Notes - More Mercatur action and backstory. The siege escalates.

The Tirthon, Cerveth 20th, 1407

Mercatur glanced out of a window at the slowly setting sun and scratched at his chin beneath his thick, brown beard. "The lord is indisposed…again?" he asked with a frustrated sigh. "Look Wiglaf, it's been days now and I have some personal business with Marendil. He's my…cousin."

The Hallweard shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. If you have a problem, bring it up to Sir Oswy. He's…uhhh…been running things while the lord attends to…other matters."

"I know you're blowing it out your ass, Wiglaf, but I got nowhere else I gotta be so I'm not going anywhere."

Wiglaf patted the mercenary on the shoulder. "Have it your way. You know where to find Sir Oswy. I have to attend to the new stores. We thank you for making the journey. The grain comes none too soon. And don't worry. The pay is good this year."

Mercatur nodded. Wiglaf was an old friend who even knew his father. He knew that the Hallweard was going to be busy so he stopped pressing the issue. "Sure thing. And hey, congratulations on your new kid, Wiglaf, you old dog. But seriously, keep an eye out. I'm telling you, this is not a normal smash and grab raid this year. Something's up. Just look at the snow in summer."

"I've never seen anything like it, and I will keep an eye out. Thanks for the warning," Wiglaf said and headed down the stairs to the kitchen.

Mercatur blew out another frustrated sigh. He looked down the hall towards Oswy and Éanfled's quarters. "Eh, what the hell," he said, walked over and began knocking. Éanfled answered the door, wearing a sheer nightgown that left little to the imagination. The mercenary snuck a peek and then averted his eyes. "Umm, Lady Éanfled, is your husband around. I have a question for him."

"No, my good mercenary, but he will be back soon. We can wait for him in the library," she said, taking his arm and guiding him to the next room. She opened the door and ushered him inside. "Please, have a seat. So, am I to understand that you are related to Lord Rhudainor?"

Mercatur bowed as he passed and entered the garishly decorated library. The room was paneled in crimson with paisley patterns, brass lanterns on the walls and silver candelabra on the tables. Wooden bookshelves held novels, nature guides and scrolls of poetry and songs along with several lap harps. An elegantly varnished spinning wheel and a loom sat in the corner, covered with sewing tools. He straightened his wool tunic that he had just washed in the pond. "Thank you, my lady and yes, Lord Rhudainor is my cousin. Our fathers were…brothers," he said, instinctively falling back into more polite speech, fit for the nobility. "I have some personal business with him regarding my inheritance."

"I see," she said as she picked up a pitcher and filled two brass goblets. She put one goblet down on the end table next to Mercatur and brushed his arm as she went to her seat. "Mmm, you're very muscular. From your hard-fought battles, no doubt."

He sipped the apple cider, enjoying its tart, sour flavor. "Thank you, my lady. I have been working up and down the Dunnish Track for ten years now. There are always bandits and raiders."

"Oh, how dreadful," she exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth. "I can say that I for one am glad that you survived. So, am I to call you Lord Rhudainor as well?"

He shook his head. "I am afraid not. At least not yet. I…uhhh…was a rather rebellious youth and was disinherited. Carousing suited me more than classical studies and managing the household finances. My father passed earlier this year and, it seems that he wanted to rescind that. But that is entirely up to the Lord Rhudainor now. I hope to have it sorted quickly."

"Your story reminds me of good Master Dagar's."

Mercatur nodded. "Yes, yes it does. I have to say that I have a soft spot for him. I understand what he is going through."

"He is a delightful young man. We sang together the other night. He is raw, but he has potential. He studied in Tharbad, you know. Such a wonderful city. So full of life. Now, good Mercatur, have you told Dagar of this?"

He tilted his head down. "Umm, no, I have not."

The door opened and Éanfled stood to greet her husband. "Perhaps you should," she said to the mercenary. She gave Oswy a polite peck on the cheek and gestured for him to enter. "Would you like some apple cider, my husband?"

He nodded but pointed at her nightgown. "Go and change, Éanfled. Our guest doesn't need to be seeing all of that."

She chuckled. "Of course, dear husband. I wouldn't want any undue attention now, would I?" She bowed and left.

Oswy grunted and rolled his eyes before he focused on Mercatur. "Sorry, what can I do for you?" he asked with a slight edge, warrior to warrior.

