Sir Roger and the Leopards depart Stratioupolis and begin to head into the wooded heartland of Haikk Five, but quickly find that it was left unchecked for a reason. Quickly called into action by bandits on the road towards the nearest town, he and his group are spared an uncertain battle by the surprising offer between the outlaws commander and Sir Erwan. But just as betrayal seems imminent, a new player enters the field with plenty of surprises in tow.
One of which reveals not all is as it seems on the planet...
The name Zchwarwoud was very apt, as the Leopards would discover. Even in the middle of the day, the trees made everything around the roads almost pitch black in their shade.
"Throne, I thought the forests in Notham gave me the chills," Hawke grumbled, gripping his longbow made of fine Yew as he watched every angle.
"Spruce and Fir," Davie confirmed admiringly. "Sturdiest trees one could get. Wonder why no one's cut them down."
"I wasn't aware you knew anything about trees Davie. Why've you never said anything about that?"
"Well Rog, we were in a bloody desert last time, not much to appreciate."
The seven moved along the well-kept yet foreboding road, through the heart of the forest to the nearest local town. With the advice of their tongueless scout Janos and the studying of local maps, Roger determined that the best way to try and re-establish Imperial rule, along with the myriad of other tasks from his commanders, was going out to meet the people who lived here. It was quickly apparent that staying with the Konstantins was a lost cause if he had any hopes of doing so, and thus, on six fine horses provided by their friends from the Golden City, Evita of course left out given the Heavy Bolter and power armor she wore. No animal could take that amount of weight.
"True, but we did a hell of a job. But why trees?"
"I was a sailor once. Traded from Bismouth to cities along the Vretan coast.
Erwan, resplendent in his armor and dark jupon, turned his head as the beak-like visor of his hounskull helmet lifted atop his face swung slightly.
"Pelec'h ar porzh, Daffyd?
"Naontez, Rosgo, ha Brezh Meur a Erwan."
The knight nodded agreeably.
"It is good to have a man who speaks our tongue, serjeant. But what does that have to do with wood?"
"When you know a ship is made of good trees and bark, that's the one you sail on, sir. You can quickly tell a bad ship from a good one that way."
"I spent my summers on the outskirts of Rosgo. I liked to watch the fishermen leave and return as a fleet. It was quite a sight."
"You should watch them fish sir. They elevate it to a damn art."
"You a good fisher as well Davie?" Roger asked.
The old veteran let out a bark of laughter.
"Throne no. Boring it is. I like sitting around doing nothing as much as the next man, but trying to fish is bloody torture. That and…"
He lifted his kettle helm towards the back of his head and sighed.
"I felt bad for the fish."
Parky snorted and turned to him.
"So you can crush a man's skull with that mace of yours no problem, but a little fish is where you draw the line?"
"You still have time to learn boy, but it's different. A man coming forward to kill me, well I have to defend myself. But what did the fish do to me? Be at the wrong place at the wrong time, get hooked and dragged out of his world and then killed so I can get supper? There's something unfair about that."
"Never liked fish," Hawke added.
"It is what you should eat on Fridays," Evita said piously. "That or no meat."
"If the Emperor wants to send me to hell because I have good taste in food, then so be it."
The Sororitas shot an angry glare at the bowman but quickly realized that continuing on this discussion was a fools errand.
"So, what's the name of this town?" Parky asked, trying to cool everyone's mood.
"Well Parky," Roger said fumbling through his saddlebag. "Meurthes. Strange name, but not the worst I've heard. I have no idea if anybody wants us there, or if they'll instantly try to kill us. Just stay ready for anything."
"I feel like something is watching us in the trees," the Sororitas quickly spoke.
"Bad or good?" Roger queried.
"I am not sure."
"Be alert people. Anything could be hiding here."
Of course, he knew what was stalking them, amused at the discovery by Evita.
"You're getting sloppy Kallen," he whispered through the Eldari communication device.
"This thicket has to be the most foul and difficult we have ever been through, and I do not exaggerate."
He could hear the Scorpions' ingrained smugness replaced slightly by aggravation and irritation.
"I apologize, but it was either that or reveal yourselves to whoever we might run into."
"We Aeldari take every precaution and find no task too difficult, but I will admit this is quite the test."
"Is there anything up ahead we should be worried about?"
