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Way to throw me under the cabbage cart. And to think, yesterday I was your treasure.
Taj turns to Grimold apologetically, then fesses up. "It was my fault. I told him to wake you, and then left Zoh to his own devices as to how. I try not to interfere with the ties of friendship."
This is Zoh's best friend. Maybe she should lay up. Then again, she was always a sucker for a bad pun. She gives him a grin. "You're not at end of your rope, are you?"
"So, how did you all meet? It's clear you've been together a long time."
Finally you have made it. The shining spires and white walls of Vigil tower before you. The road leading to the gate encircles the city and breaches at the south. Along the road is a large encampment. Horses are on tack lines, the smell of camp cooking and unwashed bodies is in the air. Men call out and the sound of pounding smith hammers and billowing forges fill the late morning air.
Most of the men outside the walls appear to be mercenaries come to help the crusade. Most do not look knights, but toughs, mean scarred men and women who fight for coin. One could easily tell the military from the mercenary, tent neatness, uniforms, personal hygiene. The mercenary bands tended to drink even during the day and sat around pawing at each other and playing cards. The crusaders are better kept, in clean but worn armor, they are quiet, even somber.
Approaching the gate, one of the massive iron banded doors is shut and the other is open, allowing horse and rider two abreast to enter or depart. In the city, the din grows louder. The wails and moans of the wounded drown out the hoofbeat of your horses. Blood runs in the street and clerics and medics roam the swaths of soldiers lying in the streets. Every home has become a makeshift hospital. The store fronts are locked tight, their owners among the wounded or those helping. The inns appear open, but the extra sheets are all in use.
A page spots your group from near a well, he lets the bucket carreen back into the hole. ”Knights! Knights!” he waives frantically at you running up.
Nearly out of breath he pants. ”Standing order, all knights returning are to report to the War College.”
Way to throw me under the cabbage cart. And to think, yesterday I was your treasure.
Oh, trust me, minii erdene, Grimold knows where to send the bill for that… Zohruk thinks back to the Pigeon Incident. Zoh had never cleaned anything in his life as thoroughly as he did Fisk’s office.
Besides, I have every confidence in your ability to channel rainbow blasting doom and blow the cabbage cart into kindling. Then you can hold a knife to the cabbages’ throats. Or something. Damn, I thought I had more to that analogy... Zohruk smiles at Rataji, turning his face to her juuust enough to let her see it.
"So, how did you all meet? It's clear you've been together a long time."
”Well, we were all together as part of the same cohort of trainees. They group folks up into what, twenty to a cohort, and just start alternately training the hell out of you, and challenging you constantly. Along the way, the bottom of each cohort gets dropped out. I think, in their mind, the best-case result at the end is what we ended up as: a tight-knit group that can complement each other well and keep their eye on the prize. Worst-case, well, you get a pack of psychopaths like Leo and his buddies.”
Zohruk points at Daen and the Tilernos sisters. ”Those three were all in our cohort from the start. Grimold and I joined a few weeks later. One of the Knghts, Lukyan Durante, struck a little deal with my Chief. He ‘borrowed’ the services of a few trackers from the Aghash Rukon, and in return, one of the tribe was to go to Vigil and enter the training program.” Zohruk waves his hand. ”She held a big competition among the tribe, and then rigged things such that I ‘won’.” He thinks about the path his life has taken, going back and forth between Vigil and Urgir, looks at Rataji, and thinks, Yeah, I guess you could say that.
”Grimold here, like the song, he fought the law, the law won. But Allie got it in her head that he was a good, what do you call it, a ‘fixer-upper’, so she vouched for him and got him out of jail and into the Bonewatch. When trouble comes knockin’, it never knows which of us to come to, so we ambush it before it can make up its mind,” Zoh chuckles.
Zohruk sighs dejectedly at the news that they have to report in immediately. ”No rest for the wicked.” I’m sorry, Taj. Do you think you can hold out a little bit longer until we get you that hot meal and a bath? Addressing the page with as much formality as his fatigue allows for, Zohruk says, “Okay, thanks.” Looking around at the carnage, Zohruk is a little surprised. ”What the hell went on here…?”
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Vigil is not what she expects. Taj looks around at the crowds of mercenaries, the wounded in the streets, and the state of disarray. When the page flags them down, she asks Allie. “Once this meeting is over, perhaps I could help with the wounded in town?”
To Zoh, she says, It’s okay. I’ve waited this long for the bath. I can wait a little longer.
That we were better off not being slaves to an orc warlord? And he’s not ‘biza’.
It’s hard to bring fifteen cattle on a rescue mission...
Taj sighs and turns to Zoh. Gita wants you to bring cattle to my father. Should I tell her to take a flying leap?
________
* Polyglot word of the day: 'Biza', which means cheap.
Daen turns to the party as they enter town and sighs. After being in the saddle all day and they have to work as soon as they arrive. Fatigue will mean for less than middling morale. But the city was not in it's normal shape. The trouble with a place like Vigil was that this sort of thing was always a possibility. "Looks like that meal will have to wait a bit. We've got more work to do."
He turned to Raj and explained, "It's not normally like this. I imagine we'd have to..." when he was interrupted by the standing orders for Knights to report in. "Well I give him full props for recognizing us even though we've been gone for a while. Let's get to that meeting so we know what's still required of us. We may need to ride out and meet the enemy that did this or to gather information. Raj, you better stick with us, there's no guarantee that we'll be here for long." They'd be briefed as soon as they arrived, no doubt. There was no need to keep people waiting when so much was yet to be done.
