A Tales of Cadamaria Story - Battle of Garagil Pass (Part 6)
The hersir growled, tightly clenching the knife with his bloodied fists. The knights kept their guard, weary of the hersir’s ravenous rage, their wrists stiff as they pressed their swords against him. However, after a few brief moments the hersir soon gave in, slowly placing his weapon down next to his side. The hersir cursed at the knights in a foreign tongue, at which point Hrodgar kicked the knife away.
“You alright, my Lord?” Sir Bodwyn asked of Halan.
Halan spat, his cheeks welted from the pummeling earlier as he pulled off his beaten helmet.
“I’m not seeing angels, so that’s a start,” Halan said, blinking his eyes as he gazed up into the bright gray skies.
Halan then turned to his men, their armor muddled in drying blood and damaged in various places. Several arrows pierced through Hrodgar’s chainmail, yet the seasoned knight strutted around seemingly without a care. Sir Bodwyn, however, limped on his left leg and struggled to keep his blade up, his arm barely able to contain his shaking; his chainmail had almost completely broken apart during the fighting. The two had suffered serious injuries fighting through the hersir’s horde, and although Halan felt guilt for putting them through this struggle, it was their third companion Cenric that worried Halan the most.
“Cenric!” Halan called out.
“Right here, Captain!” the young knight called out from behind a rock. He must have crawled his way to safety when the fight broke out.
“Can you stand?” Halan asked.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “The bastards got me good in the leg… all I see is white.”
“We’ll carry you out soon. Sir Bowdyn, if you can fetch Cenric.”
Sir Bowdyn nodded and sheathed his blade before withdrawing to tend to Cenric’s wounded leg. Halan then turned to face the hersir kneeling on the ground with his hands in the air, the swords of the two knights pinned to his neck. He slowly approached, until his figure towered over the man, whose eyes gleamed with sharp defiance.
“You put up a good fight, Hersir,” said Halan.
“I’d have finished you off sooner and you know it,” the hersir snapped. “Your men came between a fight of two equals. It would’ve been fitting for us to die between our blades. They know nothing of a warrior’s honor.”
Halan chuckled. “Fighting twenty to three is considered honorable? I thought we were at war, not a duel!”
“Til Velhas mef thig, Velgyte,” cursed the hersir.
“What shall we do with him, Lord Captain?” asked Hrodgar.
“Tie him up. We’ll bring him back to camp.”
“And do what, exactly? He doesn’t seem like the cooperative type.”
“I’m not talking to the likes of you,” said the hersir.
Hrodgar threw a left swing at the hersir’s face, knocking the man down to the ground.
Halan forced his hand between Hrodgar and the hersir. “Easy, Hrodgar. He’s a prisoner of war.”
“My ass he is! You said it yourself, Captain. The war is over. He’s nothing more than a murderous scoundrel right now.”
“He could have killed us all when he had the chance.”
“And he still tried.”
“Still, he should be afforded a chance for his life, just as he did us. Tie him up.”
Hrodgar grumbled, wary of the hersir that sat and watched the two men. He pulled pieces of fabric from one of the dead men before taking the hersir’s wrists and tying them together.
“I don’t see what’s the point of dragging him along,” Hrodgar spoke out. “We’re beat to Hell as is. We got who knows how many more of those mangy devils chasing after us, and we’re nowhere close to knowing what kind of army we’re fighting against. And you still want to drag a prisoner around bent on killing the whole lot of us?”
“Your man’s right, Cairlannder. You’ll all be dead once my brothers come for you,” said the hersir. “Nothing but fat carrasses for the crows!”
“He knows about the camps more than we’ll ever get looking from the outside,” answered Halan. “He’ll talk one way or another.”
The hersir bellowed a great laugh. “I thought you deaf the first time, but I was mistaken. You’re as delusional as the rest of your mindless trolls. Go ahead! Torture me all you like! I’d rather die with my hands crushing your neck than surrender the Jarl’s plans!”
“Come now, Hersir. Who do you take me as? A barbarian?” replied Halan. “We’re simply going to have a little talk with one another.”
As Hrodgar lifted the large warrior off the ground, several horns roared across the stone-woven fields in a maniacal chorus, each one answering the other. Sir Bowdyn scurried down the ridge with Cenric hooked around his shoulders back to Captain Halan in a panic.
“We must go, my Lord! The warbands approach!” Bowdyn hollered.
Halan nodded to Bowdyn before turning his attention back to the hersir. “Watch over our good guest, Hrodgar,” he told the knight. “If he fails to move, give him a swing or two.”
“Like I’ll ever…!”
Before the hersir could finish his sentence, Hrodgar sacked the man with a solid punch, knocking him back down on the ground before the knight forcefully pulled him back up.
“Aye, I can work with that,” Hrodgar nodded back. “Now get moving, you sorry pig.” He shoved the hersir forward down the path.
Bowdyn and Cenric exchanged worried glances and looked to their battered-faced captain.
“He’ll slow us down, my Lord,” the aged Bowdyn quipped.
“Yes, he will,” Halan agreed. “But I trust Hrodgar will keep that man in line. Let’s hurry. The others will leave if we’re not back soon.”
“I don’t think he’s the one you need to worry about, Captain,” uttered Cenric. “I can barely carry myself.”
Cenric eyed his bandaged wound around his leg. The arrow had pierced through his tendons, and the knight could hardly stand without exacerbating his injury. Halan stared at the wound for a brief moment before shouting out.
“Hrodgar! Come here for a moment.”
Hrodgar, already a few paces ahead of the knights, turned back and brought up the hersir alongside him upon the captain’s call.
“Help Sir Bowdyn carry Cenric. I’ll take charge of the hersir,” Halan said as he drew his sword.
“You shouldn’t, Captain,” Cenric pleaded. “I’ll only slow you all down. Just leave me here and...”
“Get his other arm,” said Sir Bowdyn.
“...no, wait!”
Before Cenric could raise his objections, Hrodgar pulled Cenric’s arm over his shoulders, to which the young knight cried out in pain.
“Just shut up, already,” Hrodgar scoffed. “You sound like my nephew.”
Once more, the horns bellowed, ever closer. The distinct cries of foreign tongue alerted the knights.
“Your young knight understands the situation, Cairlannder.” The hersir beamed at Halan. “Soon, you’ll be the ones begging for mercy.”
“I can offer you a rag if you’d like, but I’d prefer we talk like civilized men,” Captain Halan threatened, before facing the others. “Hurry. We’ve no time to waste.”