Iltaran Family/Reduction of Yipinalke
Ropes tensed, wood creaked, men strained. Somewhere a sergeant screamed abuse at his charges, who cursed under their breathes as they hauled. But despite the heavy labour the mood was buoyant; they would not have given the job to any other company. A crowd of onlookers had grown, mostly other western soldiers or camp followers, but also a few sullen-looking townsfolk. Some of the more pragmatic sought out business, hoping to find troops who had been paid with the plunder taken over the past days.
Two days ago a Motte and Baily had existed here, defending the bridge that linked Yipinalke to Jyl. Perhaps more relevantly, that was the bridge that joined the southern half of Fronen to the northern half. Now though the defences were all but gone thanks to back breaking efforts of the Western Alliance armies. Only this last section of wall remained, resisting with equal measure of stubbornness and futility.
Many had stripped to the waist, but a handful still wore the dark blue colours of their commander. They were the household infantry of Old Grehk's King and they had managed to claim the honour of finishing the destruction of Yipinalke's fortifications. Whilst his men heaved, the same King watched along with a handful of his lieutenants, a knot of Huscarls standing around them.
‘You know my men nearly finished this cousin.’ The noble nearest to Askarn grumbled half heatedly. Victus Draco Tanos, the stern Lord Chancellor of Old Grehk and Count of Junohep, appeared to feel slightly cheated.
‘So you've been telling me all morning Victus.’ Askarn chuckled and slapped the older man on the shoulder. Although the campaign had seen its fair share of mistakes and reverses, it had been worth it. Yipinalke had been an integral part of Old Grehk during the Golden Years, only to be lost during the disastrous civil war on the eve of the Daimon invasion. Returned to the proper rulers for a handful of days after the reunification of Neo and Old Grehk, only for the town of Yipinalke and its all important fortifications to be overrun by Fronen. During the first months of the war, the armies of Old Grehk had been thrown futilely at those walls.
A cheer went up from the Huscarls, intruding into Askarn’s musings. Looking over he saw that the palisade had begun to sag. The troops let the ropes go slack again, gathering their strength for this last stretch. First Captain Eodred, a towering veteran who fancied himself to be something of an expert on military engineering (or at least the demolition portion of it), bellowed some last minute instructions.
There was an almighty crack as timber and turf gave way, soldiers stumbled back as the resistance broke and the last part of the Yipinalke’s defences toppled. Askarn let out a whooping yell of approval, his voice joining and becoming lost amongst the cacophony of weapons banged against shields and shouting. Fronen might rebuild the fortifications here, but the message he had sent to them would ring clear. Old Grehk was not defeated and the War of the Nine Realms was not over.
‘Chiswick, fresh horses!’ He demanded, grinning widely. Now that temporal duty had been seen too, Askarn had another task to complete. Fronen were not the only unwelcome presence in what was rightfully his land.
