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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 96: Routed
Randolph awoke. His leg was sore - he could hardly feel it. Trying to get up, a searing pain shot down his arm. His body seemed to cry out in pain. The strenuous activities of the past two weeks were taking their toll. He felt truly exhausted. The memories of his accomplishments started coming back in bits and pieces.
Moving his head from one side to another, he saw that he was in one of the wine cellars that dotted the site of the battle. Around him in the dim light were several wounded Black Falcons.
A door in the opposite side of the room opened and a LEGOland soldier walked in carrying a large water skin. He made his way around the room, stopping by those that were awake and giving them a drink. Soon he was by Randolph’s side.
“Would you have some water?”
Randolph replied, “Yes, I would. What of the battle? What happened?”
Taking of the cork, the soldier casually replied, “You lost.”
Randolph’s brow tightened. “What? What happened?”
“Your side completely lost. Most men surrendered or fled.”
Randolph’s countenance lightened. “I believe you are mistaken. I was the one who commanded the rebels in the charge. My name is Randolph.”
The soldier’s face showed that of mild astonishment.
“You are Randolph? It was feared that you were dead. Lord Quorandis was worried – I am part of his guard you see.”
“Where is he?”
“He and the bulk of the army left early this morning – apparently BloodVaine is dead and his armies scattered or dead.”
“What happened to Falconis and his men?”
“They escaped during the night – at this moment scouts are seeking them out.”
Randolph took another sip and gave the skin back with his good arm. The soldier walked off, administering care to the other men.
The vast majority of the Black Falcon army had either fled or surrendered. Only a contingent of some 5,000 men had stood firm, and already their number was reduced to half that. Over the course of the night though, the group managed to slip away, carrying with them the still unconscious body of their king. In the early hours of the morning their forced march had brought them back to where the original Black Falcon camp was.
Aware that news of another lost battle would send the rest of the Black Falcons into a panic as well, Martin had sent riders ahead, giving them orders to have the army retreat to their own borders. Meanwhile, Martin would camp there, wait for Falconis to recover, allow to scattered army to regroup, and access the situation from there. The battle was far from over.
Surely, Martin thought, Surely the other armies will eventually seek retribution from us.
Dawn had broke, and the weary but still determined men, hardened by their disaster had made makeshift tents and dwellings. Martin had made his way to the infirmary, formed by using whatever tents could be found and then sewed into a large canopy. The number of wounded was actually quite small – most had simply been left on the battlefield. Martin shuddered. If the rumors were true, the wounded would be nursed back to health and then used as slaves for the numerous mines to the far south of Classic LEGOland. There they would die a short unhappy death.
Martin walked over to the king’s bedside. The helmet had been nearly split, and the top of the skull was fractured. Right now, Falconis was in delirium, with his head bound up in bandages, some parts moist with blood. Suddenly, he mumbled something incoherent, raising his arm, but it quickly went down and he returned to his former state. A doctor came to his side.
“It was hard work last night, but we did the be we could. There was a fragment of bone lodged in his brain, but we pulled it out. Goodness knows what will come of that. He might recover in a few hours, he might not, though it will be weeks before he is fit to do anything of the former come to pass.”
Martin nodded. “In the meantime then, I will formally take control of the army. Have a rider send for Falconis’ son though – if our king passes, a smooth transfer of power is needed in these troubled times.”
The mighty Black Falcon army had been broken. The army of LEGOlanders and renegade Black Falcons was victorious.
“But what about casualties?” asked Quorandis in council that night. The Allied Army had set up camp near the battlefield, and its leaders were meeting in Quorandis’ tent.
“Far lighter than they ought to have been,” replied Sir Victor de Graff, “The Sorcerer-King’s men escaped completely unscathed, although they report that one of Lord Void’s dragons had to be put down, due to crossbow fire.
“As for our own men, the Cavaliers also escaped any deaths on the battlefield, but some two dozen were injured to the point that they are not expected to last the night, and another hundred are temporarily unfit for duty. The Club Knights lost fifty men to death, and another five hundred are incapacitated due to injury. The footmen escaped death totally, and only some fifty are gravely injured.”
