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A Tales of Cadamaria Story - Battle of Garagil Pass (Part 50)
The Northmen scoured the hills and mounds, watching over the small band of Cairlannders approach their camp. With them, the knights raised upon a white banner with eight black lines of each direction intersecting at a common point, and a circle skewered equally between them all. The symbol of Freya, the Goddess of Gyldenege. Halan eyed the archers overshadowing their approach, their hooded shadows hanging over them like crows waiting for a falling carcass. They had not yet struck, but perhaps it was only because Orm had disposed of his helm and carried the Freyan symbol at the front.
The knights reached the entrance to Jarl Olvek’s camp, to which they were greeted by the hardened faces, sharp eyes, and snarling teeth of a hundred Northmen. Spears, swords, and axes laid by their sides, rough, coarse palms gripping their handles as they emerged from their tents and assembled before the knights. Halan and the knights looked around at the disheveled mob gathering before them, and soon they had found themselves surrounded on all sides.
“What now?” the lead man said, his hand hovering over his blade.
“You and the others stay here. Orm and I will handle things from here,” Halan answered. He nodded to Orm, and the two men dismounted from their steeds with deliberate pause, giving the Northmen time to study their every move. Halan took hold of Orm’s Freyan banner and, stepping forth a foot at a time, planted the banner before the Northmen and began unstrapping his sword.
Orm then called out to the crowd. “The Godsmen wish to speak to the Great Jarl!”
Halan then offered forth his blade, his arms firm and feet steadfast upon the rocky soil as he surveyed the Northmen, reading their doubtful expressions. He met their burning gazes with equal determination and spirit, unwavered by the arms pointed against him.
Soon, a man stepped forth out from the horde. His right eye had been scarred and blinded, nothing but a murky white in his iris, his muscular chest covered in scars and wounds, painted over with blackish-blue symbols and inscriptions. And atop his skull, a bear head with its pelt covering his back and shoulders. Two others followed behind the large man as he approached the young knight and stopped before Halan.
“You wish to surrender, Velgyte?” the man asked.
“I wish to speak with Jarl Olvek,” Halan replied.
The man cracked a smile and called out to the crowd. “He wishes to speak with the Jarl!” The whole camp cried out in laughter, lowering their weapons as they mocked the knights and their feeble attempt.
Halan, however, remained unphased. “I bring a message for him from my Master, Chaplain Master Gebhart. He will want to hear it.”
“I think you’re lost, Cairlannder. Perhaps you took a wrong turn. Your place is down that road. All the way back to Vel.”
“He’s serious, Bjolan,” Orm said. “The Jarl will want to hear him out.”
“The only thing the Jarl would like to hear is Cairlann’s surrender! If you don’t plan to surrender, then I suggest you ride back to your Lord before we turn you into carrion.”
Halan then spoke out. “Then tell him we are.”
His words left Bjolan speechless.
“You heard me. We’re offering our due surrender. Now bring us to him so we may discuss.”
Bjolan chuckled, rubbing his chin as he darted his eyes between Orm and Halan. “Alright, Cairlannder. We’ll take you to the Jarl. But your men stay here. We’ll take your weapons too.”
The Northmen then pushed Halan forward through the horde as he disappeared into their ranks, just as the others flooded around the knights and began dismantling their gear.
Topic: Project CAIRLANN [HIATUS] (Read 38991 times)
