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FLTL Ch. 332. Aftermath - I
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***
Kivamus was pacing near the gates of the manor, his steps echoing in the dim quiet, while his mind was caught between hope and dread. Every few moments, he would glance toward the closed gates as if expecting them to swing open, but so far there had been no news of the battle. Still, looking around the nearly empty manor felt weird. There wasn’t a single male guard left inside. Every man who could fight was out there in the dark. Only the female guards were on the watchtowers, keeping their eyes fixed on the horizon.
However, even though it was the middle of the night, nobody was sleeping. Most of the braziers were burning, their orange light spilling across the walls of the manor buildings. All the off-duty male servants and grooms had armed themselves with spare swords and shields, standing watch at both of the manor gates in case something went wrong. The maids were clustered in the kitchen of the servants' hall, busy over pots and pans, preparing a quick meal for the guards, whenever they returned. The smell of broth and roasted grain drifted faintly through the manor, sharp and warm against the chill. Cooking had also given them something to do—something to keep from imagining the worst.
Near the servants’ hall, Duvas was speaking quietly with Madam Nerida, the two of them bent over a piece of paper. The majordomo was scribbling something in the light of a brazier, likely planning how to stretch the last few days of food they had left. Nearby, Gorsazo was sitting beside Madam Helga on a bench, his voice soft and steady as he tried to calm her. She looked pale, eyes fixed on the gates as though she could see through it while expecting the worst, with the raid probably reminding her of the time when bandits had killed her husband and nearly made her kids a pair of orphans. However, Clarisa and Lucem were thankfully asleep at the time. They had worn themselves out with Gorsazo’s practical educational lessons earlier that day, the same games that had made the kids and children forget about the fear for a little while.
Syrene had come to him earlier, and they had agreed to dilute the remaining losuvil powder into a thin paste to make it last longer, in case they had too many injured men to treat. The thought turned in his head again now, and he found himself glancing toward the gate again.
He had no idea how the battle was progressing, but at least no horn had been blown. That was something. If the guards had been flanked or the village walls threatened, the alarm would have been sounded by now. The silence meant they were holding. Or maybe that the fight was finished. One way or another...
He rubbed his temple, wishing he could see it for himself. He had wanted to stay on one of the watchtowers to watch the battle unfold, but Hudan had outright refused to allow that, saying even a stray arrow could end his life. The captain had claimed that no guard would be able to fight properly if their baron wasn’t safe inside the manor, with two separate walls between him and the bandits. So here he was—still waiting for some news.
Suddenly, the silence broke with a heavy pounding on the gates. A voice shouted from outside, breathless and desperate. “Open up! I've brought news!”
The servants rushed to the small peephole, checking the face beyond, and then hurried to unbar the gate. Kivamus was already walking fast towards the entrance, Duvas and Gorsazo close behind.
The gate creaked open, and a figure stumbled inside—Isomi, one of the crossbow women from the southeastern watchtower. Her face was flushed from running, and her hair stuck to her forehead, but she was grinning.
“Milord,” she said between breaths. “We’ve won the battle!”
For a heartbeat, the words didn’t seem to land. Kivamus stood still, blinking, his mind needing a moment to catch up. Then the noise came—cheers bursting from the servants, shouts echoing through the courtyard. Some of them even began to cry openly. Madam Helga pressed both hands to her mouth and began to sob against Gorsazo’s shoulder, while Duvas looked upward, eyes glistening, and whispered a prayer of thanks to the goddess. This was Tiranat's toughest test so far against the strength of the mightiest bandit group in this region, but they had prevailed...
Kivamus exhaled slowly, relief spreading through his chest like the warmth of a hot drink after a long cold night. “What else do you know?”
Isomi straightened. “Not much, milord. I ran here as soon as I saw the captain chasing the last of the bandits into the trees with some guards. I realized it meant the remaining bandits had already been killed, and that we’d won. I knew you'd want to know about it immediately so I didn't wait for them to return.”
“You did good to bring us the news,” Kivamus said, nodding in relief, “but you should return to your post for now. We can’t rest easy just yet.”
“Yes, milord.” Her hands went to the crossbow tied at her hip, as if reassuring herself, then she turned and ran back out through the gates, which were barred once again.
Madam Nerida’s voice came from behind. “I’ll make sure the soup is ready when the guards return.”
Kivamus gave her a grateful nod. “Do that. They’ll be hungry.” He looked at Duvas. “We’ll wait here for the others.”
He gestured to one of the servants. “Bring a bench.”