Quorandis turned to Randolph.
manlleu entitat financera “We fared reasonably well,” he said, “Seventy men dead, and another hundred wounded and out of action. What will we do with the wounded Falcons on the battlefield? They number some four thousand.”
“Do your best to recruit them to your cause,” said Quorandis, “I do not think that you are done fighting yet. As for those who insist on remaining loyal to Falconis, place them under guard, and wait for the day when they can be brought back to your homeland.”
“Now,” Quorandis turned to de Graff again, “I want you to take all the Club Knights that are still fit for action, as well Marshal Targon and his Dragon Masters. Go north, and seek out Lord Bjarn’s allied army. Congratulate them if you meet them, and give them aid if they require it.
“I also want you to gather and send to me all the Imperial nobles, courtiers, and soldiers that you find. Eventually the Empire must be reconstructed. The more help we have when that day comes, the better.”
Falconis was still in delirium. Worried about further attacks, Martin had already given orders for some of the men to leave. Many stragglers had returned, and they were only to glad to withdraw to their own borders.
Now Martin sat at the king’s bedside, deep in thought. The room was silent but for the occasional coughs and groaning of the several hundred men there. Beside him was a small table with a lamp on it.
Martin was about to get up when Falconis moved from his position. Getting up in surprise, the soldier watched as the king feebly struggled to turn to his side. From his lips, he painfully uttered one word.
“Water.”
Martin quickly ran to a large deep basin in the center of the tent. Grapping a cup next to it he quickly filled it and ran back to Falconis. The king’s thin bony hands clutched the container and brought it to his lips. He drank it in one gulp and collapsed onto the bed again, exhausted. After a few minutes, he spoke.
“Martin. Is that you there?”
Martin quickly answered. “Yes, my lord. I am here.”
“I made a foolish decision to attack so suddenly. We should have come from the north.”
Inwardly, Martin’s spirits dropped. He was loyal to the king, yes, but he had hoped that the calamity that had befallen them would have knocked some sense into the old man. Instead, Falconis was just as, if not more so, stubborn than ever.
The king spoke again. “Withdraw the troops. Our opportunity is gone. But keep the Royal Knight land. At least we gained something from this war.”
“Yes, my lord. I have started already. In addition, I have sent for you son.”
Falconis seemed to be regaining his strength fast - his voice raised a bit.
“That young fool. He will never make a decent king. Reading books all day, never learning to fight. No, this country needs an able leader. One who can unite the people, lead them. All my reign I have done that.”
The king stopped, catching his breath. Martin used this as an opportunity to interrupt.
“Perhaps if you rested a bit more…”
“No, no. I can’t do that. My life is slipping away - can’t you see that? No, I want you to lead. My son can’t do it. He’ll be manipulated by that Marquis. I never liked that man anyway. No - you must lead. Do as I would do. Remove the Marquis. Take control. Y ou have your army behind you. Do whatever you must. Remember - anyone who stands in your way is a threat.”
With that, the king stopped - exhausted. He fell asleep, breathing heavily. Martin sat down again. Falconis was right. The king’s son would make a weak king and most members of the nobility worked only for their own gain. He did have the army behind him. Yes, he must make that decision. He would follow Falconis’ policies, but avoid open war. First, he had to crush any resistance. A revolution or revolt would be dangerous in these times.
Bernard Quorandis’ army had re-established its order and was now as fit as it was going to get. The wounded has begun recovery, save for those few who had perished. The Black Falcons had by now been consigned either to imprisonment, or into the ranks of Randolph's renegade army.
And Sir Victor de Graff had sent back riders to Quorandis informing him that there was still battle outside Orion, although it seemed that BloodVaine was dead. He was preparing to enter battle.
Quorandis then set about taking down camp, and getting ready to move onwards. Falconis was no longer a threat to the south, and he intended to leave the wounded where they were, with only a small guard. The rest of his men would march on Orion.
But no sooner had the army set out, than more riders came from de Graff, saying that the battle had been won, and the last holdouts were even then being flushed out. Quorandis slowed the army to include the wounded, and once they were all ready, they set off again. But they were not going to battle, but to a peaceful gathering. And they were now going to recover their city.
“But remember to thank and congratulate our allies,” said Quorandis, “We owe them as much as they owe us. If not more.”
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