Taj nods to Daen. "It's better that I stick with you in any case. First, I receieved a field conscription that you'll likely want to confirm with your superiors. Second, this is my first time in the town. I know no one else here. Third, some of the mercenary groups seem rather rough, and just as likely to cause trouble as defend the town. I'm better off with all of you. However, after the meeting, if we're not immediately assigned, I could be a help to those administering healing to the wounded."
Then she looks at the others. "I'm lacking a horse of my own, bedroll and some other basic supplies. In this mess, will it be possible to purchase them?"
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Gita wants you to bring cattle to my father. Should I tell her to take a flying leap?
Zohruk makes his did-I-just-hear-that-correctly face, trying to process what Rataji just said to him. He’s so disoriented by the random-seeming nature of Rataji’s comment, that he replies to her verbally, forgetting to use their mindlink.
”I’m sorry, cattle? To your father? The man who tried to sell you to the orcs? The man whose face I cut open during our escape? And let’s circle back to the question that, later, I’m sure I’ll regret most: who is Gita? Is… is she here? Can she hear me?” Zohruk starts jabbing a finger in the air at a few random spots, as his voice starts getting a little agitated. ”Listen lady, I don’t know what you think was going on back there in Urgir, but that wasn’t courtship, okay? I don’t need to be second-guessed by some incorporeal, incoherent luna - AAAH!” Zohruk yelps in surprise as a piece of trail bread flies out of Taj’s pack and flings itself at Zohruk, smacking him in the face. ”Did she just throw that at me…?”
He turns to Grimold. ”You saw that, right?”
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"I'm lacking a horse of my own, bedroll and some other basic supplies. In this mess, will it be possible to purchase them?"
”I’ll make sure you get what you need, we’ll see to it after this. Merciful flames, I hope you were counting a new pair of boots on that list. I don’t know how your feet aren’t torn off at the ankles, woman!”
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Gita’s shouting. Another bread roll floats up out of the backpack and shakes as if being held by an angry fist. Around Taj, a chorus of muttering in old female voices arises. None of the words are clear, but their angry tone can be heard by everyone.
Crap, you just made her PISSED!
Taj holds up hands appeasingly. “Gita, I’m about to meet their tribal leaders. How will it look if you start a food fight?” Turning to the others, she says, “Gita the Fat is the oldest spirit I know. Maybe my grandmother’s grandmother? Or a little further back? She’s powerful but maybe a few centuries out of date.”
Gita drops the bread back in the pack.
Taj looks around, hoping that the earth will swallow her up or something. Her light chocolate skin flushes with embarrassment, hints of rose still showing at the tips of her ears and in a light blush against her cheeks. “Gita thinks you’re a bride thief. She says... I have good hips and sturdy legs. And that you need to show me honor by showing your people how much you value me by giving my father stuff. Or something.”
She sighs as she turns to the others. “I’m a Yisik. I hear spirits. In return, they lend me their powers. And offer me unsolicited advice about how I conduct my affairs.”
Taj looks down at the ruined party shoes that she’s wearing. They’re torn and full of holes after two weeks of travel, and her feet are slightly swollen and painful in them. “My feet have only made it so far because I keep healing them. Yes, let’s add boots to the shopping list.”
Gita perks up.
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Oh, really, *I* made *her* pissed? You tell her I... Zohruk cut himself off. Wrong approach, buddy.
Zohruk looked around, and saw Allie staring at him. He thought about the vicious arguments and sniping they’d engaged in upon his initial arrival. The first steps toward clearing the air between them had come in the aftermath of a huge screaming match in the middle of the Chapel of the Luminescent Dawnflower; not exactly a proud moment for either of them. After that day, their relationship started getting better, but it definitely was not without its bumps. They still had a couple of fairly intense arguments, and Zohruk remembered the way they made him feel. His competitiveness made this worse, as the urge to win at all costs drove him to say things and take up positions that he later acknowledged were ridiculous. He eventually learned to recognize that feeling, and walk away from it.
He could feel that same sensation roaring in his heart right now, and that means it’s time to take a step back. Zoh closed his eyes, counted to ten (Daen had tried one time to explain to him what “prime numbers” were, but that was just one of those times where his friend didn’t make a damn lick of sense), then opened his eyes again. He tried smiling, but what came out was little more than a predator’s snarl.
”Hello, Miss Gita. We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Zohruk. What you view as bride-theft, Rataji and I see differently, as an escape from slavery and life as a forced concubine of a vicious orc warlord.” Despite the conversation’s turn to a discussion of Taj’s brush with an awful fate, Zohruk could feel himself calming down, which made it easier to go on.
”You think I owe Rataji’s father some manner of compensation, as proof of how much I value her. That… that’s not going to happen. He tried to arm my mortal enemies, and he’s an honorless sleazeball. The only thing he’s going to get from me is more of what he’s already gotten,” Zohruk’s left hand pats the handle of one of his mandela blades as he says this.
”But, this doesn’t mean Rataji holds no value to me. Quite the opposite, in fact,” Zohruk says as he looks over at her and smiles. ”Is there perhaps some way I can show that honor directly to Rataji, and not to Akbar? Surely, something can be done here, Miss Gita…”
Zohruk looks over at Rataji, mentally exhausted at the control he exerted to keep from turning into a screaming lunatic. Is this just like, another day in your life? Oh, and before I forget, Gita was right about one thing: you do have very nice legs… Zohruk smiles, hoping his attempt to lighten the mood doesn’t backfire.
---------------
”After our briefing, we can take care of some of that stuff.” Zohruk looks a little self-conscious. ”The, um, the places I’d know to take you for stuff like that, yeah, you’ll get good stuff, but it won’t be, um… fashionable, I guess?” Zohruk turns to the Tilernos sisters. ”Ladies, where would you get stuff that’s useful, without looking like, well, like a big zerleg khün from Belkzen just grabbed stuff off a rack for you?”
