Lanya - The Robber Baron

Lanya IV: The Robber Baron


They had decided to take the short, direct route. Lanya was initially opposed to it, but Lord Hasten was adamant that they should capture the fort with unyielding haste and vigour before promptly turning to rejoin the main force. She had kicked her heels, unwilling to bring the men so close to the mountains, given that the evil forces of the Witchkeep were known to seep into the peaks, casting dark and malignant shadows that would be seen as an ill omen by the men. Since Hasten was above her in station, and thus technically the commander of the force, they took his route anyway, albeit slowly and cautiously in order to respect Lanya's misgivings. She continued to drag her feet, and was beginning to convince the great lord that taking a diverging path would be preferable when their horses began to be unnerved, often throwing their riders off and refusing to be mounted.


That was all until they saw the mountains.


The dark shadows had already been receding, but they were no longer visible when suddenly, yesterday evening, fire danced across three peaks in the Citadel's mountain salient, light dashing through the high skies to illuminate their passage. Under any other circumstances fire was a sign of hope, of light, and of home, and the men would be emboldened, ready to face any task before them. These were the Knights' pyres, however, and every man knew what they signalled. The northern host draws near, and we are stuck in the south. Seconds after they had all agreed to continue on the direct route, mounting every man and riding hard to the Shankeep, completing a journey that would've taken a few days in one night, arriving outside its walls sleepless and with horses that could barely stand. Their men were littered with saddle sores, standing in formation with crooked backs and dark eyes, and yet no one cared, for they were intended to be the saviours of Mourne, but could do no such thing until this band of outlaws was dealt with.


After a brief inspection of the troops, she and Hasten immediately set them to work constructing a crude ram, with the intent to launch an assault in the afternoon, with the assumption that their parley with the enemy would yield little success. Usually she would place little faith in a battering ram, especially their planned machine of a tree trunk with handholds cut into it, but Shankeep was an ancient wooden fortress, which had been abandoned even before the fall of the Sons of Rhickall, and so unless the outlaws had some talented engineers amongst them it would be unlikely that they could've reversed the rot in the wood, or even replaced the gates with anything greater than the soft and damp mess they likely already had. With the men sent off, she and her ally dismounted and stepped toward the walls, stopping about eighty feet away, just outside the range unskilled bowmen could feasibly hit them.


Lanya looked over at her brooding companion, the visor of his circlet-crowned bascinet raised as he surveyed the walls. "So, what did you find out about these outlaws?" she asked him, knowing that he had an entourage of spies and connections to information-brokers across the realm.


"More than you might've expected, but little of practical use." he replied, continuing to focus on the fortress.


"It's of no practical use if you don't tell me what it is." she said, tired of his nonsense. I've had to put up with his vague and shorthanded answers ever since we left, and I think I might go insane if he continues.


Lord Hasten sighed and turned to face her. "I can tell you a hundred stories about their leader, and one thing about their actual force, which was no doubt the man's intention. Now, what do you want to know?" he bluntly shot back.


"I want to know about the force, and a bit about their leader. We both need to understand them or we can't effectively coordinate an attack." she told him.


He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I can't argue with that." He turned to face the fort again. "They're sixty three in number, and all of those are unskilled men from the local area. None can use a bow, armour is scant, and most of them are armed with axes."


"And their leader?"


He turned back to face her. "They call him by many names, the most common of which are 'Old Eighteen' referring to the alleged length of his cock, 'Longsword', also referring to said cock, 'Captain Three Legs', the context behind which I'm sure you can now guess, and the only truly relevant one, 'Lord Aethstel'. The lordly name was used in more formal settings, suggesting that he has noble heritage, and that - as you can guess if you aren't a drooling buffoon - his name is Aethstel. He's known for his nine concubines, which he never remembers the name of, and his crippling addiction to playing dice, from which he's lost most of his plunder to his men. He's a literate man, and wrote a few poems, one of which claims that he will 'bombard the Horse with trebuchets' if he doesn't grant the people a bountiful harvest. The last of the most interesting things about him is that he loves to crush the skulls of his enemies with boulders, and calls it 'smashing apples'."


She was taken aback. "This man, this utter madman, is wreaking havoc upon my father's lands? Why hasn't he put a stop to this?"
"You thought your father was a competent ruler? Ha! Every man in the kingdom knows he can't be bothered to deal with anything that doesn't concern the breweries." he said, insulting his rule to her face.


She grabbed her hammer. "You want to repeat that?"


Hasten simply laughed. "Oh, gods save me!" he sarcastically cried, in a mocking tone. "You plan to do the same to me as you did to Baron Eunah? Please, that alone dammed the flow of our campaign and let loose an entire army in the Plainlands, which we're lucky didn't raze every village in its path to the ground in revenge. If you even dared to touch me, at all, the entire army would fall apart, and you know that. Now, be a good little girl and suck it up, it was nothing but a jape."