The servant hurried off and returned with a sturdy wooden bench, placing it near the gate. Kivamus sat down beside Duvas, the two of them facing the gates where the cold night air seeped through the cracks. Outside, beyond the walls, the forest was silent again.
The battle was over, but the waiting was not.
***
The wait dragged on, every minute stretching longer than the last. The braziers hissed softly as the sawdust briquettes burned low before they were refilled by some servants.
Kivamus was still sitting beside Duvas, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the gate. Each creak of the timbers made his pulse tighten.
Then came the pounding. Heavy, hurried—followed by muffled voices outside. Easily a dozen of them, maybe more. The servants at once rushed to the peephole, voices overlapping until one shouted, “It’s the guards!”
The gate bolts were drawn back, the wood groaning open.
The guards filed inside under the light of the burning torches and braziers. Their boots were streaked with dirt, armor smeared with blood, and eyes hollow with exhaustion. For a heartbeat Kivamus felt a rush of relief—but it dulled as soon as he saw their faces. The smiles were forced, the cheers thin.
“Glory to Tiranat!” someone called out suddenly, before the other guards and servants echoed it. Cheers rose again, louder this time, the sound of people reminding themselves that they were still alive, but the noise faded soon as Hudan stepped forward. He lifted an arm and pointed behind him. Two guards came carrying a makeshift stretcher between them.
The smell hit first—burnt flesh and iron. The man on the stretcher was still breathing, but one side of him was charred and blackened, the outlines of his armor melted into his clothes. Another pair of stretchers followed, each carrying men with haphazardly bandaged limbs and dark stains seeping through the cloth.
The last stretcher came in silence. For a moment Kivamus thought the man on it was sleeping, before he realized the guard's chest - which was covered with blood - wasn't moving at all. His face was pale beneath the streaks of blood and soot, his hand still curled tight around a broken sword.
“Is he—?” someone whispered.
Hudan nodded once. The noise around them died instantly. Even the braziers seemed to quiet down.
Kivamus lowered his head for a moment in respect, then looked to Hudan. “Tell me.”
The captain drew a long breath. “We struck the first camp cleanly. With our 10 loaded crossbows, they never stood a chance. That battle ended without a scratch on our side. The second fight went harder—more men, better trained, and we couldn't surprise them as well as in the first battle. We had barely finished that group when they were reinforced by bandits from the southwestern camp. We lost one of ours before the battle was over. The rest will live, with the Goddess’ grace, although with scars for life.”
Duvas’ jaw tightened. “We’ll make a new burial plot tomorrow morning in the eastern hills. For the fallen guard and for any others who follow, although I hope it's a long, long time before we need it again.”
Kivamus nodded. “Do it.” His voice was steady, though his throat felt dry as he looked at the gathered group. “I wish I never have to give this medal again in future, but sometimes things are out of our hands. This man gave his everything for Tiranat, and we will forever be grateful for him. He will be given the first medal of valor this village has ever seen. When the coffers allow, his family will also receive a year’s pay in his name, and they will be taken care of until then by the manor. When conditions allow, we will also make a memorial stone near that burial plot with his name etched on it, so his name is never forgotten.”
Hudan gave a somber nod. “It's the least we can do. He more than earned it in the fight. He was a menace to the bandits until he fell, right after he saved another guard's life.”
Kivamus took a deep breath, as the body was carried away by the servants. He announced, “There’s soup ready for you all. After your injuries are taken care of, eat your fill, and get some rest. Sleep if you can. You deserve it.”
A murmur went through the area. Some of the guards took a seat on the ground wherever they could find some empty space before they leaned on the walls, with Nurobo - who had just returned from his watchtower duty - moving through them asking about their injuries. The rest of the guards began to drift toward the kitchen of the servants' hall, some leaning on others, their movements slow and stiff. Servants and maids followed after them, already asking questions, wanting to know how it happened, who had done what.
Knowing that the servants' hall was already well-overcrowded, Kivamus wished they had a barrack ready for the guards, so the injured men could stay there comfortably until they healed, but it would take time, like every other thing here. But at least it was a good problem to have, with the battle won tonight and with the majority of the guards coming back alive.
***
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Next chapter- FLTL Ch. 333. Aftermath - II
Comments
Rodmin
So happy that the raid is over. Maybe they again can use some of the weapons and armor of the bandits.
Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander
A hard won battle with reasonable if tragic losses. They should all be proud of defending their home. Some kind of magazine attachment for the crossbows is hopefully in the near future… maybe an inspiration as they’re proofing the scorpions
Johan Timmers
tftc , so any loot?
Digui
Thank you for the chapter.