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Kassie begins to relax as the group approach Vigil although she lets her horse drop back until she rides next to Allie as they begin to move through the encampment surrounding the city. "It wasn't this bad last time we were here." she says to Raj, treating the woman to a smile and brightening up when Zohruk suggests they go shopping. "I don't know what supplies we'll be able to find for you in these conditions but I may know a few places that'll have something that'll suit. Most of them know me so we'll make sure they don't try to take advantage. I think blue would suit your colouring. Yes? Oh, and yellow. Why, I think i know the perfect place! Simmon does make the nicest leathers, he made me the loveliest corset once. - The perfect place for new shoes or boots i'm sure. Oh and Cressy! Don't look at my like that Allie, he doesn't only make underclothes. You remember I bought that dress from him. Oh no, wait, maybe you're right, it was supposed to be a night-dress wasn't it. Still, Aemon liked it. And so did Temren. Don't let Allie choose your clothes Rataji. You can see that she knows nothing about fashion!"
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“See how he honors you, Great Mother?” Taj smiles over at Zohruk. The deftness with which he handled Gita pleases her greatly. This is a man with not only honor, but tact and sense. “He wants to make this right, for all of us. See the red headed woman, Eilidh? She knighted me for his sake. They gave us status in their tribe.”
There is a long pause.
Taj sighs with relief. “You’ve made quite the impression on her. Gita’s considering your idea.”
Is this a normal day for me? Somewhat. Everything’s unsettled now. The spirits are restless. But they’re the reason I’ve never had a boyfriend before. You... you don’t scare off easily, do you?” She blushes all over again at his compliment, but doesn’t duck it. Thank you. You have nice legs too. Very... sturdy.
“You’d take me shopping?” Taj grins at Kassie. “I’d love that!”
Then she looks up at the imposing building looming before them, and her eyes widen. “Is that the war college?”
The War College looms in front of you. It is a grey stone building with bronze statues of previous Lord Watchers leading up the sandstone paved path on either side. Hedge work and trimmed grass are maintained even in the midst of the campaign. From behind the building the shouts of drill instructors and the clash of wooden training weapons can be faintly heard. There are numerous outbuildings all marked with bronze inlaid door markers. The barracks, the mess, the library, the gymnasium.
Walking down the main path, the last statue is the current Lord Watcher, Ulthun the 2nd. A young paladin of Iomedae, and commander of all forces of the crusade, including the Knights of Ozem.
Pushing open the great wooden doors to the college proper, you enter a grand commons. Chairs and austere decorations sparsely litter the white marble floor. The only sound is the very dulled sound of teachers talking behind shut doors and the furious scratching of a clerk writing on parchment at the single desk in the lobby. He glances up from behind his gold rimmed spectacles, ”Ah, returning Knights. Up the stairs to the fourth floor, the office of Precentor Saiville.” he gestures at with his quill at the wide stairway behind him.
The group ascends the marble stairs. On the upper levels, the hallways are wide and hardwood floored. Scuffs seem ground out of the woodwork, it is clean but old and worn. Here older artwork is displayed. Massive murals of battles. Glass encased suits of armor with placards like “Battle Armor of Lord Watcher Sigmuend Mornso” Other table displays house weapons and sigils and orcish battle trophies including fetishes and orc weapons.
Reaching the fourth floor and following inconspicuous signs, you locate the offices of the Precentors. Inside is a man in his thirties wearing a brown shirt and leather trousers, light battle gear adorns one of the stuffed chairs to the side of the room. He stands over a wooden table with several maps and missives littered about it.
Glancing up he says, ”Come in.”
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"D-d-don't listen t-to Kassie. Sh-she's got a s-sense of s-style all right, and c-c-class. Low c-c-class." Allie grins at her sister, half expecting an elbow to the ribs but willing to take it for getting the better of her sister...maybe. "You w-want n-nice blue cloaks around here, anyways. It sh-shows your l-loyalty t-to your g-goddess. Well, m-maybe not you, b-but...Look, I'll t-take you to m-my favorite sh-shops, and you c-can choose then."
At the college, Allie nods and steps into the office quickly. "R-r-reporting in. W-we j-just got b-b-ba...just got back. W-what happened?" She takes a look at the map, hoping for a clue.
Taj follows Allie and Kassie in, glancing briefly at the map to see if she can recognize anything. Then she straightens, pulling herself up to her full height of 5'2, and looks over Precenter Saiville. She waits until his gaze rests upon her, then inclines her head.
"Greetings. I am the one called Rataji. Sir Zohruk aided me in an escape from Belkzen, and recruited me to your crusade. I offer myself and my magic to your cause. Dame Eilidh Tilernos gave me a field commission. Is it alright if I stay here for the briefing, Precentor, or would you rather I wait outside your office?"
She's eminently conscious that she's a newcomer on Field Commision. Is there anything else I should be adding, Zoh, or was that good?
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You... you don’t scare off easily, do you?
Zohruk grins at her question. Well, runnin’ isn’t really an option, right? I won’t lie, I’m feeling a little out of my depth here, but with any luck I can get a few of these ghosts of yours won over to me. Or, I can learn to live with bein’ pelted with bread. I think I can, anyway; when Yhrrilka gets pissed, she goes for the knives, so I think I can handle bread.
At Rataji’s return compliment, Zohruk blushes a bit too. He doesn’t say anything about it, but for the next little bit, he tries walking however he imagines a “sturdy-legged man" would walk, probably eliciting a few curious glances from his friends and any onlookers.