She snarled, but knew that he was right, and that there was nothing she could do about it. "Don't talk to me, Hasten."


He looked back at her and studied her expression for a few minutes of tense silence. "I'm sorry, my lady, sometimes I go too far. My father always used to tell me my tongue worked faster than my mind, and I suppose he was right. If he were here now he would've smacked me in the ear and sent me to scrub breastplates all day in the armoury." He sighed. "Whether others think well of him or no, you're lucky to have him, and I'm glad you do, because even though I despised my father at times, I still struggle without him."


She smiled softly. "Thanks. He's not the best father, I'll admit, but he's what I've got, and treats me like a son, whereas my mother only cares about my sisters."


"What about your brother, Alystair? I know bastards can tear a marriage apart, that's what drove my father to drink." he asked, sullenly staring back at the fortress.


I'd rather everyone would shut up about the bastard. She frowned. "The bastard has been disowned. He was a threat to the succession, and he was dangerous. Do not speak his name."


Hasten sharply turned back to face her with a raised eyebrow. "Ah yes, of course. Not a surprise whatsoever. I always saw him as a dangerous figure."


They continued to talk for a while, Lanya asking about his wife and learning that he had just had a son born to him. Lady Jaenna was an admirable woman, well-spoken and passionate, and she was glad for them. As always the couple had thought long and hard about the name, eventually deciding on Rhickall, to not only name him after the great King, but also his indomitable grandfather, who was responsible for destroying the robber barons once and for all. It was a lofty name, one that no man could truly live up to, but Hasten was an ambitious man, and so he wanted to carry that same ambition on through his son. He spoke about the babe with immense fondness, and constantly reminded her how tall and robust young Rhickall was, swearing that he'd grow to be the greatest hammerman in the Westmark, at least. Given the extensive training the boy would be given as the heir to a lordship, she believed him.


Eventually they decided to ride forward and attempt to ask for a parley, since, despite the fact that their foes were outlaws, it was still demanded by tradition and the honourable codes of law that they at least offer a surrender before launching their assault. They had grabbed a white banner beforehand to bear alongside that of the King's, in order to prevent having a hail of rocks thrown at them. As they approached the walls they caught sight of at least twenty men lining the wooden parapets, staring at them. Most wore helmets, many with arming caps but a few with the usual spangenhelm of the fyrd, and she could spot a few spearheads jutting out over the walls. A few trained men of the fyrd must be among them to wear those spangenhelms, unless they were stolen from a dead fyrdman, which I'd rather not think about - those are my father's men, after all. They could make out the banner as they closed in, only to be disappointed when they learned that it was a stolen Sindar banner with a cock painted onto the buck. The more I learn about 'Old Eighteen' the more I despise him.


As they stopped about a dozen yards from the gate they were pulled open and a lone man stepped out with a distinctive swagger. He was armoured in plate but without a helm and was missing his left leg, the limb having been replaced with a bar of iron that must've made walking extremely difficult. Albeit knowing a bit about him I can assume that he probably enjoys that. He beamed at them with what must've been the widest smile in history and walked in between their horses, taking a long look at each of the banners.


"You carry the King's banner, little girl. Do you know what that means?" he asked her. The nerve!


"That's my lady, little man." she shot back, raising her visor.


He laughed. "You assume that I respect titles, my lady, which is bold. I repeat the question, do you know what carrying the King's banner means?"


"If you continue to disrespect me I'll kill you on the spot." Lanya replied, prompting Hasten to shoot his gaze over to her and frown, reaching his arm out.


"Ha! You clearly weren't supposed to say that. I assume that was a no, so I'll tell you what carrying his banner means: it means you've been sent here to kill every last one of us, and couldn't care less about whether any of my lads rot away in the depths of the underworld or on your lordly farms, as long as they have no ambition, or no capability of it. This is why I refuse to respect you: I didn't abandon my father's lands just to see my lads massacred." he told them, still smiling in an uncanny manner.


"You don't know that. You don't know us." she replied.


"I know lords, trust me my friends, I am more alike to you in blood than my own men." He began to stride back and forth. "However, I also know of the code of honour, and that half of you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child to He Who Shall Not Be Named than attach a shred of dishonour to your names. So, I bring you an offer: we surrender, conditionally."


Hasten frowned, clearly not expecting this given the information he'd gathered about the man. "And what condition would that be?" he asked.