"Did you say something Sir Roger?"
"Nothing Erwan. Talking to myself. I'm not crazy. Well, not enough for it to be an issue."
"Debatable," Bob yawned.
"As to your query, we have not found any hostiles ahead. We will stay aware and alert, as well as watch your flanks. These forests are an excellent place for ambush."
Roger nodded, not liking anything about this mission so far. He had enough on his plate, running around for every organization that made up the Imperium, and now with the Eldar also calling in favors…
"Bollocks," he muttered.
"Are you alright Rog?"
"Yes Davie. Just thinking about what we got ourselves into."
"Can't be any worse than last time. Haikk Four I mean. We got into some tough spots, and you got us out all right."
"Thanks, but I have a bad feeling that was child's play compared to what we're being asked to do this time."
He could not give any specific details about the missions he was doing for the Church or Inquisition, but they weighed on his mind as heavily as anything Prince Edmund and Lord D'Uxford had instructed and ordered him to do. How was he going to secure a whole bloody planet with seven humans and eight Eldar?
"Roger, we have a problem."
To the knights surprise, it was neither Kallen nor Anya, but Anxo.
"What's wrong?"
"The road ahead of you is strewn with corpses and wreckage. Move with caution."
"Understood."
Roger lifted his gauntleted right hand and held it to signal the group to stop.
"Something bad up ahead. Dismount and move with caution."
As if the thick trees on either side were not enough to cause concern, a thick, midday fog had obscured the road ahead.
"For fucks sake," Davie groaned. "I thought Haikk Four was a God-Emperor abandoned hellhole, at least I could see everything."
"Keep that Hellgun ready serjeant," Erwan hissed.
"Aye sir."
Roger wanted to thank the Vretan for keeping him focused, but he had enough to think about. His helmet visor was lifted, and part of him wondered if this was going to be a fatal error. The Eldar had assured him that they had not found any enemies or ambushes ahead, but one had to ask if even their advanced abilities could help in these near impossible conditions.
"All of you, quiet, and keep your ears open."
Swords drawn, fingers on triggers, and one bow cord strung with an arrow resting at the ready, the Leopards moved slowly onwards. Their leader was starting to wonder if telling his Xenos allies to stay out of whatever came next was foolhardy, or even suicidal. At the very least, his armor would take whatever came his way, and flak jackets could tank arrows and such. As long as their possible foes had anything less than lasguns, they would be fine, but what if they had some heavy weapons? True, Evita would be able to take more punishment and return the favor, but what did that matter when the rest of her comrades were red smears on the dirt road? He nearly tripped on something, righting himself to look down and see what got him.
"Bollocks," he gasped.
He lifted his hand and halted the Leopards. Looking down, they quickly realized why.
"Bob, check him."
The elderly medic rushed forward and slid next to a human body; red patches of blood spread across his fine clothes. The flat top helmet looked up at Roger and shook.
"Recent," he said bluntly.
"You sure?"
"Still warm. Not stiff."
"I'll trust your judgment. We'll keep going ahead, but stay close and-"
"Roger?" Parky asked.
"You see something?"
"Yeah, there!"
The young man pointed to an abandoned wagon, untouched but without any horses.
"Bloody hell, good eye boy."
"Thanks, sarge."
"All of you, quiet!"
Roger motioned to Hawke, the quietest and quickest of the group, to check it out. Like a cat, the thief clambered over the drivers bench and peered into the back. A few seconds later, he waved Roger closer.
"What's your read?"
"Bandits, and skilled ones. The chests in the back were opened by a pro, guessing a lockpick was in their group. And they took their time too, no mess or sign of a fight. Probably ambushed that poor bugger and his convoy."
"Convoy?"
"Wagons don't go alone in places like this."
"How can you be sure?"
Hawkes face crumpled, lifting his bascinet slightly to scratch his ear.
"Experience. You'll have to trust me on this."
"I will. You think the bastards who did this are still around?"
"If Bob's right on that guy getting killed not too long ago, average convoy is about five or ten wagons… I'd say probably. And not in the trees. Might even still be trying to dig through the spoils."
"Which means we catch them unawares."
"Sure will."
Roger tapped his armored fingers on the side of the wagon and sucked wind through his teeth. Then he snapped his head back to Hawke and nodded.