The sisters’ reaction to his offer is exactly what he hoped for, which causes Zoh to break out in a big grin. Just, y’know, don’t let Kassie push you to get anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? She sometimes wears stuff that’s a little out there.
---------------
As Zohruk walks the halls of the War College, he sees the occasional trophy case containing orcish weapons and trinkets. He remembers the immense amounts of crap he took from a lot of the folks around here when he started using the mandela as his personal weapon, but it really suited his needs well. Most of the critics were silenced after seeing him use them in action, anyway.
Right before the Precentor’s office is the case that had caused all the trouble. Zohruk remembered how, some months ago, he’d noticed that case contained a few orcish personal effects that clearly had artwork and details that marked them as belonging to a member of the Burning Suns. Zohruk started loudly advocating for their return, aided by Allie, of all people. The whole incident got Zohruk a bit of a reputation as a loudmouth, or an agitator, but he didn’t care. He and Allie managed to get the items removed from the case, and they were currently being held by the priestess at the Chapel of the Luminescent Dawnflower, until such time as they could get out to Burning Sun territory to give them to Chief Mahja.
Zoh figured the best move would be to let the others do the talking, and just reply to any questions the Precentor directed to him personally. He does try to grab an eyeful of the maps, see if they tell him anything.
Zohruk smiles, standing there in quiet admiration as Rataji more than handles introducing herself to the Precentor.
Is there anything else I should be adding, Zoh, or was that good?
No, that was fantastic, Rataji. Just please, don’t tell the Precentor the part where you got the drop on me and had a knife to my throat. It’s bad enough Grimold knows that part…
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Kassie having a person in whom to indulge in her particular use of "fashion" caused Daen to give a not so subtle sigh. He had to admit all of the girls, both rookie and veteran, were fairly attractive. But Kassie loved getting attention with her clothing styles, and Daen was not entirely cold-blooded. The half elf was not satisfied with merely being teased, and that's one of the reasons why he'd never gone there.
The trouble with women in Vigil was that there was a fairly strong belief that bloodlines are important, and not every well to do family wants elven rapists in their family tree. It's not as if Daen himself couldn't turn a head but more often than not he'd cause much more trouble if he indulged. To an ambitious Knight who prided himself on being useful, getting involved negatively in personal politics was an incredible pitfall he tended to simply avoid. To keep himself busy, he had invested in local business, taken extra shifts, and generally attempted to turn any interested parties down gently and quietly. And he remained unsatisfied, he just learned to do his best to accept that.
Daen led the procession up the stairs and toward the office of the Precenter. He'd been in this building a fair amount as a squad leader, but it was still impressive. Not ostentatious like the Brevic Nobility, but refined, tasteful, and historically meaningful. His hand glided on the rail lightly, enjoying the understated splendor, wondering if he'd be able to afford such a decor as a living space someday.
He'd inhaled when Allie spoke up just before he did. It was good that she was taking initiative again, and it seemed her stutter was getting better. She still didn't hesitate on the battlefield, and that's the thing that Daen cared about. He inhaled again when Raj announced herself finding himself again beaten to the punch. For a quick moment, he wondered if this was going to be the new norm, warily eyeing the rest of the group to see if anyone even noticed he was trying to address the Precentor.
"Time is obviously short and we're assembled for orders, sir. Please proceed."
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Entering the city gates, Grimold is appalled at the scene. Desna's tears, this is terrible! Vigil now hardly resembled the city they had left behind. I hope Mama and Milena are alright... The sight of blood running in the street triggers old memories. For a moment he's back in the alley near the Rose Chalice, and Felipe is dying once more on the cobblestones. He diverts his gaze to Allie sitting in her saddle, the present overlaying the past in his mind. The contrast makes him realize just how much things have changed. In just a few years they had gone from strangers trying to kill each other in the streets to a tight-knit unit protecting each other with their own lives. And it was all thanks to Allie. Her one chance act of mercy had changed his life. It was a far better life than he ever could have dreamed for himself before. But there will always be blood. Suddenly, Grimold is returned fully to the present by Kassie talking about her underclothes, and he shakes his head to keep the images at bay.
The War College provides a psychological reprieve from the initial shock of the scene in the streets. The familiar sound of combat training puts Grimold at ease in a way it never has before. The polished floors remind him of the many hours spent on some mindless chore inflicted upon them by Fisk. Admittedly, it was usually deserved. And it was usually Zohruk's fault. He smirks at his friend, but Zohruk seems distracted, trading glances with his new bond-servant/girlfriend/kidnapee. He feels a twinge of something, but before he has time to figure out what it is, they're called into the office. Grimold takes his place alongside the others as they await briefing.
Precentor Saiville looks at Allie and say and then at Taj. "A field conscription most welcome." He gives Taj a reassuring smile.
His looks sours however and he returns to staring at the map. "What happened Knight Tilernos, is that I have failed. Failed in my duty as a scout and a warrior of Lastwall. When Lord Ulthun called the crusade, he did so on my recommendation. All the tribes we were tracking, all seemed in normal orcish chaos. Inter Tribal warring, territory disputes and trade. With our bolstered numbers I thought it, not a simple thing, but a thing finally achievable, to win a crusade against them." his brow furled with worry and shame. "I underestimated their numbers by a factor of at least ten. I see now that many of them must have been marshalled below the Sky Citadel. I had no way of knowing that they had reopened those ancient tunnels. They have been sealed since the quest for sky..." He trailed off and added a piece on the map at Vigil, you notice it to be the sigil of your unit.
