Vol.4, Ch.5, P.8
Keeping Mia in my arms, I waited for her weeping to wane. And ever as I did, the flames in the room riled to a new fervour, as though remembering their old purpose. The smoke was beginning to bother our eyes and throats. Timbers sagged and groaned; walls elsewhere collapsed, their echoes rocking the room—it was high time we fled.
“Come, Mia,” I said, “we must go,” and urged her with a gentle caress of her head, to which she squinted her teary eyes and nodded. Yet before we could make our escape, there remained a bit of business to finish, for it seemed we had in our midst one last guest to see.
Indeed, I felt it then: a presence behind me, standing beyond the flaming fissure in the floor. Nay; perhaps “presence” is putting it too simply—foesome it was, and undoubtedly desired to murder me without mercy.
Standing, I hid Mia in my shadow once more and turned about, and there, I found an old face.
“Erik Lindell…”
A name cold upon my lips. Behind hazes of hot air he loomed: Lindell, leader to these knights… and livid of visage, like a fiend infernal, given spite enough to exist beyond the leaves of a haunted book. Veins bulged and throbbed above his brows; redder than flame and blacker than smoke was his face, dyed by living fury.
“What… sin be this…!?” he forced from his throat, quaking all the while. “These knights! These fine… fine men of mine…! Hewn like common hogs! By your hands, was it…? By yours…!?”
“It was,” I answered, “for he who dares harry me or my companions makes himself exactly that: a swine to be slaughtered.”
Words I wished would never stain Mia’s ears, if even in passing, if even from any other mouth than my own. Were it mine to decide, I should like her living in peace, far, far away from these wars of ours. Only, war had seeped into every seam of this world, and where were we now but deep within its weave. Not here could palliatives and pretty words survive. Not amidst fire and blood. And so, rough to her ears though it might’ve been, I had to speak plain to my enemy, lest I become as he: a snake, scheming and deceitful.
“…You!” hissed Lindell. “You godless treacher…! You butcher of Yoná’s young…!”
His hate for heretics and turncoats had not faded in the least, it seemed. Yet it struck me that seething first from his mouth should be instead a lamentation for his fallen confederates.
“Hannes…!” he wailed. “Oh, dear, dear Hannes! A champion of a patriot—dead…! There! There at your feet…! Out of humble beginnings was he begotten! Yet from hovel to hall he has crawled…! Harbouring never any hate for loveless Londosius! But only ever rueing its wretched lot! Grieving it…! Oh, a true knight he was…! A true man…!” And all during his tirade, Lindell would bite his lip, that as he uttered his next words, bitter blood rilled down his lips withal: “…And a true friend!”
There is shared an unchallengeable truth amongst makers of battle, no matter their side, no matter their end: that just as they fight, firm in their beliefs, in their rightwiseness, and in the sanctity of their sacrifices, so, too, do their foes. A matter of course. For who would wage war so willingly and think himself any wicked for it? Not many. No, not many at all.
“How it… pains me…! That I must thank these perilous timbers…! This failing floor…! For were they any surer a foothold, fast would I be upon you! Blade drawn! Bent upon your bloody death…!” Lindell lamented on. “Only… only it is I who would be reaped in turn…! Defeated ere my blade ever fell! Oh, forgive me, Yoná! Dear Divine! For I cannot…! Cannot hope to win the devil afore me…!”
Such a storm it was, this man’s indignance. Shuddering and bloodshot were his eyes, and in their gaze could be seen passions pure and pulsating.
“The shame!” he shouted. “The shame!”
“‘Cannot’, you say?” I spoke at last. “After having beaten me to a pulp at the Erbelde?”
The air groaned; the keep quaked. Veils of dust and debris rained down—soon would the fires devour this place whole. But amidst the emergency, there sounded a soft breath. It was Lindell, relieving his lungs. His eyes were shut; his veins fading—the Owlcrane lieutenant seemed to be soothing the thunders in his heart.
And there he opened his eyes again. “…You yet grudge me that old trifle?” he said, steady now and stern. “Hmph. You are more vengeful a vermin than I thought.”