Mercatur slid away from his polite speech and spoke as a hardened mercenary. "Look Oswy, Marendil is my cousin. I need to settle some personal business with him, nothing fancy, I'm not here to mess him up, but it's an inheritance thing, you know. Anyway you could get me in to see him or even give him a message. I gotta get this thing resolved." He pulled a necklace from his pocket and displayed it, showing the sigil of a bronze wyvern as the centerpiece of the pendant. "If you show him this, he'll know it's me."

Oswy took the necklace and then furrowed his brows. "At first, I thought against helping you, but I think that this is a good thing. I'm going to be honest. I'm worried about Lord Rhudainor. Ever since his wife Eitheriel died in childbirth, he's been a mess and it's gotten much worse in the last week or so. I've been pretty much running things and making excuses for him. Maybe seeing you will help." He handed the necklace back to Mercatur. "Here, you can show him."

"I hope so. Hey, and great raid the other night. I heard you destroyed one of the onagers. I'm here so let me know how I can help. I've already been paid to fight so I'm here to fight."

The knight nodded. "Much appreciated and I'm going to take you up on that. It's been fairly quiet since then other than a few raids on both sides. We've been running up our kill totals while sustaining only a few casualties. I am worried though, that their defensive fortifications are improving, and quick cavalry strikes will become more hazardous as time goes on." He stood up and motioned for Mercatur to follow. They went through the conference room into the den where the chamber had been turned into a shrine to Eitheriel. There were multiple paintings and drawings of her on the walls and on tables and desks, all surrounded by lit candles. The mercenary had never met her but knew of the marriage and of her grace and charm. At the door to Marendil's bedchamber, Oswy stooped down and picked up a silver platter full of food. "He's barely eating," Oswy said in a worried voice. He knocked. There was no answer.

Oswy tried the doorknob, and it was unlocked. He eased the door open, and they saw dim candlelight. He looked back at Mercatur, his face with a deep worried expression, eyes narrowed and mouth slightly open. He knocked again. "Lord Rhudainor?" They could see a shape in the bed, tossing and turning, seeming to fight some unseen force.

The lord grunted and groaned. "No…no…I have to. Why?"

Oswy went over and knelt down, gently rocking Marendil's shoulder. "Lord Rhudainor. Can you hear me? Lord-"

Marendil bolted up with a start, his eyes wide and mouth agape. "Eitheriel, no! I will show you that I'm brave. Do not call me a coward!" His eyes darted back and forth and then focused on the knight. "Oswy, she's alive. Eitheriel is alive. She's telling me that we need to end this now, else I am a coward." He practically jumped out of bed. "Muster the Vulseggi. We charge them at first light. We drive them away and make an example of them. You do not mess with the Tirthon." He looked around as if searching for something. Not finding it, he became frantic. "Where did she go? She was right here. Oswy, didn't you see her? She was sitting right here, talking to me." His eyes were wild, his hair disheveled with three days of stubble on his face.

Oswy shook his head. "No, my lord. She…she passed. She's gone."

With a slice of his hand, Marendil shook his head. "No, no! You don't know what you're talking about. She's just outside in the den, reading as usual. Another baby is on the way. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Mercatur gave Oswy a look, his eyes narrowed but said nothing. Marendil began to walk to the den but made eye contact with the mercenary. He tapped Mercatur on the chest. "I know you…Mercatur…cousin. How are your parents? It's been a long time since Eitheriel and I visited."

The mercenary took a step back and sighed. "Umm, they passed. Earlier this year. I wanted to speak to you about my inheritance, but it can wait. You clearly have something going on. I just need your signature as head of the house."

"Of course, of course, I'm happy to do that. Come, come, I want to introduce you to Eitheriel. She's an absolute delight," Marendil said and proceeded to the den. They followed him in, and he began searching again. They watched in increasing horror as he turned over chairs and moved desks around. Lord Rhudainor slumped to the carpet and put his head in his hands. "She is right. I am a coward. I am lost." Then, his eyes focused on someone who was clearly not there. "There you are love." He extended his hand to the unseen person and stood back up. "Thank you. I will make this right. We will end this at first light, and I will show you true courage."

A sudden chill seemed to enter the room and Mercatur got a bad feeling. He went to the window and looked out, seeing only a swan flying away. "Who are you talking to, Marendil?"

"Why…Eitheriel. She was…you must have scared her off. She can be a little shy."

