The first flakes of snow began to fall on the fourth day since they departed the farmhouse. The roads had already began to sink into mud, ensnaring boots and hooves, before soon hardening into freezing snow. At least, that was Jaune's experience when he was up in the principalities of the Rus'. He wondered if the winters here were as harsh as winters plaguing the lands beyond the Volga. Then again, the cold never stopped the Mongols.
Rather, those ruthless horsemen had used the winter frost to their advantage, traveling up the frozen tributaries to strike upon the unguarded flanks of many a Rus' fortress.
"...and that was how they broke the Rus'," the Frank concluded his tale, one of many that he ended up sharing over their journey.
Ruby and Blake sat atop a single saddle on another plodding horse, comprehending what they had just learned. Other than them, each one had their own steed with Jaune back in his saddle atop Yusehol.
"That's...terrifying," Cardin remarked. "They attacked them in their winter quarters."
"They're opportunists," Sir Ozma said. "Creative and ruthless. I doubt any of our leaders would have considered such an option unless the situation was ultimately dire."
"If you would, your horses would break through the ice and sink to the bottom," Jaune snorted. "They rode light and fell upon village after village, doing what they do best. No one expected an army galloping up a frozen river."
"And that's how you were caught," echoed Qrow.
"And how were you caught, Branwen Úr?" Jaune threw back. "Since you've already condemned yourself, why not share your secrets before the inevitable?"
The older Magyar laughed. "The Lord can take me at a later time. But I see your point. Fine. I was captured months before you were. I was with the Cumans further east, holding back the tide you could say. They lost, they fled, I thought maybe my time had come so I stood my ground. Prince Batu was leading the Mongols at the time and I guess I impressed him enough that I was pressed into their ranks. Of course, it was that or my head."
"You sold yourself to those heathens?" Cardin gasped.
"Hah! I'd rather go down fighting than be martyred in some camp," hooted Qrow.
"And what of Renkhai Darga?" Sir Ozma intoned.
Ren sighed loudly. "Me and my kin were assimilated after they boiled our chieftains alive in a large pot."
Silence save for the staccato of hooves over dirt.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ruby croaked.
"It is long since passed."
"I'm sorry about your father," Jaune said.
"He understands why I made my choice to stand with you, Jaune. I equally understand why he made his to stand with Subetei Ba'atar."
"And where does that leave you?"
Ren and Qrow shared a glance. The former shook his head when the latter shrugged.
"Pray for a warm greeting from the Magyar defenders then," the Templar told them. "There is only so much we can do to spare the wrath of an entire kingdom upon you."
"Well, isn't that a familiar feeling," chuckled Qrow.
"You are so used to being hated, huh," Blake remarked.
"Aren't we all by now?" Jaune spat.
"I don't hate you," Ruby echoed, stealing their attention. For a while, she sat in the silence of their stares, staring at the endless road that they were treading. "I don't hate any of you. Hate is such a strong emotion and...well, I sometimes feel bad for the Tartars. I guess I see them as being so...misguided?"
"You're just like your mother, you know that?" her uncle responded somberly.
"You know, mom never hated you for what you did," she said. "Even after you left, she still prayed that you'd come back. She hoped to go back to the good old days with dad and Yang and...and even Aunt Raven."
Jaune noticed how tightly the older Magyar gripped the reins.
"The love of God is what keeps us going," Sir Ozma intoned. "No matter what we've done."
"You've been more forgiving than most Templars I've heard of," the Frank remarked.
"Unlike many of my brethren, I believe wholly in the redemptive love of our Lord. It has changed me far more than when I had taken the oath to serve him as a warrior under the banner of Solomon."
"You were never like this, Oz," interjected Qrow with an agog leer. "Something happened in the Holy Land?"
Sir Ozma chortled quietly. "Indeed. I met someone there."
The implications were clear.
"I thought you were supposed to be chaste," whistled the older Magyar.
