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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 12: Captured!
Litzcrack laughed loudly as another round of Crusader ale was passed around. Bits and fragments of conversations floated around the small room that the group had moved into a week ago. It was more secluded then their last hideout and better protected as well. Putting the cup down, the rough looking unshaved man continued.
“And after we had set fire to the stables, a pitiful looking group of Forestmen comes out and attacks us!” On the last few words the man nearly choked with laughter and the other men joined in with him.
All the men were quite drunk at that point. Just the day before, Litzcrack had led half of his men for another raid into Crusader territory. This one was much more productive than the first, and they had not only come off with some gold, but four large kegs of ale.
Litzcrack was never a good soldier. He had been despised by his superiors and except among a close group of other like scoundrels he was never very popular. When his company had been called up, Litzcrack had simply left with some thirty to forty others. He was a coward and he knew it. He could really care less though. This was the way to live. He now had a secure base to spend the winter and a body of men who served him. He would make another raid in two weeks, this time for more food. The Forestmen had enough of that for sure.
Lizcrack grinned through a mouthful of bread and wine. The last raid had certainly yielded excellent results. True, they had lost a few men because some megablocks Forestmen had had arms with them, but they had soon taught those tree-huggers a lesson. Lizcrack’s chum Bert approach and belched. Bert was fat and hairy, and extremely ugly. His lust for food was only surpassed for his lust for women.
“‘Sup, Bert the Burp?” asked Lizcrack, chomping off another bite.
“Took two more this morn!” boasted Bert, swigging wine, “They were unwilling, but they soon obeyed. I left them back there if you want what’s left.”
Lizcrack shifted uneasily. He was dishonest, greedy and a coward, but he still was unnerved by Bert’s casual brutality.
“The swag’s just about spent ‘ere.” commented Lizcrack, “Where’d you reckon we ship off next?”
“Dark Foresters, ‘haps.” belched Bert, “Might be easy pickin’s there...dees Forestwomen are too violent, ‘haps those Darkie women know better.”
“Then it’s to the Hemlock Fortress, then…”
Anardan had tried to organize the motley array of the angered Forestmen, and several of the company leaders helped him. Under the joint command of Anardan and two other leaders, the wounded Forestman lead the party to a spot about half a mile away from the camp. Scouts were dispatched by Anardan to spy out the land, and the Forestman host restlessly sharpened their weapons, loosening their arrows inside their quivers. The scouts came back within twenty minutes.
“Sir, there are about two score and five Falcons occupying the remains of the camp. They plan to move on to the Hemlock Fortress within the hour!”
“They won’t ever leave,” said Anardan. “I want threescore archers to follow me! The rest of you, surround the camp and charge on my call!”
The Falcons were draining the last dregs of wine from the smashed barrels and were too drunk to notice the sixty archers kneeling behind the trees surrounding them. Anardan raised his sword and prepared to order a volley. The archers watched him expectantly, but no signal came. Looking around, he mouthed, “Wait.”
Anardan stepped out into the clearing.
“If any of you foul scum move an inch, he will be instantly slain! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
Ten Falcon soldiers seized their weapons and charged gleefully at the lone figure, spears hefted. Anardan raised his sword, but there was a twang of bowstrings and the soldiers fell, the arrow shafts snapping off as the soldiers hit the ground. The archers stepped out of cover, centering their shafts on the surviving thirty-five Falcons.
“Drop your weapons.”
The Falcons stood dumbstruck, still grasping their half-filled goblets. There was a faint clatter. Half of the Falcons had never even picked their weapons up.
Anardan was amazed. They had taken the Falcon Raiders completely by surprise, and not a single Forestman was lost in the attack. Their hearts sank, however, when they searched the town for survivors. Not one person was left alive. The thirty Black Falcons had their hands bound cruelly behind their backs, and they were marched for hours under an armed guard of ten score to Drullen Bell Keep. Anardan had the prisoners hustled into an inner courtyard where they were forced to sit, their hands on their heads, while their leaders were separated from them.
Anardan entered the Keep and searched out Bjarn, who he found in an inner room, talking with a guard captain. He waited in the doorway for several moments until Bjarn stopped talking and nodded at him.
“Sir, we have found the Falcon raiders. We slew half a score and have five and thirty as prisoners. Do you wish to interrogate the leaders? We are holding them in a separate cell off the lower courtyard.”