Mercatur moved back to him. "What did you see?"

Marendil sat and stroked his chin, rubbing the stubble with his nails. "Her…my wife. Always so elegantly dressed. But sometimes, she looks like an elf with black hair, but I know it's my Eitheriel."

The mercenaries blood ran cold, and he shot Oswy a look. "Marendil, look, I think you might be under a spell. I saw an elf woman with black hair in the Dunnish camp along with a mage. I don't think that this is a coincidence."

Marendil sucked his teeth and then shook his head. "Ah, this is a joke between you and my wife. Very funny. I appreciate you trying to bolster my spirit." He stood sharply and grasped Oswy by the arm. "Follow my orders and muster the Vulseggi. We end this tomorrow. Mercatur, you will join us for glory."

Oswy blew out a long breath. "Yes, my lord. We will be ready by dawn." He walked past them and gave Mercatur a look of concern.

The mercenary relished the thought of battle, but something weird was going on here. There was nothing that he could do so he shrugged and pulled the writ of inheritance that was in his pouch. "Hey, Marendil, if you could just sign here, I'll be out of your hair."

Lord Rhudainor looked for a quill and ink and then scribbled his signature onto the scroll. He poured some wax from a candle onto the paper and pushed his signet ring into the runny wax. He nodded. "Good, good, I want to see you taken care of, cousin. Eitheriel says that we will destroy them tomorrow and you can collect your inheritance. What is it, exactly?"

Mercatur flipped his hand up. "Eh, it's an old manor house and some farmland near Thuin Boid. I was thinking about selling it and moving to Cardolan."

"Ah, Cardolan. It seems many of we Rhudaurans are doing just that. I can't blame you. I would truly think about going with you, but I have an oath to House Melossë." It seemed like the lord was his old self, talking to his cousin. He made a resigned nod of his head. "It appears that I'm stuck here, cousin and I'll make the best of it as I have my dear Eitheriel. Well, I'm glad that I could help you and I will see you tomorrow on the field as we ride to glory."

A smile cracked on the mercenary's lips. "Yeah, glory…I like that."

The dawn came all too quickly and Mercatur blinked his eyes, having bagged a few hours of sleep, waking every so often to watch a candle burn down and to listen to the distant sound of saws and hammers. He actually felt excited for the coming fight. He was a mercenary after all, and it was his love of fighting that angered his parents. He rose, washed his face and ran a brush over his teeth. He glanced into his mirror and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Hey, Gamrid, Jaabran, up and at em. Let's end this thing today, grab our gold and head home." The other two mercenaries groaned and rolled out their cots. He strapped on a leather jerkin and pulled on his breeches. He then put on a heavy chainmail hauberk over his shoulders that hung down to his thighs, followed by steel couters to cover his elbows, polyens to cover his knees and greaves to cover his shins. He carefully secured the leather straps and tucked the ends in. A steel gorget then covered his throat with gauntlets for his hands. He picked up a thick barbute helmet and put it under his arm. A single-bladed axe with a sharp spike at the back hung at his belt along with a wide bladed dirk in a jeweled scabbard with an intricately carved bone handle, a gift from his parents when he was a teen. He was ready for battle.

They went to the yard where the Vulseggi were gathering. Marendil was already mounted on a white horse, wearing silver plate armor with a pigeon-breasted cuirass over his chest that had a prominent medial ridge to deflect blows. The visor of his helmet was up, and it was clear that he had shaved and bathed for the battle. A squire held his lance, and a long-bearded axe hung at his belt. Oswy wore his gray plate armor and carried a kite-shaped shield in his left hand. Eighteen Vulseggi, including the two sergeants and three lances, stood beside their mounts, awaiting the command. Mercatur had to admit that it was one of the most spectacular things that he had ever seen. A stable hand held the reins of his horse. He put a foot into a stirrup and then swung his leg over the saddle, a fine piece of leather craftsmanship with a pommel and high cantle, designed to keep the rider in place during a fight.

Oswy nudged his horse over to Mercatur and pointed to the enemy line in the slowly growing light. "We had a couple of inches of snow overnight. It will slow the charge, and they worked on their defenses all night. I fear that this will not be as easy as we hope but I will not be called a coward by our lord. Fight hard but be careful. Should today go ill for us, fall back to the gate. Our archers will cover you from the walls. Or, break for the woods to the north. The tribes are actually superstitious about the forest, calling it the Yfelwood. They claim it's haunted by blood sucking demons, a succubus among them?"