"My failure is complete. Ulthun has been captured. I know where he is but not how he was captured or who captured him. I must call on you now. As fresh and green as you may be, I'm sorry that I have to inform you that aside from those at gallowspire, you are perhaps the last Knights of your order left alive. Our initial assault on the Hordeline several weeks ago led to a phyric loss. The wounded still come into the city daily from the front lines. And we can't even get to most of our dead who litter the battlefield for thirty miles between Lastwall and the Hordeline." As he speaks he outlines the battle for you on the map. Marking the entire region to the north of the border of Lastwall all the way up to the Horderline as now behind enemy lines. A castle piece sits on the line to the northwest, the Precentor points to it. "There is the Hordeline fort. The assault to reclaim it was led by Ulthun and it was the last place he was seen alive. I feel the Orcs would have paraded it had they killed him, so we must assume he is being held captive there. It is imperative that he is rescued. His leadership is needed to overcome these losses and get the crusade back on track or at least to secure the border." he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
"I am sorry this must fall on you, but most of those I have left to fight are mercenaries and conscripts, little more than brigands and farmers. Without Ulthun or any knights to train them...Precentor Hailu is at the front with the remaining battalions of actual crusaders and it is all they can do to hold off the probing advances of the Orcs. I need to train these men in basic combat and field survival and send them out... most likely to die."
Zohruk is taken aback by the Precentor's frank assessment of the situation, as well as the grim picture the maps paint. But he tries to put on his usual brave face.
“Well Grimold, you were wondering when I was going back out again, there you go.” The bravado Zohruk wants to impart never quite gets there, and it certainly isn't conveyed in his link with Rataji.
The five of us have this, Taj. You could just sit this one out. Or hey, maybe you could even go to Kyonin, start looking for your mother…
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Daen frowned in thought. He had no idea that the knights would be so pressed. It's possible that the orcs had been planning to lure them in for years, hoping to get the Last Wall forces to spend themselves on a hopeless assault. In order to multiply their forces in such a way, it probably took at least two decades. It just didn't make sense that their intelligence was that far removed from reality. Perhaps there was some other work at play here, and they'd eventually have to discover what it was, but for now the best they could do was buy the time they needed to train as many as they could.
"We haven't failed a mission yet, sir. I've no intention to do so now. I'm going to assume you'll want us to leave immediately, but we will need at least two hours to resupply for this mission. If you can tell us where the Precentor is encamped we'll get briefed with what they've discovered since your last messenger and proceed from there."
He turned toward their new recruit who currently had her focus on Zoh. He shouldn't be surprised at that. He also addressed the rest of the crew as well. "You heard the situation. We leave in two hours. Any delay or hesitation could cost us the war. Get what gear you need, and meet me at the gate at that time. We'll get our rest in the field. " He almost added, "any questions?", but the last time he did that it was disastrous. He shouldn't give these guys an inch if he could help it.
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Just like that, the dream of the hot bath dies for Taj.
Daen’s as human as I am, Gita. These ‘lunatics’ are my people now. Lastwall rescued me in Urgir. Now’s the time for me to return the favor and bring their Lord Ulthen home.
Feeling infinitely tired, she straightens her shoulders and looks at the others. “I need a horse, boots, supplies and a hot meal. Is that possible to do that in two hours here?”
Then she turns and glares at Zoh, hands on hips. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Zohruk Burning Sun. We are bonded, you and I. I’m with you from here on out, no matter what. Do you hear me?
Turning back to the others, she asks, "In addition to boots, is there a tailor or seamstress in Vigil who makes flags? Or would have panels that I could sew myself en route?"
She nods to Saiville. "It appears my new people have lost much. If I can boost their spirits, or raise their morale going in against such harsh odds, I will."
You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Zohruk Burning Sun. We are bonded, you and I. I’m with you from here on out, no matter what. Do you hear me?
Despite the dread that had just settled in his stomach, Zohruk chuckled to himself, shook his head and rolled his eyes. Before he’d even said anything, he’d figured this was going to be her reaction, but still. He’d lost an uncountable number of arguments with Yhrrilka when she laid that exact tone on him, and now, here, with the stakes even higher, he was losing this one the same way.
Pretty, brave, and stubborn enough to leap into the jaws of certain doom. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you two were sisters…
”I can handle the horse situation.” Zohruk turns to Grimold. ”I could use your help getting all this sorted out, unless you’ve got someplace else you need to be…?”
Taj sighs as Zoh compares her to his lost love again. Yhrrilka, will I ever be free of you? You’ve left your marks indelibly upon him. And I stole him like a thief in a night... Are you still waiting for him, back there in that tribe of yours? Will you be devastated at the news of our bond? Or have you moved on like he has?
Outloud, she says to Grimold and Zoh, “Thank you, both! I’d have no idea what to look for in a horse, so I’ll trust your judgment.”
Gita perks up.
We're under a deadline, Gita. We'll take what we can get.
Taj then turns to Daen and Saiville and curtesies. “Thank you for welcoming me to your crusade. I’ll make your deadline and be ready in two hours.”
“We don’t have much time to do this, so I’m entirely in your capable hands.” Taj turns to Allie and Kassie and takes the arms of both girls. "Can you show me where you bought those boots, and maybe some good cold weather clothes for me and Babu?" She indicates the little monkey that had climbed out from inside her jacket to sit on her shoulder.
Then, diplomatic training kicks in. She tries to remember their route in towards the War College, and the shops that lay behind the masses of troops and wounded within the city. Gita, help me. Wasn't there a shop that displayed flags and banners?
Gita makes the sound of a disapproving tongue cluck. The whole route replays in Taj's mind until she sees the store front not far away, banners still defiantly flying.
