Hanne
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Chapter 127 Werewolf
🕑 Added 2024-03-05 13:05:00 +0000 UTC⠀
Three Hills, Gatehouse
Typically, at this hour, a crowd would gather, eager to pass through the gates for travel, trade, or other purposes. However, recent sightings of fighting and rumors of a coup had sown fear, deterring most from coming near. Those who had attempted to cross the city gate were turned away, and afterward, no one else dared to make the attempt.
Dame Daniella and Sir Morton had yet to arrive when Farkas allowed his men to infiltrate the area around the gatehouse. Three of them, either notably young or old, were disguised as peddlers, offering snacks and ales and capturing the attention of the conspirators hungry for food.
Their presence was so unremarkable that it failed to raise any suspicion. The conspirators, who guarded the gatehouse, casually stepped out to get the snacks.
Unbeknownst to them, the Black Bandits had encircled the area, preventing any word of the movements of black-armored knights within the city or that the conspirators in the castle were under siege. Every ally they had was intercepted and swiftly secured with bounds and gags.
Now, Farkas allowed more of his men, along with two women, to approach with additional snacks and wine. His hunter's instincts sharpened as he noted the gatehouse's lack of alertness. For him, it was no different than planning an ambush on unsuspecting prey.
"Should we attack?" his aide whispered.
Farkas studied the man, who appeared young for his years. "When the castle falls, these men will flee," he murmured in response.
"I'd rather not chase them outside when we could capture them now," the aide commented.
A smile was on Farkas' lips. "I want to avoid unnecessary risks."
"But what if they locked the doors and refused to surrender? It could turn into a siege."
The smile faded. "I never thought of it," Farkas admitted, then he observed the lack of discipline among the conspirators. After nighttime fighting, their awareness was certainly waning in the daytime, especially when the weather was cloudy and the wind was refreshing.
More guards emerged for snacks, while those returning appeared wobbly from the strong and barely diluted wine.
"You're right," Farkas finally agreed. "We should take it. Ready the men."
His aide nodded, moving to relay the orders.
Their agreed-upon plan was named Werewolf.
In the neighboring provinces of Elandia, there were tales of werewolves: half-human, half-beast creatures that roamed the countryside at night in search of prey. By day, they assumed human form, typically characterized by pale and frail appearances. This pale complexion often led to their being mistaken for nobility, as only those of noble birth, who engaged in little to no manual labor, could maintain such unblemished skin.
Thus, they could easily gain entry as guests into noble houses, which were their preferred targets since nobles were usually softer and had more fat compared to peasants. Some of the most famous tales involved female werewolves who infiltrated their prey's homes at noon, only to devour the hosts by night.
The legend says that these creatures had no weakness. Once transformed at midnight, they succumbed to mindless rage. After feasting, they would flee, needing days to revert to their human form. They were not fond of human food, consuming it only to avert suspicion from their hosts.
Their only aversion was to black-colored clothing. It was said that in their frenzied state, despite enhanced night vision, distinguishing dark clothes amidst the darkness became impossibly difficult for them.
Moreover, folklore suggested that giving them black-colored spare clothes—since theirs were usually dirty—would force them to flee, as it would be impossible for them to find these clothes again as werewolves.
Although it might seem trivial, good clothing was hard to come by. While they could easily steal a farmer's attire, without good clothing, convincing their next target of their noble-born status would prove challenging.
This tale, possibly also spread by the local black dye merchants, kept the demand for the expensive dye in some regions high despite its hefty price.
The wind blew hard as if taking sides, warning the unsuspecting conspirators at the gatehouse. Yet, the few men who casually moved toward the peddlers, bought ale and lingered without arousing suspicion.
Some posed as coachmen and trader apprentices, exchanging words with the guards and asking when the gate would be open again. Another group gathered one by one, engaging in friendly banter and laughter.
When two dozen men had gathered, the guards became suspicious. That was when Farkas yelled, "Thieves!"
The women screamed and told the guards that they had been robbed, showing their missing purses. In the ensuing confusion, they pointed out a man running away, whom two of the rebels-turned-guards promptly chased.
Meanwhile, the women pleaded to be escorted inside, and the rest of the guards complied. Naturally, other men followed, feigning curiosity, and without being asked, gave their own accounts to add to the chaos.
"We're not the city guards, we don't make reports!" one tried to explain.
The situation seemed so natural that the guards were more annoyed than alarmed. The hard ale and wine had made them sluggish, and their sleeplessness was catching up to them.
Outside, the two guards who gave chase to the thief were captured in an ambush. Yet, the main show was inside the gatehouse. Upon Farkas' signal, his skirmishers sprang into action. The women's faces turned sharp, revealing their mercenary background as they mercilessly wielded their hidden blades against the shocked guards. Two guards went down, gurgling blood.
Four other guards also fell to the men in disguise, with only one able to scream before his head was slammed against the stone wall, silencing him forever. The werewolf was a success.
"Go! Go!" Farkas instructed, and his men, still in their disguises, rushed to the stone spiral staircase. Upon reaching the second floor, they were spotted.