"Let's hope they're eating some of their ill-earned gains and getting a bit sleepy, eh?"
"I'd pray for it Boss," he replied with a grin.
"Right."
Roger turned back to the rest of the unit and pressed a finger to his lips as he got their attention.
"Whoever did this might be still around, but they certainly weren't expecting us. Keep moving and get ready to drop on them. Move on my signal."
"How exactly should I be stealthy?" Evita questioned.
"You stay in the back and make sure no one charges up our rear. Unless any of us likes that, eh?"
"Hilarious, Davie. Let's go."
He nodded to Erwan, who lowered his beak like visor, the faint blue glow from the eyepieces signifying the helmets full activation. Roger lowered his own visor, hearing the high-pitched whine as it did the same. While there were no advanced abilities such as night vision or those given to the armor of the Astartes, the powered armor at least giving decent view holes and the abilities of a gasmask, along with communication between the two knights. Men at arms, in other words peasants, were not privy to this benefit.
The group moved onwards, Roger taking the slight privacy to speak to Kallen.
"Don't get involved. We'll handle this."
"If these are bandits as Erwan says, they are certainly more aware than the common rabble for you humans."
"They probably know this land better than anyone, so if you can't find them, it shouldn't be too surprising."
"I suppose. Be cautious."
He had no fear of the danger ahead, partly because he knew he had a Guardian Angel armed with a Longrifle and keeping close watch on him, whether he liked it or not.
"I will. Thank you Kallen."
Passing through the fog, they passed another wagon, though no bodies were nearby. Another wagon followed, also abandoned by crew and horses. Erwan shot his arm out and stopped him, startled at the sudden movement. The steel longsword the Vretan preferred was sticking towards the trees, and as Roger peered through the fog, he realized why. Noise filled his helmet, the sound of gruff voices and laughter, even the sound of a whimper, feminine in its tone. His heart jumped at the noise, quickly realizing that the other unfortunate convoy members were still alive and in the hands of a group of twenty or so men in dark clothes, a mix of padded jackets, armor, and helmets. Most had swords or polearms, a few had crossbows, but one was armed with a hand cannon, a primitive form of firearm. Haikk Five was truly a feudal world, but one on the verge of breaking through to the civilized age with its use of gunpowder. None of the group noticed them, even with the clunky armor of the two knights. Raising his visor, he nudged Erwan, who looked at him and did the same.
"Should we kill them, Sir Roger?"
"We could. But I'm no bandit and I've been bored lately, so I could do with a fair fight."
The Vretan smirked and nodded slightly.
"I had a slight hope you would say that."
Motioning the others to move behind them, Davie tapped his shoulder in confusion.
"Shouldn't we just kill 'em?"
"Where's the fun in that? Let them try to explain what they're doing, let them squirm a bit, then wipe them out."
The serjeant shrugged, not bothered at all. His Hellgun could cut them all down in only a few breaths, and he just needed a few seconds.
"Orders sir?"
"Get everyone to stand behind me and Erwan, look intimidating."
"Got it."
A few moments later, the Leopards stood as a singular group, looking back at the celebratory outlaws. He almost felt embarrassed that it took a good minute or two before the one with the firearm rolled his head towards them. He did a double take scrambling at his weapon.
"Tabarnak!" he cried, his fellows looking towards him in surprise and confusion.
"Merde!" Another yelped, the whole group frozen in shock.
But just as quickly as they were noticed, one figure stepped away and sniffed at the Leopards. He was equipped in artfully crafted armor, gold inlaid across it. While the others around him seemed frightened, he showed no fear of the new arrivals.
"And who the hell are you?"
Compared to the voices of the other bandits, his accent was guttural and harsh. The pronunciation of a few letters reminded Roger of the Ostauans or Kriegers. Above his cuirass was a full black jupon, a universal symbol of the outlawed or rebel knight.
"Sir Roger Wessyng, knight of Anglerre in service of the Imperium. And you are?"
The man straightened, a faint smile on his face.
"A fellow knight, ja? Apologies, Sir Rudolf Murzich, Lord… former Lord, of the Lordship of the same name."
"Would you happen to know what happened to this convoy of traders?"
"Forgive me, but is the eyesight and understanding of the men of Anglerre any less than the ones here?"
Rudolf's gang chuckled nervously, eyeing their opponents with apprehension.