Bjarn, very much surprised, said, “That is...good news Anardan. What casualties for the...Forestmen?”
“None sir.”
Bjarn did not say anything for a moment. He was torn between congratulating Anardan on very successfully defeating the raiders and lecturing him and the others for disobeying his direct orders. He compromised by saying, “Did you lead the attack?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then the man with the broken arm allowed you to control his mob?”
“Gragner Gillert? Yes, sir.”
“So you attacked these raiders without waiting for my command?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bjarn had to admire Anardan for his composure.
“Then I am both pleased at your skill in organizing a mob into a force that was successful in it’s mission and displeased for your lack of respect for orders.”
Bjarn let the abolishment hang in the air for three seconds before continuing, “But I see the right outweighs the wrong in this case, Captain Anardan. Persons who disobey my orders usually suffer and those who succeed are rewarded, in this case, they cancel each other out. Do as you see fit with the raiders, but do not kill nor torture them. I want to know what is behind their actions. You may go.”
“My lord,”
Anardan bowed and left.
Anardan ordered the main body of Falcon prisoners taken into one of Drullen Bell’s larger dungeons, where they were set under heavy guard. Anardan and Gragner Gillert went with two others to interrogate the leaders. Lizcrack and Bert had been turned in by their own comrades when Gillert had called for the leaders, after hearing what he had threatened to do if none stepped forward. They sat glaring in the small stone cell where they had been imprisoned, only looking up when Anardan, Gillert, and two guards carrying torches entered the chamber. They were lead out of the dungeons into the very same council chamber where the meeting had taken place. Gillert looked at them with pure hatred in his eyes.
“Tell us everything. What the bloody megablox are you doing in Forestman territory, murdering our men like the cowards you are? SPEAK!”
Litzcrack was no idiot. He always had a tendency to look at every situation analytically. Here he saw a golden opportunity. When he was captured, he had been shaving and his distinctive beard was now gone. When he had been thrown into the cell, only two or three of his men had recognized him. Additionally he was a very clean and methodical person and for the past two months he had kept his uniform clean, unlike those who followed him. He addressed the Forestman clearly and distinctly.
“Please sir, allow me to explain my position.”
Glowering, Anardan let Litzcrack to go ahead.
“My name is Andrew Hortzlogen. Two months ago a company of recruits had deserted our company under the lead of a rouge named Litzcrack – a cowardly and incompetent soldier might I add. We were being mobilized at that point and there was no time to hunt them down. Upon our return to base a month ago, I was given orders to find where the men were. It seems that you have found my objective first.”
Anardan eyed Litzcrack uneasily. Turning to the two guards that stood by the doorway he spoke. “Bring out one of those rouges we captured.”
Nodding, the two men exited the room and Anardan proceeded to interrogate Litzcrack.
“Why were you alone then? If you were to track down a group of forty desperate bloodthirsty men, wouldn’t you have some support?”
“As I said, my job was to find their location. Not to fight them single handedly.”
“Why were you in the same area that the men said Litzcrack would be? That is certainly a strange coincidence”
“I was simply scouting out the area. I did not know that the deserters were hiding there and when I came upon it, I decided to investigate it further. It is a fine hiding spot.”
“You do realize that the Falcons have gathered a bad name for themselves during this war. Why should I believe you?”
At that moment the doors opened up and a sullen and dirty prisoner was presented, held by the arms by the two guards.
“If you are this Litzcrack as I suspect you to be, this man will surely recognize you.”
The moment of truth had come for Litzcrack. He assumed an upright military posture, different from that which he usually took. He hoped that his subordinate would not recognize him. Anardan spoke once more. “Scumbag. Do you recognize this man? Is he your leader?”
The deserter looked at Litzcrack. He was still hung over from the night before.
“No. That’s not our boss. He’s nastier looking and has a beard. That’s not him at all.”
Anardan looked at the deserter and then Litzcrack, somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to catch the leader of the group of rouges and now he saw that the man standing there was trying to help. Still, he could not help but feel somewhat uneasy about him.
“Your story seems to check out Andrew. I will have to talk with my commander on this issue though.” Turning to the two soldiers, he spoke.
“Men – lead this rouge back to the dungeons. But take Robert to one of our rooms. Keep him under guard, though.”
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