"What do you want? Get out! You're not—" one guard turned pale as he realized what was happening. More skirmishers reached the second floor, armed with daggers and short swords.
He ran, shouting, "Intruders!" His warning was the last thing he made before being tackled to the ground and stabbed repeatedly by the skirmishers.
The rest of the rebels were alerted, and soon a brawl broke out as the Black Bandits tried to secure the chamber where the gate and drawbridge mechanisms were located.
Even in the close confines of the chamber, they fought fiercely. Suddenly, Farkas witnessed one of his men get impaled and another lose part of his face to a sword blow.
The skirmishers took a step back, assessing the situation. Noticing this, Farkas stepped forward. The burly man dashed forward and slammed his sword down with raw strength and ferocity. He could have easily overpowered Farkas, who wisely dodged instead of parrying.
The man, well protected by ringmail, swung his blade again, yet Farkas was well-trained. Instead of cowering, he drew the man in, luring him toward his ally, who threw metal darts at him.
The dart hit him in the chin and broke the man's concentration. Farkas lunged, showing the agility of a hunter; his short sword struck the man's face.
"ARRGH!" The man lashed out, thrashing about wildly in pain. He became the center of attention, with only a few continuing their fights around him. Despite injuries to his eyes and nose, the burly man kept swinging his sword.
Farkas tried to deliver the last strike but couldn't find a way. One of the senior Black Bandits advanced alone, lobbed a wooden cup at the man to draw his attention, then, with a dagger in each hand, traded blows with the blinded man. After repeated thrusts and slashes, he finally disarmed the man, and, ignoring his pleas, ended the fight with a pommel bash to the side of the head.
Now, the place between them was dyed in red. The stone floor was slippery with puddles of ochre-red blood.
"Yield now!" Farkas shouted to his opponents as his men had secured the entrance to the gate and drawbridge chamber. "The Black Knights have already secured the castle."
This announcement halted the fighting as the conspirators, shocked by the news, hesitated.
"Your allies have been defeated. Lower your arms or face the same fate as the masterminds of this coup!"
The conspirators were skeptical. "That's horse shit!" one retorted.
"We have two hundred men. Don't listen to them," one of their leaders rallied.
However, the sound of horses neighing outside gave them pause.
"It's the Black Knights," warned a lookout. Now, the conspirators started to feel the chill in their feet.
"What say you? The deal is off when the Black Knights arrive," Farkas pressed while quietly signaling his men to continue their plan.
Instead of backing down, the conspirators grew more stubborn. "Fight! Let's fight!" one cried.
Another readily shouted, "The Black Knights won't take us alive!"
Their leader felt the same and commanded, "Charge! Kill them all!"
The rebels rushed at Farkas and his men, trying to reach a small door to escape outside. It would have been a costly stalemate, but the Black Bandits had come prepared.
"Take them down, take them down!" Farkas shouted, and his men, who had smuggled crossbows from below, hastily took aim and sent powerful bolts toward the conspirators.
Six were mortally wounded on the spot. Their ringmails couldn't stop a bolt at such short range. Reeling from the attack, the conspirators' momentum was broken, and Farkas, knowing he had only one chance as it would take a lot of time to reload the crossbows, led his men on a decisive charge.
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In the finale of the coup, more than half of the conspirators in the gatehouse perished, with fewer than ten surviving, only to be sent to the dungeon.
The attack on the gatehouse was also the one in which the Black Bandits bled the most, with eight men dead and fifteen wounded. The nature of their disguise, which permitted only the lightest form of armor or protection—accompanied by daggers, short swords, and the absence of shields—left them vulnerable despite all the preparations.
In comparison, the much larger attack on the castle, spearheaded by Sir Morton and the Black Knights, did not result in any fatalities.
While Dame Daniella did not chastise Lieutenant Farkas for his decision to attack, the hunter blamed himself for the higher-than-expected casualties. Unexpected consolation came from Sir Morton, who slapped the man's shoulder and offered his rare commendation, "Good assault."
The other seniors in their ranks also gave their approval of the tactics used. Although the high casualties were unexpected and deemed unnecessary, as the castle had been won, many praised the success. Taking over a well-defended structure like the gatehouse was no small feat.
While the Black Bandits were licking their wounds, Sir Morton found Dame Daniella inside the gatehouse's command chamber.
"Sir Morton," Daniella greeted the mage knight.
"Dame," he replied, then looked around, found it empty of praying eyes, and confided, "After all is over, we don't need hostages."
Daniella drew a sharp breath. "I can't do that. My men, and I believe even Lord Lansius, expected ransom from this."
"The city and I will do our most to compensate," Sir Morton gave his assurance.
The Dame looked to the side, pondered, and said, "The city will need its coins. Three Hills will need to recruit more men for security."
Sir Harold's gaze turned warmer as he sighed. "Likely so."
Daniella tried to think of something, suggesting, "The heir of a powerful House is involved in this. What if you allow me to confiscate the House, so I have something to reward my men with? The rest is between our Lords."