"A succubus?"

"I doubt it's real but it's a female demon that seduces men to their doom. The tribesmen claim that an ancient evil lives in the forest. In ages past they would sacrifice people to a dark lord using the demons to drink their blood. The succubus would twist men and bring them dark dreams, ruining their minds." Oswy shrugged, raising the steel pauldrons over his shoulders. "Personally, I think it's all superstitious bullshit."

It was like someone punched him in the gut. "Oswy, wait. Marendil, do you-" he began before the horn sounded.

The knight raised his lance. "Where now is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?" he called out, reciting an old Northron poem as his blond hair flowed out the back of his helmet.

The gate to the palisade was opened, and the cavalry rode out in double file. Mercatur could see the Macha Mur and Siol Nȗnaw tribesmen raise shields and raise spears as the few remaining orc bowmen filled in behind them. He looked around to see if he could find Hirgrim and his Cultirith, but they were nowhere to be seen. He thought that it would be bad if the enemy attacked the Tirthon while the cavalry was fighting but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Marendil strapped his shield to his left arm and stood in the saddle. "Form wedge! Form wedge!" and the riders reformed into an arrowlike group, designed to slice through a line of infantry. He looked over and nodded. "It will be good to fight by your side, cousin. Mere tribesmen cannot withstand a charge of heavy horse and Eitheriel will prepare us a victory feast when this is done. For House Rhudainor!" He yanked on the reins and his horse reared. When it came down, he put spurs to flank, and his mount broke into a gallop. Mercatur tried to say something but he was swept up in the charge.

The thunder of hooves was near deafening, even over the soft snow. For ten long seconds it seemed that they would be unstoppable until a long spear ripped completely through one horse and rider. Mercatur glanced back as they collapsed into the snow. It was a ballista. He yelled over to Gamrid and Jaabran. "Stay close and watch for that damn thing!" Orcish arrows flew and dug into shields but two found a rider and he tumbled from the saddle. The mercenary could see Lumban now and he grit his teeth and raised his axe. He would love to separate that freak's head from his body.

Dunnish spears came up to meet Northron lances and the lines crashed together. Horses and men screamed as lance and spear drove through flesh. Hooves lashed out and more arrows flew. It was chaos. Mercatur brought his axe down into the face of a Macha Mur, who made a sickening croak as the mercenary pulled it out. He swung back, driving the spike on the backside into an orc's head as his horse kicked another tribesman. One of the Lances, Lassar, screamed next to him, putting his hands over an arrow in his eye. A spear brought down another horse and the rider toppled over. Oswy laid about him with his glowing longsword, hewing the arm off of a Dunman while Marendil swung his axe into the throat of another.

Another ballista bolt ripped through a rider, flinging him many feet back as Jaabran sliced the throat of an orc with his scimitar. Mercatur howled with glee in the thick of the fight. It was what he was born for, and he was glad that Dagar paid better than anything that Lumban offered. Gamrid rode over an orc as Mercatur slammed the spike of his axe into a tribesman's nose. The two mercenaries made eye contact and grinned.

Then, he heard an evil shriek overhead. "What the…?" Two winged people dove down on them, one male with black wings and one female with white. He recognized them as the elves from the Dunnish camp and knew that the legends were true. The male held a black sword and swept by a rider. The man stopped in the saddle and dropped his sword, wide eyed as his head slid from his shoulders. The female swooped down and seized Gamrid with her clawed hands and she ripped him from his saddle. Mercatur heard a scream and watched as she flew away with his friend. Her jaw extended beyond anything humanly possible, and she sank her fangs into Gamrid's throat. Blood poured down his body, dripping back to earth. The woman flung his limp body away and grinned at Mercatur, blood coating her body. He howled in rage, shaking his axe but he was powerless.

The battle was devolving into a vicious brawl, individual fights erupting everywhere. All order was lost. Some Vulseggi riders lost their nerve and spurred their horses back to the palisade as orcs and tribesmen fled, screaming into the woods. Marendil was shouting, "Stand firm! We have them!" The ground was littered with dead orcs, tribesmen, horses and riders. The lord drove his horse over two tribesmen and swung his axe into Lumban's shield. The Macha Mur chief grunted and stumbled back by the force of the blow when a ballista bolt slammed into Marendil's chest through a gap in his armor. The lord spat blood through his visor and put a hand on the wooden shaft as his axe fell from his hand.

