ISENGRIM
Lammas 1268
Dillingen
Brugge
It was the afternoon of a very hot day when they were led from the galley, which took them to the Northern bank of the Yaruga river. The haven was small, made of just three quays. The town itself was built mostly from the crimson red bricks, which were now almost glittering in the summer sun.
Like blood. How suitable.
In the haven, Temerian forces were waiting for them in total silence. From afar, he saw civilians: grim and strongly built men with angry faces. His first thought was simple.
They were paid to kill. The question is, whether Temerians will allow it or not. If they will, well, it may take a while to die. And for the first time in all my years of fighting, I am not ready, not to die like that.
But Temerian soldiers stood their ground in two lines, making the Aen Seidhe go between them. All had vicious smiles on their faces. Scoia'tael commanders, officers of the Vrihedd Brigade were led to their death silent, shackled, desperate and exhausted. Like sheep, humiliated. This made the dutiful soldiers more than happy and content from a little revenge they could have for years of diversion beyond the lines of Nordlings' armies. He understood that, although, he still despised these dh'oine with every inch of his existence. Did it change anything? No, but he knew, that he is still himself.
Two Nilfgaardian officers, who were leading them and two, who were at the rear had no facial expressions whatsoever, though they knew them well. They were fighting side by side at Meyena and at Brenna. But it didn't matter at all.
How Danza called it? Ah... a business decision. The Emperor needed to divide Nordlings first and then to please them after the defeat. He didn't know, that Temeria can muster so many men in such a short time. Foltest was playing him all along. But well... It doesn't change a thing. Now, he was selling us out. For peace? For the greater good?
Hamilcar Danza - the officer, who encouraged the Aen Seidhe to fight for Nilfgaardian Army, was at the head of their sad procession. The same man, who asked them to pledge themselves to the Emperor's cause - was now the one to sell them out to Nordlings. And Francesca... Their Queen, Enid an Gleanna, who agreed to join Nilfgaardian Army. Even more – suggested it to be the best option. And where was she now? Far away, in Dol Blathanna she was watching the ashes settle on the valley. Observing death from the heights of her throne.
Was it worth it? Is there a point in asking this question? And the spy...
The conversation on the ship he, Iorveth and Coinneach had with another Nilfgaardian officer from their escort – Declan Winterbach – was still vivid in his memory:
"I was thinking for a long time whether I shall tell you or not but I respect you colonel Faoiltiarna and I think you shall know" – Winterbach started.
"Funny thing. Do you want to tell me how to get away from this ship?" – Isengrim joked.
"No. This is beyond my competences."
"So, anything you'll tell me will soon die with me."
"Yes. This is the only reason, why I plan to share with you what I know."
"All right, Declan. Out with it" – it was Coinneach who lost his patience.
"You had a spy among Scoia'tael. A Temerian spy and some say, even de Rideaux agreed, the best of the best in our profession" – was what the Nilfgaardian said.
"Impossible!" – Iorveth stated with rage.
"That cannot be true. We trust our men" – Coinneach added.
"A woman. The one, who managed to blind you all. One by one" – Winterbach replied with a serious look. – "Was she worth it, gentlemen?"
"What...?" – Iorveth started but never finished. He knew to whom he may refer to but he definitely refused to believe it. The only sound that came out of his mouth minutes later, when the Nilfgaardian had already been gone, was a desperate whisper – "sor'ca..."
It was a voice of the third Nilfgaardian officer, the youngest among their escort, who walked next to Danza, what brought him back to reality. Isengrim didn't even remember his name. He asked in a strong and angry voice:
"Hamilcar, do you see them? The group entering the warehouse?"
"Yes" – replied his commanding officer without any emotion.
"They were to have fair trials! Amnesty! This is a fucking death squad!" – the younger man said out loud, again.
"Shut up, Galel. This is an order, officer" – this was the only reply from his older colleague.
Only then Isengrim looked in the pointed direction. Indeed, there was a warehouse and a group of at least eleven men was entering it: all cloaked in black and dark brown. He saw their weapons – two swords crossed at their backs, bows made in Seidhe way: with double-arc and fine adornment visible even from a distance. All of them were wearing masks.
Indeed. Death squad. Well, at least they know what they are doing. But... maybe I shall try?
He was working on his shackles for two days by now. Typical lock, easy enough to open. Especially after one particularly hmm... educational night with an expert in lock-picking. It was the first time when he thought about her in the light of revelations he had heard on the ship.
A useful skill for a spy, is it not?