"You have my support," the Mage Knight declared without hesitation and offered his hand.
The two clasped hands to seal the deal.
Afterward, Dame Daniella led her Nicopolan regulars and a small team of skirmishers to the moneylender's House. They were under strict orders not to cause unnecessary damage, as the Dame wanted to present the estate and all its belongings to her Lord and Lady.
Over one hundred and fifty surrounded the complex, its separate affiliates' store, branch office, and warehouse. They broke in and subdued more than a dozen watchmen before capturing the perpetrator's family and staff.
"Listen to me," Dame Daniella addressed the captured member seated on the floor in the opulent-looking hall of the estate. "Your master is one of the masterminds of a coup against the ruling House. As far as I'm concerned, your lives are forfeited."
The family and staff wept and cried, pleading for their lives. Yet, the Nicopolans surrounding them showed no pity. For them, the idea that a party could deliberately cause chaos amid potential famine and war was simply too much.
Daniella gazed down at the captured and said, "Your master traded peace for a rebellion, and put your life on the line. Now, nobody but the Lord of Korelia could save you. But he's in Umberland trying to save Lowlandia. Meanwhile, here you are, wreaking havoc on his lifeline."
The men and women couldn’t argue but continued their cries alongside the children.
Cutting through the mixed emotions in the room, Daniella said, "My Lord isn't a heartless person. If you swear allegiance and present your House to him, then I could guarantee your lives. If not, then the Black Knights will have your necks in chains."
The senior member pleaded, his head touching the floor. "If we give up the House, how will we survive?"
"The Imperium's law for a traitor's family is death or enslavement," she reminded them, and they recoiled in fear. "However, My Lord will judge you fairly. And if you are found without fault, chances are he'll either employ you or free you with a decent pension. He's one of the rare leaders who genuinely cares about his subjects."
Spurred by the chance to escape this predicament, each one of them quickly agreed to make a written oath.
The Dame felt relieved; after all the carnage, she preferred to see them alive. After all, they were probably innocents, especially the young and the children.
Daniella was rather pleased with this outcome. By securing an intact and functional House for her Lord, she could expect a significant reward for her men. Unbeknownst to her, this would serve as an even greater boon for the entire Lowlandia.
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En route to Umberland
Despite their new ability to march rapidly, Lansius purposely kept his column at a normal pace. Many assumed the decision was made to allow Lord Jorge's column to keep up, or so as not to burden their vast supply carts. Yet, the real reason was an abundance of caution.
His scouts had been carefully penetrating the mountain region to collect more detailed information. Unlike in the plains of Korelia, mountainous regions proved to be more challenging.
The terrain was difficult, with plenty of cover for men and beasts alike, and it also provided little space to maneuver. A horse-based army would have limited usage in this region.
Finding spots to make camps for such a large army was also challenging. While there were often no other options available, the effort required to ensure security was significant. In such forested and mountainous regions, they could have scouted three days ahead but easily missed an encampment of hundreds of enemies setting up an ambush.
Thus, Lansius had decided to play it safe. Since yesterday, he instructed his troops to wear armor and keep their shields and swords at hand at all times.
In such terrain, he couldn't afford to be careless. The stories of how the Romans lost their legions in Syria, Gallia, and Germania during marches were always at the back of his mind.
Unlike in South Hill, where he could employ his minstrel spies, Umberland was in such chaos that even traveling peddlers or minstrels would look suspicious. Moreover, the bulk of his skirmishers were stuck in Three Hills to guard against a possible coup.
Instead of directing the minstrels into harm's way, Lansius chose to have them play music during the march, following what the Ottomans did for their Janissaries. The marching song kept them in good spirits and took their minds off the monotonous march.
The minstrels also provided much-needed entertainment during rest in the camps while secretly gathering intelligence from their own side. Lansius needed to know if there were morale issues in their fourth campaign of the year. Many had fought for extended periods beyond the traditional forty or even sixty days.
Despite his year-round payments, Lansius still feared a mutiny might brew if any seeds of problems were left untreated. So far, nothing had emerged, so he breathed easy and focused his strategic vision on freeing the Umberland Barony from the marauding Nicopolans.
Soon, he would find his opponent and face them in either small skirmishes, pitched battles, or sieges. Whatever they had planned, he would counter them all.
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PS: Ah, it's finally Umberland. The mountain pass, the gateway, and the great catalyst. I hope this chapter is a good read.
Also, what do you think about duel-wielding daggers or short-swords?
The picture is by Jakub Rozalski. Source: https://www.scarystudies.com/scary-werewolf-art/
As always, thank you for your awesome support! 💖
Comments
micronesia
There was a thread a few months back on RR about dual-wielding... it has some basis in history but tends to be overused in fiction like some type of trope. I'm okay with it though. The more variety the better.
Duke of Coffee
Sigh in the end it is hard to do Bloodless victories when the enemy has no escape. Anyway what if real werewolves show up? 🤪