The outlaw sighed as if he knew exactly what their answer would be and dropped his ear-to-ear smile for a sombre frown, but still made his demand. "In accordance with the wishes of my men, I hereby demand that in return for the imminent closure of hostilities between my men and the Crown, I am named Baron of Shankeep, and that all constituent holdings of Baron Hodaer Wesric west of the Jear are ceded to me. My men shall all be knighted and given the right to hold land and title."


Lord Hasten burst out laughing and Lanya couldn't help but do the same. In the face of defeat he demands that we give concessions? Ha! I should take him home and make him a fool!


"Do you have a serious offer?" Hasten asked, still crying from laughter.


Aethstel dropped his head in shame, his bottom lip quivering. "That was the offer, my lord." he said, stepping back.


Lanya shared a stern look with her companion and gave him their death sentence. "Aethstel, of a name unknown, you are confirmed as an enemy of the Crown. I, Lanya of House Allrey, with the power invested in me by His Grace Eadward the second, hereby sentence you to death."


The outlaw spat at her horse. "You're all the same!" he yelled. "You're all the fucking same!"


With that he scurried away and slipped through the gates, screaming at his men to ready themselves for battle. The two exchanged a glance and nodded, riding back hard to rally the men. As they came between the two forests that sat either side of the fort and the land before it, they were delighted to find that construction on their little makeshift ram had just been finished. The men had been able to find a particularly thick tree, rounding off the edges of the hulking trunk and cutting gaps about half a yard apart, sixteen in total, that branched off to cut further inward to the log, granting a firm grip for each man. They gave orders for every man to dismount and leave the horses behind before doing the same, and prepared their gear for battle. After a few minutes of to-ing and fro-ing, sixteen men were carrying the ram with one hand and a shield in the other, hammers anchored to their backs, while the rest positioned themselves in front of the ram, forming a mobile shieldwall to give as much protection as possible.


"We fight today to keep the King's Peace, to protect our homes from bannerbreakers who would plunder them without pause." Lanya began. "Look at those walls, look at those men, and see scoundrels who would take your wives and burn your homes! Now, look at those same men and grab your hammers, up and at them!"


They cheered and began to heave the ram forwards, quickly finding that they had to drop their shields and hold the beast up with their second hands, struggling along but slowly advancing, inch by inch. They would eventually, after what must've been ten minutes of struggling, come within twenty yards of the gate, and prepare to put the ram in position. The defenders pelted at the shieldwall with rocks, the smaller ones bouncing harmlessly off but a few larger ones giving enough momentum to throw men back from the wall, landing flat on their backs and impeding the ram's movement.


Thinking fast, Lanya gave the men another order. "Get up lads! Break the shieldwall and advance the ram to the gate! Either hold your shields above your heads and stand close to the wall, or form shieldwalls around those manning the ram! I want at least two men for each!"


The skilled knights quickly executed the order, scrambling up to their feet and breaking away from the wall. As the men heaved the ram into position the defenders threw the last of their stones, easily parried by those who rallied to protect the rammers. The men reached the gate, heaved the behemoth back, and with a shout from Hasten, swung it forward in unison, already forcing a huge crack in the rotting gates. A second slam came soon afterward, leaving a gaping hole in the centre, and the men aimed the ram lower as a consequence, hoping to shatter the structure in its entirety. With one firm hit, the gate fell in on itself, and the men dropped the ram.


"Men of iron!" she cried. "Kill them all!"


The knights surged forward and clambered through the shattered splinters left behind, the sad heap of mushy wood that was the remnants of the ancient gate. Leading the men, the two lordly companions joined them and entered the fort, only to find that their men had ground to a halt. Confused, Lanya scanned the area and saw that the outlaws had retreated from the walls and taken position at the top of the slope that existed within the fort. She thought they were preparing for a final stand, holding their ground valiantly and using the one last advantage they could to take down as many of the attackers as they could. It makes me proud as much as it enrages me. Those may be outlaws, but they are still men of iron. That was until she realised that their weapons were entirely ineffective against plate armour, that standing their ground was a fool's errand, and that they were rolling hay bales toward her host. She and Hasten shared a look of utter bewilderment as the men dropped their guard. Is this Aethstel's plan, to hurl grass at us? Ha! The men stopped the bales about ten yards up from them, a few men from the front revealing lit torches. Shit!


'Lord' Aethstel broke out into a cackling screech. "See here, my lord and lady, that's where honour gets you. You think victory is won through playing fair? Ha!"


Lanya quickly came to her senses. "Out through the gates men, run!" she screamed.


But it was too late.