“Maybe I am,” I coldly humoured him.
For my part, never had I even imagined another meeting with this man. No, indeed, not once in the three years since he’d left me bruised and ablood on the eve of the battle for the Erbelde. For in this battle, all my mind had been bent upon my erstwhile foe: the fearsome Mareschal Matthias Juholt. Rather shortsighted of me, perhaps. After all, ever does the world wheel by the force of many wills, uncountable as they are inscrutable, their motives mingling in eddies of eternal motion, open and secret. Never far in such mirk can any sight see, nor any feet go without fumble or fall. Goodness knows of my blindness and blunders on this day. But as for Lindell—had he foreseen any truer, I wonder?
“You know what our presence here portends,” I said to him. “Juholt—he is no more. His knights: half-slain; his Order: fleeing through the fields. Tell me, mastermind: have we pieces moved exactly to your liking?”
The man raised his face and narrowed his red-glinting eyes. “…Maybe you have,” he coldly echoed. “Maybe this mastermind owes you pawns a word of praise—were you not so quick to promote yourselves.”
“…”
“…”
Silence grew between us. At length, a loud noise leapt out; heat howled in our faces—yet another section of the room had fallen to ruin.
“Mark this well, withersake,” Lindell cried above the cacophony. “The one to change this world… shall not be you. No, not by the hands of some sin-steeped ungraced. Not by some orphan forsaken by Yoná Almighty.”
“Then mark you this, Lindell,” I said back to him. “Your heavenly hag hasn’t forsaken me—I have forsaken Her.”
Lindell then gnashed his teeth, clenching them hard, and grated with disgust. But before aught could become of his rancour, an explosion upstairs pounded the air, rocking the keep around us. At once, I shielded Mia as she cowered behind me, and next found falling through the hole in the ceiling a number of errant barrels. Down into the floor-fissure they plunged, right into the roaring fires below. A crash, and there then vomited out of the void a hellish plume of flame. I recoiled, covering Mia all the more, and watched the wild fires play themselves out. And as they waned and the black smoke subsided, I discovered beyond the fissure Lindell gone from all sight.
“Turned tail, has he…?” I murmured. It was farewell with him for now. Indeed, we ought cross paths soon enough. “Whether we will it or no, I wager…”
A foulness filled the air—terebinthine and terrible to the nose. Pressed all the more, I turned and whisked Mia up off her feet, who did not resist despite the suddenness, and in fact, leant in like a lamb. A bit heavier to bear she seemed. Hardly strange; she was yet a growing girl, after all.
“Mm? That sound…” I muttered as I took Mia through the flames and to the far end of the room. And peering out of the window there, I saw below a change in the battle: the knights who had held the gates were now in frantic flight. They were come at last, then: our chief host, here to secure the fort… and our victory withal.
East-, west-, and southwards scurried the knights. It would seem Lise and all the rest had captured the northern gate, to turn the flight of our foes away from Hensen and towards Former Ström, instead. A sound decision. Lindell himself and his knights ought not put up more of a fight, at any rate; handing Juholt his doom had served his purposes well enough. If any blame should come his way, I wouldn’t doubt that he’d deem it all a fault of the dead and defeated, and dispute that it was better to fight another day than die a dog’s death.
“Mia, down we go,” I said as I began bearing myself over the window sill.
“…but we’re so high up…” Mia noted doubtfully.
“Don’t worry; it’s only two floors,” I assured her. “Hold on tight.”
To that, Mia nodded, bringing her arms about my neck and bracing herself strong. Holding her firm, I leapt from the window and into the free air. Landing as gently as could a jump from on high, I then glanced all about, and found more clearly our foes in retreat. And amongst them, like as not: their leader, Lindell.
Thus did ranks of silver flee the fort of stone—a sight to bookend this blasted battle.
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Thanks for the chapter.
So Rolf meets a mastermind of today’s arc. This is what should be more common in this series, where the villian has more motivations to be a villain than simply being evil. Rolf exchanging cuts and jabs with him is also welcomed.