a time.”
Lansius found it hard to follow and finally asked, “Isn’t the slave trade legal? Why bother with hiding and smuggling?”
The man glanced at him. “The goods sent to Feodosia are the bad batches. Too old, too sick, crippled. They’re only good for the Eastern Kingdoms.” He paused, then reluctantly added, “The young, the healthy, and those with skills command a high price. The purveyor secures them before the Feodosian slavers arrive.”
Hugo narrowed his eyes. “And then sell them to whom?”
The man glanced left and right, before answering meekly, “Anyone with money. The barons, baronets, knights, even rich city folks.”
“In Midlandia?”
He nodded and added, “also Rhomelia, Elandia, Nicopola...”
The smuggler’s answer triggered a murmur amongst the men. Many felt sickened that fellow Imperium subjects bought slaves.
“Lies! No men would take slaves under his household!” One of Hugo’s men shouted from behind, followed by a ruckus of support.
“The Eastern Kingdoms are human too, but they used slaves for everything,” the smuggler countered and unintentionally silenced the place.
“Alright, that’s enough," Hugo commanded the men. Then turned to the Anci, "Get the men out and arrange for scout."
Anci whistled and waved his hand, it was enough to direct the men outside.
Lansius observed that the men obeyed orders readily. Even so, they were only thirty against a hundred. He could not shake the feeling that their chance of victory was slipping away.
As the place and the surrounding area were cleared, Hugo questioned the smuggler again. “Do you know anyone named Archie?”
“I never ask their names. It’s better that way... less guilt,” the man replied without hesitation.
Anci knelt beside the smuggler and whispered, “Try to remember.”
The man nodded fervently, out of fear. Hugo gave him Arte’s description, but the coachman shook his head.
Lansius then asked, “Are you the only one transporting slaves to this Den?”
“Of course not. I’m merely a middleman. They got others as well.” Sensing the opportunity, the man drove his point home. “I think your Archie friend must be with one of them.”
The interrogation gave no concrete evidence about the young Lord’s whereabouts, but stopping wasn’t on the Arvenian's mind.
Hugo checked the knots on the man’s wrist, nodded to Anci, and strolled out to attend his men.
Lansius approached the smuggler. “A female squire with fierce eyes. Have you seen one?”
The man hesitated for a moment. "I recall taking one into the Den, but she never opened her eyes."
Lansius’s heart almost leaped. His voice took on a chilling edge. “What happened to her?”
The coachman swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously between Anci and Lansius. "I don't know. She had a bandage wrapped around her head. The men carried her both in and out. That's all I know."
Lansius let out a weighted sigh and left the coachman behind as a flurry of mixed emotions began to consume him.
It could be her...
Felis’s lead now seemed vindicated. Instead of wandering blindly through Feodosia, Lansius had come to a place where Stefi might truly be within reach.
***