"As is the rule of the Order, my old friend."
"Friend, huh? I'm still a friend. Even after everything—"
"There was a pilgrim," the Templar started. "A fair maiden who had survived a Saracen attack. They struck her in the head enough to steal away her previous life. She no longer remembers her name, no family, no friends, not even the reason why she came to Jerusalem in the first place. Yet...she pressed on, hoping to regain her purpose or, to the very least, answers."
Glances were passed between the party, with everyone other than Ren knowing how strict the Knights Templar held onto the virtue of chastity.
Blake cleared her throat. "What became of her?"
Sir Ozma hummed a short tune before he did. "She kept pointing in the direction of the Holy City and saying that she needed to go there...even though she neither knew why nor what to do when we had arrived. Eventually, I had her brought into the care of the Knights of the Hospital of Saint John."
"You took her to our brothers and sisters to be cared for," Cardin reworded. "What then, sir?"
"She wanted to see me. To thank me. To...talk to me. She had no one else to turn to, no money to pay for food, no one who knew her. Of course, I consulted with my brethren and spent many hours in prayer and meditation until...I guess you could say it was compassion that had me acting as her guardian."
"Did she finally regain her memories?" Jaune asked.
The Templar shook his head morosely. "No. Even her true name, she still does not recall. It vexed her so much that she gave us a new one."
"She renamed herself?" Qrow snorted.
"It started as a joke at first but she took to it rather quickly. After all, all she talked about was the Holy City and how much she needed to go there."
"Pardon, sir. You mean to tell us that you named her Lady Jerusalem?" Ruby queried incredulously.
Sir Ozma laughed. "No, no. We simply called her Lady Salem."
The Great Hungarian Plain stretched for miles and spanned damp meadows that stretched over wide knolls, mushy hills, and thick swamps. In the distance hid faded mountains where many a fearful Hungarian fled to. Everything else was either rubble or a somber marker of where something had once flourished.
Jaune, Ren, and Qrow insisted on avoiding the route they had taken on their raids. Sir Ozma and Cardin conversely directed them along the highway frequented by the people fleeing westward. Barring a potential ambush by bandits or an attack by wild animals sheltering in some nearby cave, their journey was largely uneventful.
Most of the travelers they encountered either gave them a wide berth or waved away their queries, more concerned about their own worries. The few that did pause to give them the time of day offered information that, though dubious, at least eased their nerves: for several weeks, Strigonium had been storing food, shoring up its walls, and levying defenders in anticipation of a Tartar attack. The shoddily protected outskirts surrounding the castle of King Bela IV was now becoming a bastion for the many survivors seeking refuge. Mercenaries, adventurers, and poor sinners seeking penance were swelling up the warriors garrisoning the city. Even then, there was still tension between the local Magyars, the reviled Cumans, and the Bela's knights.
Worst of all, however, was the threat of famine. The omens had foretold it, they travelers said. With winter coming and the Tartars burning everything in sight, there was great concern that the food being gathered would not be able to last the city through the winter, much less the fortunate souls living within Strigonium's inner stone walls.
Of course, Ruby had her own questions. To which a miser responded: Sir Xiao-Long and his daughter were devoting their every waking hour assisting as best they could. To the townsfolk, it was understood that the pair were still in mourning after the loss of young Ruby to the Tartars. Sir Xiao-Long began laboring intensely in the wheat fields as penance for neglecting to protect his child while his only remaining daughter, her infamous flame put out, busied herself with chores and other menial tasks.
The miser did not recognize the girl he was conversing with, instead expressing how touched he was that a stranger shared in the burdens of others. As a token of his appreciation for their mercy, he blessed her in the name of God and gifted them a basket of freshly baked bread and a skin of ale.
Not long after they parted ways with the miser, Ruby broke down, weeping against Blake's shoulder. They decided to pause in their journey, dismounting and resting on the side of the road. Sir Ozma, the most pious among them, offered prayers on her behalf as well as the rest of them.