“Once we get the boots, can we visit the shop that we passed along the route? The one with all the banners in the window, near the fountain with the statues of the Lord Watchers?”
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Precentor Saiville's description hits Grimold like a punch in the gut. It was bad enough that Ulthun had been captured, but... We're the only Knights left? How could it have happened like this? Reeling, he widens his stance to steady himself a little, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out. Faces flashed through his memory. Elyssa...Theodric...Ardis...Vorin...Jalen... Barely a year had gone by since their Knighting. Traveling to Vigil, he thought there might be a chance for a reunion at the Rose Chalice, but now that would never happen.
He stiffens up as Daen speaks for all of them. That's why he was the leader; even upon hearing the news of the deaths of most of their friends, not to mention the rest of their comrades, he was already thinking about the objective and giving orders. Once, Grimold might have been offended that Daen could seem so heartless, but he'd come to learn that that wasn't the case. His people had a saying, "still waters run deep," and he'd never met anybody who embodied that saying as much Daen.
Following Daen's lead, Grimold tries to focus on the task at hand. Once outside, he and the others get to work.
Zohruk turns to Grimold. ”I could use your help getting all this sorted out, unless you’ve got someplace else you need to be…?”
Grimold shakes his head. "My Mama would kill us both if she knew we had come back to Vigil without stopping for dinner, but if she knew about this, she'd never let us leave." He flashes Zoh a smile he doesn't really feel and waves him off. "We should get going; we have a lot to do in two hours."
"My Mama would kill us both if she knew we had come back to Vigil without stopping for dinner, but if she knew about this, she'd never let us leave. We should get going; we have a lot to do in two hours."
Part of Zohruk wanted to yell at his friend for being obstinate. What he’d told Rataji the other day about his own mother must have stirred up some memories inside him. While it was true that he didn’t let himself curse his fates, he found a piece of himself desperately wishing for just a few minutes with Groona. To let her see, It’s okay. I turned out all right.
But if you start going down that road, hell, you could get another fifty years together and it would never be enough time. Who knows, maybe Grimold has the right idea here.
”Okay. When we come back, you can tell her it was my fault we didn’t have any time today. She’ll probably come at me with that one big freaking spoon; I like my chances,” he smiles, and for just a moment it feels like an actual smile.
”They can’t really all be gone, you know? I mean, things get crazy in battles like that; they can’t possibly know they’re all gone. I refuse to believe some s*~$-for-brains Black Sun is really carrying the axe that had Jalen’s name on it. And Vorin’s? And Elyssa’s…?” What started out as an attempt at stirring up some defiance lands with a thud. Zoh decides to quit before he makes things worse to the point of singing his own funeral dirge.
At the stables, Zohruk is able to get his own blue roan outfitted and ready with minimal trouble. Finding an animal for Rataji isn’t as difficult as Zohruk was ready for it to be, and he’s soon procured a pretty sturdy-looking bay for her. The saddle proves a little trickier, and at first Zohruk is convinced Daen will be leaving without him. But he manages to get the supplies together that Rataji asked of him. The focus on departure preparations gives Zohruk the distraction he needs to stop obsessing over dooms that lay ahead. Instead, Zoh finds himself thinking of good times gone by, not just with friends that may be gone, but those still here, and those that still need help he can provide. Look at your friend. Is he losing it, with his mother and Milena in the path of the storm? No. So get it together, Zohruk. As he and Grimold eventually arrive back at the gates to wait for the others, the half-orc has an atypically serene look on his face.
”Hey, Grimold? Thanks.”
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The new boots feel right. Sturdy, pretty, warm. They’re black with white furry tops, and feel so exotic. Taj tosses her wrecked party shoes in a waste bin, and revels in the feeling of having warm and supported feet. She looks at the two northern girls, both short, freckled and very young. “Thank you so much for helping me find these, and for welcoming me. I’m so very sorry for the news of your losses.” She offers her hands to both girls. “I recently lost my people. There’s no going back for me. But my loss pales in insignificance to what you might be facing now.” She bites her lip and looks at Allie. “You mentioned that you didn’t know about what secrets I was keeping. I don’t want to keep secrets from you. I’m following Zoh... not just because he saved me. Not just because... I love him.”
Her hands shake for a moment and then she looks once again into Allie’s piercing blue eyes. “When we were in Urgir, Zohruk tried to warn me against my father. I didn’t believe him.” She takes a deep breath. “So my grandmother’s spirit stepped in. She... bonded our minds together psychically, so I could know for myself whether Zoh was speaking the truth or not. We’re still bonded, Allie. I can hear Zoh in my head, and he can hear me. That was the information I was holding back, but I think you and the others should know.”
_________
With ten minutes to spare, Taj shows up with the other girls at the gate. As the newest and least proven member of the party, she can’t afford to be late. She sees Zoh and Grimold leading the fully saddled bay horse, deep red with dark points.
Gita says, almost reluctantly.
The horse whinnies as she approaches, but Taj is reluctant to put her hands anywhere near the horse’s mouth. They look good enough to me, Great Mother. Very strong and sharp.
Aloud, she says to Grimold and Zoh, “Oh, she’s beautiful! What’s her name?”
As Zoh helps her up into the saddle, Taj can already feel her tender legs and backside protesting. Everything feels sore from this morning’s ride, but she cannot let herself show it. Instead, she turns to Daen and rides awkwardly beside him as they go out of town. “Sir Daen? There’s a question you should have asked me a while ago. Perhaps you did not ask it at first because you didn’t want to be rude to Zoh’s friend, or perhaps you didn’t ask because you trust Zoh’s judgment. Still, from what Procenter Saiville said, the odds are very much against us. To prevail, we’re going to need the best tactics possible. I need to know what everyone of you is capable of, and you will need to know the same of me. Why didn’t you ask what sort of caster I am?”