The bales must've been doused with oil, quickly being consumed by the flames, before seconds later being kicked down the hill. They tried to run and force their way back through the gate, but as they saw that the balls of fire would outrun them, Hasten yelled at the men to get down, and Lanya threw herself to the ground with the rest. The heat lashed at her back, followed by a harsh pound. Survival instincts should've kicked in, but she felt nothing, she could only freeze, desperately trying to understand how they could've been dragged into this. It was at that moment she remembered Sir Forael Faefar, a young, talented, and ambitious knight who was the youngest son of a minor thane in the eastern Plainlands. Faefar loved his name, and loved his people's farms, so much that he lined the inside of his aventail with feathers. That moment, the moment she remembered him, was when she heard his blood-curdling screams, looking across to see him desperately scramble to rip the feathers off of his charred skin. He was the only one afoot out of the whole company, his feet swinging left and right as he danced like a drunkard, only to finally collapse after what seemed like an hour of struggling, putting up no more of a fight than a whimper.


The thunder of footsteps began to rage as the outlaws ran down the hill, and she finally came to her senses, scrambling up to her feet along with most of the men. She tried to give out an order, to get them in formation, but nothing came out, and so she watched helplessly as what could've been ten of their knights were knocked back to the ground, the outlaws pressing them down and stabbing them under the arms and in the groin. The next wave of men pressed past the carnage, only to find more resolute and prepared men who pressed back. The counterattack was promising, but without their hammers at hand they could do nothing more than flail their fists and delay the enemy, managing to stave off axe blows thanks to their thick armour and using their weight to drive the enemy off.


Unwilling to let the men sacrifice themselves in vain, Lanya found her hammer and picked it back up, clearing her throat. "Men of iron, take up your hammers and drive them back! For the King, for Mourne!" she screamed, charging into battle. "Stop holding them back and draw your swords as soon as you can lads!" she added, addressing those who were holding them back and yet hadn't thought to fall upon every knight's last resort, his sword. I suppose we trust in our hammer so fervently we never even think of staining our hands with a lesser weapon.


Lanya pushed aside two men at the front and began to swing her hammer wildly into the horde of defenders, mowing them down and easily crushing their chests in a single swing with no plate, or even mail, to protect them. She took full advantage of her height, dodging blows at her head and using her low centre of mass to sweep the legs of charging men with ease. She took down one, then two, then three, but knew she couldn't keep it up alone. Men swarmed around her, and she took an axe under the ribs, nearly punching through her armour. She glanced back, to see most of the men clutching her heads and only a few who had charged in to join her, two of which lay dead along with most of the unarmed men, the rest of which had drawn their swords and begun to fight a valiant final stand. Lanya looked around for Hasten, finally finding him and locking eyes through their visors. They both knew what he had to do and as he saw her, a noble lady he was honour-bound to protect, surrounded by the enemy, he found the strength to do it.


Hasten sprinted forward, holding his hammer behind him for a powerful overhead strike. Using his great momentum, he crashed the battlemaul down into the horde, taking down one man with immense brutality, the splintering of his bones and flattening of his flesh overpowering the sound of sword against axe. The attention of the men suddenly turned to him, and she was left fighting off one man at a time, while he was fighting three. Evidently seeing both of their commanders fearlessly charge into a superior enemy shamed the rest of the men enough to spur them into battle, and they began to charge. Gaps in the line were filled in and their foes were brought low, quickly being slammed down as what was a fight between ten unarmed knights and sixty savages turned to a slaughter, forty hammer-bearing knights hacking their way through the ever-diminishing host of the robber baron. With so many of the outlaws still focussing on surrounding Lord Hasten, the men quickly broke their flanks and began to pursue them toward the keep, leaving a few men, Lanya, and the exhausted Hasten standing alone and outnumbered in the centre. Their lust for blood will get us killed!


She looked back over at him. Five men surrounded the lord, hacking and slashing at him. Hasten grew sluggish, failing to effectively strike back against the foe as they slowly began to crack through his armour.


Lanya sprinted toward him. "Men, rally to your lord!" she screamed, trying to get absolutely anyone's attention.


It was too late.


Hasten was hit square in the visor by a club, stumbling backward. He desperately scrambled to clear his mind and stand his ground, but as he continued to reel he was overcome and took a cut from an axe under his right shoulder, screeching in pain and collapsing. He hit the ground with a firm thud as the men fell upon him like a rabid pack of wolves. She rushed toward them, frantically swinging her hammer and taking down as many as she could.


"To your lord!" she repeated.


The knights finally took notice and rallied to her side, finishing off all the outlaws she could see. She cleared the bodies away from Lord Hasten only to find that the damage had been done, and that he was bleeding, badly. Two of the men propped him up on their shoulders and guided him to the horses where she quickly wrapped a bandage tightly around the wound. It wasn't too deep, and she assumed that he would survive, but such a blow would put him out of action for weeks, if not months. This was no victory.