The following week passed with them plodding at a walking pace.
More than once, wolves forced them to cross a different path. A few times, a bear had blocked their path and had to be chased off or beaten back. Sometimes, the roads themselves were warped; a thin bridge collapsed, a narrow pass clogged by debris, or a hunter's pit left forgotten. Travelers who deigned to humor their queries offered nearly the same news: Strigonium was preparing for its greatest tribulation.
Still, that left time among them to learn about each other. Though there were reservations, they did put in an effort to understand each other's struggles. Jaune was encouraged not to frown upon his weaknesses by Ren who admitted to regaling in songs and poetry more than anything. Sir Winchester once again apologized to the Frank for the hardships he had given him in his younger years, sharing how he later endured penance while serving under the Hospitaller banner.
Blake, after much encouragement from Ruby, likewise apologized to Cardin for her hostility towards him and recounted her dreams of seeing Lombardy free from the bloody blades of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II. Ruby herself wished only to return to her family, to assure her father and sister that she was well, and to help as best she could as her late mother had often did.
With her mother on his mind, Qrow finally apologized for what he had done in the Mongol camp. Whether or not Ruby—or anyone forgave him—did not matter anymore. As long as he was there, he would never let any more harm befall the only people left to him at this point. The silence that followed lasted for minutes before Sir Ozma broke the quiet by proclaiming his forgiveness for his old friend.
Of course, these conversations came about as a means of enlightening their spirits after passing one too many burned villages. There was no denying what the Mongols were going for at this point. It was clear that Subetei's goal was not to take the Kingdom of Hungary piecemeal. Rather, the Tartar marshal intended to starve the kingdom to the point that another battle would be the coup de grace.
Snow began to paint spots over these desecrated farmlands. Broken carts were cast aside, heads of wheat had been trampled into the frosted sludge, and houses were either ransacked and burned to the ground. Whatever corpses had been left were either buried by passing travelers or devoured by wolves.
Come the tenth day of their journey, their small party encountered the first sign of Hungarian military power. Or what was left of it.
"Halt!"
Sir Ozma directed his horse at the head of their group with hand raised in greeting. "Hail, brothers! Bless you in the name of God!"
The handful of soldiers—hastily trained levies, they looked like—guarding the outpost sequestered within a forest grove signaled for them to dismount. The commandant, a knight clad in chainmail and a tunic dyed in the checkered red and white of the royal Hungarian coat of arms, emerged from his tent.
"Hail in the name of Christ," the Templar greeted again.
"Hail," returned the knight who was thankfully fluent in Latin. "You are entering the county of His Majesty Béla the Fourth. As such, you must obey our laws and submit to a registry by royal decree. This is for the safety of the land and her people."
There was hesitation there for the rest of them despite Sir Ozma happily agreeing to the demand. The Templar gestured at Ruby, guiding her off the horse, and escorting to the tent where a scribe was waiting. She was the first among their group to sit on the stool before the bored robed youth with the quill.
"Name?"
"Pirózsa Rubin."
"Pirózsa Ru—" The scribe stopped writing. He glanced back up at her, muttering her name over and over again as his eyes went wide. "Pardon me, I seem to have misheard. What again was your name?"
"Uh, Pirózsa Rubin," she repeated. "Ruby Rose, borne of House Rose."
The man gawked at her.
Ruby edged back. "Um, is everything alright?"
He quickly jotted down her name before resuming his queries in a rapid tone. "Where are you from, Rubin Úrkisasszony?"
She shifted under the weight of her proper title, one that she had not heard uttered in a long time. "Strigonium."
"What year were you born?"
"Year of our Lord, one-thousand, two hundred and twenty-five."
"You are fifteen...just like the—ahem. Pardon, Rubin Úrkisasszony. Who is your father?"