"No, I am quite aware of what a murder looks like. I spent enough time chasing outlaw scum like yourself back on my home planet."
Roger smiled politely as he said it wondering how the robber baron would react. All he received was a shrug.
"Pardon, Sir Roger, but I know little of you and your people. I must assume that we all are similarly disbelieving and hesitant to accept the ugly realities of life. As you must know, this convoy was from the North, heading to the city of Thioncy. You passed the crossing if you were heading from that den of Konstantins down the way you presumably came."
"But why did you kill or molest innocent traders?"
Rudolf shrugged, his thin, grayish-black hair bobbing as he did so.
"They fund my enemies. Would you not do the same?"
"I would attack my enemies instead of killing innocents who can barely defend themselves, but I assume that the laws of chivalry no longer matter to you."
"You are quite correct! Quite correct. Well, you have me dead to rights, I have no excuses, so what should we do next? You could arrest me, but my men will attack yours. And I know what you will say, that we are technologically inferior, but we were also that to the Konstantins, and I can prove-"
He waved towards one of his men, who lifted a chain with dozens of ID tags, all ornate and well made. It took little guessing as to their origin.
"We have handled them before. So, I outnumber your troops three to one, but you two are knights. That man of yours has a Hellgun, nasty bit of tech, and that Sororitas- do not think I missed you there Sister, blessed are you, would surely give us hell. I think all my men would die gloriously, and you would be left with maybe… one or two standing. Maybe another mortally wounded and dead before they reached the nearest doctor. What do you say to my assessment?"
Roger tapped his left finger on his Eldari sword, his face blank.
"I think you're full of shit Rudolf. Your gang would be dead before you got close to us, and I'd hack you in half."
The outlaw nodded slowly, snapping his fingers as the one holding the ID tags handed him a helmet, an equally well made armet.
"Then I believe we are at an impasse. I think combat is the only solution, and I do not fear death. Can you say the same, autlander?"
The twenty-seven men and women standing in the forest prepared to fight, swords gently pulled from scabbard, projectile weapons ranging from arrows to lasbolts being prepared to fire. Suddenly, Erwan stepped forward and raised his hand.
"What about a duel?"
Rudolf had not lowered his helmet visor, his once blank, predatory glare turning warm and jovial.
"Why that… sounds quite wonderful! Are you offering, or do you wish Sir Roger to fight me? I of course accept whatever challengers you offer."
"Erwan," Roger hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Saving everyone here from certain death. I challenged you, Sir Rudolf, and if you accept, then we shall fight here on the road."
"Fantastich! Sir Roger, are all Anglerre knights like this?"
"Honorable and willing to fight for what's right? Yes, yes we are."
"It has been too long since I enjoyed a good fight. Let us both prepare… you did not say your name, did you?"
Erwan bowed his head and stood tall.
"Sir Erwan Kerhoued of Vretan, serving the House of Talvaing. Sir Roger shall be my second."
"Very well, Sir Erwan!" Rudolf chuckled deeply. "My trusted aide Conrad shall be mine."
Rudolf stepped forward and stuck out an armored hand. Erwan grasped it firmly.
"May the best knight win," the Vretan said cooly.
"We can just fucking kill them," Davie said angrily, leaning his back on one of the trees. "They're all standing right there."
"Honor, chivalry, and all that Davie," Parky replied.
"The boy has a point serjeant, and I tried convincing him that this was a dumb idea, even with the superiority in armor and such."
"At least you can take comfort in not being a direct part of this Roger. I should not be surprised that they would have no priest among them, but being the Church's representative to this duel feels somewhat ludicrous."
Roger was sitting on a tree stump, a leftover of the clearing done for the road soon to be site of a duel.
"I understand your feelings, Evita. I wasn't expecting to duel with an outlaw knight, or being party to a duel. But it's set, so there's only one way to respond: move forward."
"What if he dies?" Hawke asked, laying on his back and playing with a few flowers. "Do we just fuck off?"
"They haven't agreed to any set rules, but I would have to imagine that's the gist of it Hawke. And tone your language, we're supposed to be the noble Imperium returned to bring civilization to these poor, benighted people."
"I can think of many words for the bloody Imperium, noble isn't one of them."
The Sororitas obviously disapproved of this, Roger quickly realizing that the relation between the two would be a thorn in his side for however long they had to be near each other. As if he did not have enough things to deal with already.