Mercatur spun his horse and spurred it towards his cousin. "Marendil! I'm coming!" He rode over a wounded tribesman and swung his axe into an orc's head. He could see Lumban move in for the kill so he reared his horse up and its hooves kicked the chief's shield, hurling him back. He grasped Marendil's arm. "We need to get you back!" he yelled over the noise of battle. The lord smiled at him for a moment before the female demon swept Marendil away.

Oswy rode up to the mercenary. "Fall back! Fall back! Rally at the gate!"

Mercatur snarled. "Not a chance! I'm going after my cousin!"

"I was wrong! The demons are real! Don't throw your life away! Rally back and that's an order!" What remained of the Vulseggi put spur to horse and they galloped northward to safety. As they rode within bowshot of the palisade they slowed to a trot. Lassar was gone along with ten of the Vulseggi riders and Ecegar was wounded.

The young firebrand Lance, Vilhelm, shouted defiance at the enemy until Tonfall calmed him down. Mercatur watched as the two demons drank from the wounded orcs and tribesmen. He noted that they seemed to avoid the wounded Vulseggi that remained on the field. The sound of battle was gone, replaced by screams and shrieks. "If I had know what they were I would have splattered that bitch back then," he said with a snarl. "But know this. I'm coming for you for Gamrid. I'll be drinking your blood next time."

Jaabran nodded and then drank some foul Haradrim concoction from his flask. "To you, Gamrid. We will avenge you."

The gate to the palisade was open and Oswy ushered the men in before the ballista could be moved and aimed at them. "Inside everyone, inside! Tend to the wounded and prepare to defend. They'd be fools to not throw everything at us now."

Mercatur counted seven Vulseggi who could still fight and four remaining footmen. "Shit, I hope the stable boys and cooks can swing an axe because we're going to need them."

As the palisade gate closed, Dagar ran up to them with Nig and Cisgid. "I saw what happened," he said. "It was horrible but we're ready to fight." There was fear on his face but also determination. He handed maces to the two wealli. "Fight and I swear that I will free you and you will be paid for the waenhosh as workers." The brothers agreed and took the weapons. Dagar smiled and looked up at Mercatur. "That's three more for you and Old Pad can still swing a sword. We have Penda and his men plus Baga and the men of the Maig Tuira. A few strong girls have joined in too."

"You did all of this while we were away?"

Dagar nodded, a grim smile on his lips and he curled the end of his mustache with his fingers. "I had to make myself useful."

Mercatur dismounted and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You've been more than that. Not now, but I have something to tell you later." He dug in his pocket and then handed his necklace to Dagar. "Here, I want you to have this. I want you to consider yourself part of House Rhudainor. You've earned it."

The young man took it with reverence and then knelt. "I am honored, Lord Rhudainor."

The mercenary chuckled. "I ain't no lord and I'm not even a sir. Mercatur will do. I'll even answer to, 'hey you.' Take care of that. It was my mom's." He was about to add something when the crash of a stone against wood rang out. He, Dagar and Oswy ran up to the walkway along the palisade. The last onager was reloading, and the goblins were pushing the ballista forward. There were under 20 Macha Mur left with about 15 Siol Nȗnaw. There didn't seem to be any orcs left but 19 Cultirith rangers were now massing. They might have 25 including the untrained villagers but those demons were out there, and it made Mercatur's skin crawl.

The screaming on the field had stopped as the sun barely glowed through the gray overcast. The snow fell heavily now, forcing the enemy to slog through the drifts. One good thing was that it would slow their attack as much as it did for the Vulseggi. One other thing caught Mercatur's eye. "Dammit…as if this wasn't bad enough, they have three trolls pulling a siege tower. I knew that something was up. Get ready for a fight."

Oswy blew his horn and waved his arm above his head. "We cannot hold them at the Palisade! Fall back! Fall back to the tower and prepare yourselves. We fight to the last! No quarter given!"

A stone shattered a section of the palisade, and the enemy surged forward, screaming for blood. Mercatur thought he smelled smoke, and he looked back to see flames coming out of one of the Tirthon's windows on the ground level.

"Dammit, I just knew that something was up. I just knew it! Jaabran, Dagar, stay close!"