She gulped. Well, there is much to be said about honesty and Ruby had been raised to be honest when it came to the law of the land. Besides, what more did she have to lose by revealing her lineage? "Xiao-Long Taiyang Úr, loyal servant-in-arms of His Majesty Béla the Fourth."
The scribe eyed her warily for a moment before writing that down. "... Do you haver a sister?"
"Yes. Her name is Xiao-Long Yang Úrkisasszony, born two years before me."
The young man breathed deep, his quill dropping from his hand. "One last question. What happened in Strigonium on the autumn of the fifth year of the reign of His Majesty Béla the Fourth?"
Oh Lord above. No one could ever forget that. At least, not the people of Strigonium and the surrounding county. "My sister burned down a tavern after an altercation with the innkeeper and his helpers."
"... And—"
"That tavern was full of criminals and was always a cause of trouble for the whole county!" Ruby barked, leaping to the same defense that had been parroted by her sister and her father in the face of many an angry citizen. Besides, it was true. The tavern had indeed been a den of iniquity that sheltered thieves, brigands, and murderers. That reasoning, upon being proven to be true, earned Yang her first and only royal pardon.
The scribe opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then glanced around before picking up his quill and setting aside his parchment. "Please wait here for a moment."
Ruby sat where she was, listening past the fabric, picking out the excited rambling of the scribe and the Latin exchange between Sir Ozma and the royal knight. Before she had a mind to get up and go outside, the scribe returned with a wide smile on his face. He was followed by the royal knight who, after leaning in close to study her eyes, stood back amused.
"So it is true," he remarked, amazed. "Welcome back, Rubin Úrkisasszony. The silver child has returned!"
Silver child. Wow. It has been awhile. She almost forgot about that annoying nickname. With a smile of her own, she asked, "You know who I am then, várjobbágy úr."
"Who has not heard of the girl born with eyes like molten silver?"
"I see," she nodded. "So...have I been registered?"
"Yes. Your companions will also need to be charted. I am sure you understand."
"Yes, I do." Ruby held herself up, with her back straight and her face brimming with a bit more confidence than before. It had been a long while since she exercised some form of noble authority even if that authority was minuscule compared to her contemporaries. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"Nothing more, Rubin Úrkisasszony," dismissed the scribe.
"Three prodigal nobles, two Papal knights, and two mercenaries," loudly whistled the knight to himself. "To think we'd have another dull day at the border."
When they were registered at the outpost, Jaune, Ren and Qrow were keen to leave out any mention of their involvement as slave-warriors for the Tartars as well as fabricating and embellishing other details that were inquired of them. Ren, in particular, worried the Frank the most due to his very Oriental face and the fact that he spoke Latin with a thick Tartar accent.
Yet, somehow, they had slipped past, even uplifting the spirits of the men at the outpost. Apparently, with the steady flow of refugees and the depressing news of settlements being razed or farms being raided had crushed the morale of a majority of the Hungarian king's forces.
Upon learning of Ruby's, Blake's, and even Jaune's noble bloodlines, a messenger had been sent to Strigonium itself to prepare for the arrival of important visitors as well as notify Lord Xiao-Long himself that his deceased daughter had, in essence, risen from the grave.
"We're now in the demesne of the king himself," Qrow remarked.
"Have you come this far when you were scouting?" asked Cardin.
"No. The farthest we got was about half day's worth of riding from that outpost we just passed."
"This is the first time I've ever been this deep in the kingdom's borders," Jaune said, taking in the worrisomely barren farmlands and the laborers mulling over this season's poor harvests.
"You never passed through here on your way to the Rus'?" Blake inquired.
"I took a more dangerous route."
"You were with the Teutonic Order at the time, yes?" Sir Ozma said. "You passed through the lands of the pagan Balts, yes?"
"Yes. It was...fascinating and terrifying but I somehow made it to the lands of the Novgorodians. From there, it was one job to another. Town to town, principality to principality."