"You wanted excitement, dumbass," he hissed to himself.
He turned to see Erwan approaching him, fully kitted out and proudly wearing his jupon, the white flower and five ermine arrows on a black field sticking out brightly.
"All is ready. And you, Sir Roger?"
"Let's get this over with. Davie, if you and the lads want to watch, do so, if not, I'll be back and let you know how it went."
"Aye sir."
"Sister, your presence is required."
"Yes, Sir Erwan."
The three moved to the part of the road set up as an impromptu arena, roped off to allow for whatever audience it would have to watch safely.
"Throne's sake," Roger sighed.
"It is customary-"
"It's idiotic. But I can't convince you otherwise, so I'll say this. I was watching Rudolf practice; he prefers a shield and waraxe. You think you can counter that with your longsword?"
"Difficult, but possible. He will attempt to stab at me and take the first opportunity to chop at my neck or one of my limbs. Keeping my distance will be essential. And I do want a fair fight, so I deactivated the powered elements of my armor."
"My word, aren't you noble? He's probably going to be hiding behind the shield, but he'll try to force you down. He's got half a head above you, so watch it."
Erwan stopped and turned to Roger, who raised an eyebrow.
"Something wrong? Don't tell me you got cold feet already."
"Where did you learn to fight so well? Most men at arms can barely fight well, even Anglois Guardsmen."
"I was trained by a Gasc in the pay of my Lord. Esteven de Balois, ever heard of him?"
The knight's eyes widened in surprise.
"De Balois? I heard the lost son was run off for being with a high noble's daughter."
"More than a few noble daughters, actually. At least as far as he told me. But you know him?"
"He was one of the finest swordsmen on Ocident."
Ocident: the continent that held all of Vretan and Gasceaux. To speak that highly of a man who wielded a blade in that part of Anglerre was no small thing.
"The same. Beat the hell out of me but certainly made me a good fighter. He saw I had a bit of natural talent, and my liege, Lord Moressley thought the same. Didn't even charge me or my father for the privilege too."
Erwan nodded and continued moving towards the arena.
"And did he teach you how to lead men?"
"Most of that was improvisation or learning as I went. But my father was the bailiff of the manor near us, in charge of the garrison's recruitment and training. Picked up a few things from him I suppose."
"I sometimes forget that you were a yeoman. Most of your kind attempt to act as unpeasantlike as possible."
"I have bigger problems than worrying about how blue my blood is. If you do take the bastard down, try to spare him. Maybe he knows something."
"Should I make that part of the terms should I be victorious?"
Roger nodded before the three moved over the cord. Looking back, he saw the other members of the Leopards moving towards them. He guessed they wanted to see knightly combat, and a part of them did not blame them for it. If he wanted to be totally honest, he expected it, as even he felt a bit of excitement at seeing the spectacle. It was one thing in the roiling slaughter of battle such as Acra, but to see an old-fashioned duel between two warriors was a sight to behold. He had even informed Kallen so the Eldar could watch, though they would inevitably claim how sloppy and clumsy it would be.
The two groups met at the center, Rudolf and Erwan bowing their heads at one another and then looked to Sister Evita.
"In the name of the Most Holy and Apostolic Cult of the Imperium, we meet to conduct trial by combat. The rules are simple: do not strike to kill, show your expertise in the art of the blade, and accept the results without question. Additionally, unless blatant violation of the no kill order is committed, the other members of each knights party will not engage in any form of combat."
She looked nervously at the two combatants and cleared her throat.
"Did I miss anything? I've never done this before."
The sounds of agreement were murmured through the group, much to her relief.
"Sir Erwan, what are your terms?" Rudolf asked.
"You and your men surrender and submit to justice. We are traveling to Meurthes. I pray you have not committed enough crimes here to warrant their desire for your capture."
"No, but it would be certain death for my men. They are dumb peasants, but I have a fondness for them. And if you are defeated?"
"We continue on our way, ignore your actions, and leave you to your spoils."
The gruff outlaw thought the terms over for a moment. It was not the best of deals, but given the circumstances, not the worst. Gazing at the Hellgun and Heavy Bolter in their party, getting out alive was enough, with the spoils a surprise bonus.
"Fair. Shall we?"
"Yes."