Then Taj sighs. “Perhaps you’d planned to catch me at dinner in a relaxed mood, and ask then. That’s what I would have done.” Taj assesses the group’s leader with a raised eyebrow. “I know that you use a spellbook, and that your sword has seen use. Are you one of those who combines arcane magic with the blade?” She awaits his answer and then moves on. “I am what my people call a ‘Yisik,’ a spirit talker. I can heal, and do other more offensive spells as well. My powers derive partially from the ancestors who came before me. Depending on what spirit serves as my guide that day, my powers can change a little. Sometimes, I might be able to produce flames. At other times, a spear of my ancestors that fights on its own. No matter which spirit I have, I’m always a first rate illusionist. My pattern magic can knock out most foes, and I’m capable of very detailed illusions of other kinds. I can make light that will blind and damage evil enemies, and I can shape light into other things as well. I can make sturdy bridges out of moonlight, even in the daytime, that will span 50 feet and can be attached to anything, or even hung between trees. The bridges last a full day, or until I personally cross over them.”
“I will happily tell you about my spirits, and the different gifts each offers. Many of them, though annoying and opinionated, are quite useful.” She meets Daen’s gaze. “I think that I can help you and the others, but you need to tell me how you fight, and what you do, so that I can mesh with your forces. Will you do that for me, Sir Daen?”
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”They can’t really all be gone, you know? I mean, things get crazy in battles like that; they can’t possibly know they’re all gone. I refuse to believe some s$+@-for-brains Black Sun is really carrying the axe that had Jalen’s name on it. And Vorin’s? And Elyssa’s…?” What started out as an attempt at stirring up some defiance lands with a thud. Zoh decides to quit before he makes things worse to the point of singing his own funeral dirge.
Grimold barks a short laugh at this. "Not a chance! Elyssa would have blown them all to the Boneyard before she'd let that happen. There's probably a crater out there somewhere with enough dead orcs to earn them all honorary dwarf beards." It hurt to think of their friends as dead, but the image of Jalen and Vorin in the Boneyard fighting over whose new beard was better brought an honest smile to Grimold's face.
While Zohruk prepares his horse, Grimold brushes and saddles Sandja, his snowflake-patterned hobby. Aside with the others in his cohort, she might be his only friend left alive from the Bonewatch. She had been a Knighting gift from Constable Burrich for completing the horsemanship class. Burrich's class had been Grimold's favorite during his training, a welcome relief from the dull lectures and brutal combat practice. There had been some impressive animals available for the choosing - the usual coursers and rounceys in a range of coat colors, even a destrier or two. But from the moment Grimold laid eyes on her, his mind had been made up. Burrich wasn't pleased; she was barely broken in and was still being trained. But she was young and fast and wild, and her black coat had constellations of white spots like stars in the sky. Desna smiled on Grimold that day, and Burrich finally let him take her, and so in thanks he named her Sandja after a storied Desnan priestess.
Thinking of old friends hurts, so Grimold turns his mind to new friends. It had certainly been a surprise when Zohruk showed up, doubly so with a Mwangi girl in tow. "So Zohruk, you want to tell me the story about how you got beat up by a girl you were trying to rescue now, or would you rather wait until I call you out in front of everyone at the campfire?"
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"Y-your g-grandmother's s-s-spirit d-did what?" Eilidh raises an eyebrow at Taj's confession. She thinks for a moment, trying her best not to judge the other woman for her harboring of spirits and instead to focus on what she's told her. After a bit, she strokes her chin once. "Y-you know, I b-b-bet there's s-someone who c-c-can break th-that connection w-with the B-Bonewatch's staff. R-r-right n-now, you m-might l-like l-listening to the M-Monster's thoughts, b-but it c-c-can be a v-violating th-thing too..." She drifts into silence again, blushing, and then changes the subject to something easier to deal with. "If th-the Precentor is r-right, I l-lost s-s-someone special out th-there. If he's right and Ardis is l-lucky, he's j-just d-d-dead. If he's w-w-wrong...I'd r-r-rather not th-think about...rather not think about it. I d-d-do like your sh-shoes."
Saddling up on Thalachos' Dove, Eilidh makes sure her arrows are in place and then leans back to tighten up her armor's straps before pulling the light leather helmet over her head. She leans over to whisper to the gray horse. She raises her eyebrow at the newcomer she inducted into their ranks. "S-Sato said I w-was the th-third best archer she'd t-t-trained. Other th-than that, I h-have a f-f-few of the Dawnflower's blessings to b-b-bestow."
"Where to f-f-first, D-D-Daen?"
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Even in Zohruk’s darkened mood, Grimold’s joke about beards and blast craters still manages to elicit a chuckle. ”Jalen will probably be grumbling about the ‘breach of decorum’ a beard like that would represent.” Mother, if that be their fate, may your fire light their way to the Boneyard, and may they find peace. Zohruk briefly brings his medallion to his lips, kisses it, and puts it back under his shirt.
Just, you know, watch the open flames around Elyssa…
"So Zohruk, you want to tell me the story about how you got beat up by a girl you were trying to rescue now, or would you rather wait until I call you out in front of everyone at the campfire?"
Zohruk slumps in his saddle, and grimaces as if he just found a bug in his soup the hard way. “We’re not gonna just gloss over that, huh? Some friend you are…!” Sighing as he runs a hand through his hair, Zohruk continues.