Ren hummed loudly, caring to avoid the curious stares of some of the locals. It seemed concealing himself under a hooded cloak roused more attention than deflecting it. "These people...they're already starving."
Blake held out her hand to catch a snowflake. "Subetei's plan is working."
"More people, less food, little help, all constituting troubling news," Cardin noted grimly. "This winter will cripple with the kingdom."
"And we're going to be in the thick of it if Subetei makes his move," Jaune concluded.
"If he makes his move," Qrow countered. "We can't really know that."
"He's settled in for the long game. He has the means to siege a city, Qrow. And we are riding right into the middle of his grasp and—"
"And you need to stop worrying," hissed the older Magyar. "Grow some backbone, Arc. Have some faith in the only people in Europe who are holding back this menace. You know that if Hungary falls, then Croatia will follow. And then Venice. Then the holdings of the Holy Roman Empire, even the Lombard cities and the Pope are going to be under threat."
"So what's your plan then? We're here now in Strigonium."
"We help His Majesty defend his kingdom."
"Look around you," Jaune snorted. "With the way things are, I don't know how we could mount a proper defense. Remember Lignicka and Mohe?"
"You seem to have forgotten one important factor, Jaune."
"What's that?"
Qrow turned his head to regale the Frank with a grin that he could only recognize as that of a predator stalking his prey. It unnerved Ruby, disturbed Blake, and put off the Cardin and Sir Ozma. But Jaune and Ren knew that look. They had seen that before, when the frenzy was high and their knees were soaked in blood from the killing.
"We know exactly how the Mongols fight," he began. "We know their secrets, their dirty little tricks, and their weaknesses that no one sees. We know the mistakes Subetei made when he attacked at Lignicka."
"Subetei Ba'atar may be wise," Ren added. "But he is as fallible as the men as he has bested in battle."
"You're not going to bargain with the king over this, are you?" asked Blake.
"If it comes to it, then we would," answered the former darga dryly. "I trust that your lords are wise enough to consider what we have to offer."
"Assuming they don't throw you to the wolves," Cardin grunted. "Last I recall, the king's court was in a panic."
Ruby flicked away bits of snow that had piled in the creases of her dress and the folds in her sleeves. Then a thought came to her. "My father is a castle warrior. He's a respected courtesan. If we can get to him then maybe we could—"
"That's the plan, Pirósz." Qrow interrupted, riding ahead upon reaching the end of the wall of trees that had obscured much of the plains they passed.
He rode on, stopping only at the fork in the road with his head locked at an angle, concealing the vestiges of a growing smile. When the group caught up with him, they too paused to gather their wits for in the distance, situated on the banks of the River Ister was the city of Strigonium with her many hovels lapping up the water's edge all the way up to the mighty hill upon which was entrenched King Béla's mighty stone citadel.
"There it is," breathed Jaune.
"Home," Ruby muttered softly.
"Another day's ride away it looks like," guessed Ren.
"A full gallop might take us there by nightfall," Cardin mused.
Qrow whistled, yanking on the reins with unnerving excitement. "Never thought I'd get this close, much less closer."
"Should the Lord smile upon us, perhaps we can get an audience with His Majesty himself," Sir Ozma opined. "After all, as you said, Qrow, we can expose the Tartars's own Achilles' heel."
"Of course, whether King Béla is going to listen to us is up to him," grunted the older Magyar.
The Frank grunted. "Pray then that he would."
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: April 27, 2020
LAST EDITED: May 22, 2020
INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 22,2020
NOTE: I'd like to acknowledge an old reviewer from the earlier chapters of this fic, Chocolate Confectionaries, for providing Ruby's Hungarian name: Pirosza Rubin.
The party has now arrived in safer lands. Then again, the king's demesne may not be as safe as they hoped it was.
Translations:
Úr = Sir/Lord [Hungarian]
Úrkisasszony = Hungarian honorific denoting a young, unmarried noblewoman
Várjobbágy úr = Sir Knight [Hungarian]