Roger, and the outlaws' aide moved out of the ring, Evita waiting to start the fight. Standing next to Davie and the others, he sighed and rubbed his head.
"Let's hope Erwan isn't a bad fighter."
"If he killed a Gasc knight by accident, he must have some skill."
"We shall see, but good point Parky."
The clanking of armor echoed around as the two knights took positions in the corner, Evita standing in the center. Seeing the two ready, she lifted her arm, dropped it, and moved out of the arena quickly.
"Manus autem Dei-Imperator," she said before coming to Parky's side.
The two knights closed in, jerking, and moving to see who would make the first strike.
"What was that, Eve?"
"God-Emperor's hands now."
"Ah."
The clang of a sword on shield started the battle, Roger grimacing. He was hoping for a better first attempt from Erwan, but Rudolf would not make it easy. Realizing the failure, the Vretan pulled quickly, deftly parrying the axe swing towards his helmet. A noisy grunt came from the fight, either from the force of stopping the blow, or inertia sending the force of the strike through the armor of the attacker.
"Been there before," Davie grunted. "Nearly broke my arm once trying to break a bastards skull in. What about you Rog?"
"Never leave home without a good set of gloves or armor."
"Ha!"
Erwan took a step back, finding good footing before preparing to stab. Rudolf tried to take advantage of the pause, moving forward and swinging with a lunge. Erwan grabbed the middle of the blade with his left hand and swung the hilt straight into the opponent's helmet. A deft clang and the sounds of boos from the bandits and cheers from the Anglois.
"Scheisse! Gott-Kaiser verdammt!"
"That didn't sound very Vretan, did it?" Roger joked.
To the outlaws credit, he stood quickly and parried what could have been the finishing blow. He stabbed the pointed top of his war axe into Erwans chest, which forced him back and bought precious moments to regain the initiative. It would not take much longer now by the knights' guess, exhaustion and injury bringing them both to the end of their wits and tolerance. It was a common misconception that duels of any type were long, elegant affairs, but while there were more dramatic flourishes, it was as miserable and exhausting as any battle. At least the loser walked out with no extra holes in them. Well, for the most part.
"Get him Erwan!" Hawke yelled out.
As if to spite the bowman, Rudolf landed a blow on the Vretans arm, the metallic clang echoing through the forest. Stunned by the hit, instead of swinging his longsword in response, a fatal pause allowed the outlaw to wrap his shielded left arm and pull his opponent closer. Roger and the Anglois believed this to be the end, but Erwan, with a roar heard even under his helmet, grabbed his sword horizontally and slammed it into Rudolfs upper chest and helmet, throwing him back. Not to stop at this essential moment, Erwan forced Rudolf down onto his back with a thundering crash. Getting to his feet, he readied his sword to crash into the outlaw's chest, but before doing so, the axe in Rudolfs hand dropped to the ground.
"Mercy!" he cried out, lifting his helmet visor and yelling it again.
Erwan bowed politely, lifted his own visor, and extended a hand to lift the vanquished to his feet. Roger smirked slightly. Nothing exhilarating or mind blowing, but certainly a good form and style.
"Not bad," Davie agreed.
"Boss? Where are his mates?"
Rogers' eyes shot over to where the group had previously been standing, finding it empty. He was about to ask where they vanished to when he felt an oppressive presence behind them. His gut proved to be correct as he found the group of twenty behind them, weapons ready. The hand gunner was aiming at his chest. Whether it would do anything to his powered armor was debatable, especially if he turned it on. He was not sure at the moment if he had.
"Nicht! Damn you, Conrad!"
The aide spoke to him in a tongue that reminded him slightly of Gasc, but sounded different enough that his barely tolerable understanding was of little help. Obviously, the man and his compatriots did not like the deal, fully expecting their commander to win. Men at arms had little use of knightly chivalry, especially bandits.
"S-Sir Roger, forgive me, my men have no intention of surrendering. They will not harm you if you do not stop them. I surrender totally."
"Understood Sir Rudolf. Davie, you think-"
"That crossbowman would get me first."
"Hawke?"
"Bows not strung, sorry Boss."
"Parky? Eve?"
"I left my Heavy Bolter so I could perform my holy duties. And Parky has a few polearms with his name on it."
"So, we have no choice?"
"Aye," Bob said flatly.
"Damn. Sir Rudolf, tell your boys they can go, and we'll give them no trouble. Hopefully, you'll get better friends someday."
Rudolf spoke to Conrad, who nodded slowly, the group all facing them as they started to back off slowly.
"Roger?" Kallen suddenly spoke into his comms device.
"Busy Kallen. If you haven't noticed-"
"More men coming down the road, from the direction we came from."
"Great."
"Ten or so, three on horses and seven on foot."
"Enemy or friendly?"
"Unsure."
Before he could whisper another question, the arquebusier dropped his weapon suddenly. Friend and foe alike looked before realizing there was a crossbow bolt poking through his chest.
"SCHILD UND VRIEND!"
The battle cry was like a roar, the horsemen smashing through the bandits. Their leader, a man in shining armor and wearing a jupon bearing heraldry that was utterly foreign to Roger, cut one of them down with a swordstroke. His comrades, wearing sallet helmets similar to his but in simple padded jackets and wielding wicked looking polearms, cut one bandit near in half. Roger tore his sword from his scabbard, his men doing the same, Davie even dropping the Hellgun to wield his mace.
"Saint George!" the knight bellowed, the ancient war cry of Anglerre to honor their most venerated saint.
Soon, a few footmen bearing the colors of a black lion on a gold background joined in. One of them carried a similarly primitive hand cannon, lighting a fuse before a thunderous bang and cloud of smoke followed. One of the bandits fell instantly, a gaping hole in his helmet and head. Almost all his fellows were armed with a weapon the Anglois had never seen before, a long pole-like club with a pointed spike at the end. A few bandits were stabbed and then clubbed to death, and one of them nearly attacked Roger before looking at his jupon.
"Vriend?" the soldier asked, and to Roger's astonishment, he realized it was a woman wearing the kettle helmet and padded jacket.
"Vriend!" he said back quickly.
As if by telepathy, the new arrivals quickly figured out that the Anglois were friends, and anyone not wearing their colors was to be taken down. In two minutes, the skirmish was over, Conrad and all his bandits dead from sword slashes, stabbings, beatings, crossbow bolts, and one gunshot wound.
"Fucking hell, what a mess!" Davie yelled out.
"Big mess, uitlander!" One of the footmen joked.
The horsemen had circled back, their leader dismounting and raising the front of his sallet helmet. He was taller than Roger, standing at six feet or so, his face unblemished so that it brought attention to his eyes, one light blue, the other a brownish gold.
"Blij dat we hier kwamen toen we dat deden!"
The statement was close enough to Anglish, the tongue of his homeland and people, but still foreign enough that he only returned a confused glare. The leader gasped, stuck out a finger, and looked at the ground snapping his finger.
"Er-glad we came when we did, yes?"
His Low Gothic was accented, but different than Rudolfs. At the end of his yes, it seemed to end with a -ch. It was as guttural as the outlaw knights, but its tone and pronunciation were certainly unique.
"Yes, I am quite glad, along with my comrades. Many thanks, erm, Sir…?"
"You must not be from around here?"
"We are Guardsmen of Anglois, under the orders of Prince Edmund himself."
The leaders' eyes widened; his face unable to hide his shock.
"The Edmund who beat the armies on Haikk Four?"
"Yes."
"And you are a knight of his?"
"Yes. My orders are to assist the re-establishment of Imperial rule on this planet with his approval."
The foreigner stared at him before making a slight laugh and smiling brightly. One of his soldiers, the woman who nearly stabbed Roger, went down on her knees and made the sign of the Aquila.
"Is everything alright?"
"Alright? Sir, my army and I have been praying for someone like you to arrive. And my prayers, so long unanswered, have finally been heard!"
"Well… glad to hear, but-"
He started slightly as he processed what he heard.
"A-army?"
The leader bowed.
"Mijneer Johannes Van Hoeve, commander of the forces raised by the Duke of Branders, Lord Karol Van Slater."
"I was not aware of your forces, what are your armies raised for?"
"A cause greater than anything I have been called to do before. And something we vitally needed you for."
Roger looked uncomfortable at his comrades, and back at Erwan and Rudolf, both thoroughly confused at the situation they all were in.
"And-and that is?"
Johannes, his face once jovial turned grim, almost possessed by a religious air of dedication.
"To liberate my homeland."