“So I get there, and with orders like that, I’m pretty sure that means, ‘Kill the guy.’ I start scoping out the Empty Hand’s ‘trade embassy’ - they’ve got this little foreign quarter set up for outlanders, that allegedly makes them feel at home, sure, whatever - and identify Ambassador Akbar. I did notice the pretty girl he’s got along as his aide, and quickly surmise that she’s his daughter. Didn’t give her a ton of thought past that at the time. Wow, if I knew then…”
“The orcs have this little reception for Akbar and his crew, and everyone acts all very impressed with one another, and then, there’s a little one-on-one session after that, just Akbar and Commander Mogra.” Zoh is getting a little more animated now, and talking with his hands the way he sometimes does. “I kind of lucked out, and found a great little hidey-hole that let me overhear their conversation. The two of them are hammering out terms, and then Mogra lets the other shoe drop: he wants Rataji as part of the deal. Like, this isn’t happening without her staying in Urgir. Her dad barely put up even a token protest before agreeing to this. The jerk.” Zohruk spits on the ground in contempt for the man.
“Once I heard that, I knew my plans had to change. I wasn’t gonna leave the girl there, y’know? That just wasn’t happening. Plus, if Mogra was so hot for her to be part of the deal, that’d help scotch the whole thing.”
“So I snuck my way over to her guest quarters, and did the whole dramatic-appearance-in-her-window routine. Based on what happened that night, I’m prepared to say that approach never works. I’d barely gotten out, ‘I’m a friend, don’t panic,’ when she lets loose on me with a color spray spell. When I come to, she’s over me with a knife to my throat, which is kinda hot, but not why I’m there.” Zoh realizes he may have overshared a bit. “That’s kind of an orcish thing, you can go ahead and pretend I didn’t say that… So I’m trying to convince her that I’m on her side, and for whatever reason, she’s not willing to believe the armed stranger who suddenly appeared in her window. Can you believe it? So suddenly, she gets this faraway look in her eyes, and the hand that’s not holding the knife just reaches out, just touches my cheek, the smallest little thing…”
One of the spirits inside her head decided to force the issue, did a ‘shamanic bonding’, or something.” Zohruk shrugs, once again resigning himself to the fact that there are things in this world just way the hell beyond his comprehension. “Made Rataji see my memories of that whole exchange between her father and Mogra. Once that happened, she was in tune with the plan.”
“‘Course, the catch is, now we’re both in each other’s heads. You remember that time Fisk had the two of us manacled together on the obstacle course?” Zoh laughs to himself. “You and I had it easy in comparison. I think Rataji did okay with it, prob’ly cause she’s used to having half her family rolling around her head at once, but, umm, it kind of threw me for a loop. My perceptions of stuff were all way out of whack. Mostly of her, but of lots of other random stuff, too. It really upped the difficulty on the escape, I’ll tell you what.”
“So for most of the flight out of Belkzen, I’ve got a few shingles loose on my roof. Well, more so than normal. The funny thing of it is, you know when I finally started to snap out of it? When she asks me if she’ll have to apologize to any girlfriends when we get home. The shock, the desperate attempt to adjust to it, this spell kind of drove Yhrrilka out of my head. For the first few days after the bonding, until Taj brought it up, I didn’t even think of Ril. Even now, man, I don’t… I don’t feel the way I once did for her.” Zohruk clearly looks conflicted about this part. “Those things, I remember them, that they were a part of my life, but I don’t feel them the way I used to. It’s like it was another lifetime, or something that happened to someone else. That’s why I was joking about not wanting to go back to the Burning Suns. There is literally no reaction Yhrrilka might have to this that would surprise me.”
“So, yeah, this has, hands down, been the craziest two weeks of my life. Like, nothing else even comes close.”
----------
“Oh, she’s beautiful! What’s her name?”
Zoh cracks a broad smile, pleased with himself over this. “Well, new owner, maybe she’s earned a new name. What’s the Mwangi word for ‘treasure’?” Is Miss Gita still there? Is she getting this?
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As Daen watched his people file out and prepare, the half elf himself excused himself with grace from the Precentor's office, found an indoor privy and unloaded the contents of his stomach. Elyssa and Jalen dead did not weigh well on his emotions. But the certainty of that was still quite uncertain, and so he was able to maintain composure in mixed company.
Heading down toward the gate, he found a roadside stand selling grilled partridge and partook of it's savory pleasures to settle his roiling innards. Grabbing a loaf of bread with a few garlic cloves baked in as well, he made his way back to his line and waited at the gate continuing to take bites of the moist doughy and fragrant delicacy. He loved this town, and everything about it. He would do his damnedest to see it safe and continuing.
On Allie's question, he spoke a bit concerning his ideas. "The plan is to make it a fair ways before nightfall. I'm not sure exactly how long it will take us to arrive at the forward camp, but I'm hoping to be able to attempt our assault during daylight hours. Most Orcs have as much trouble seeing us in the day as we do them at night, so it is the best time to make it. We'll need as much information to make our plans as possible, so any we can get from the forward camp should go into making those decisions. The hope is that we can have whatever forces distract the main orc defenses with an assault, or at least a show of force in the front, and we find a way in the back to rescue the general. It's simple, but it might work if we're able to move quickly."
When Taj rode up along side of him, Daen nodded. "I was waiting for the evening to question you, but I already figured you to be a spellcaster with innate powers. Spirit council you say? I'd like to speak to you, and possibly to them at length at some point in the future, but we are pressed for time. Perhaps you could take watch with me this evening and we can go over the extent of your powers to date. That bridge sounds terribly useful, as we may be able to use it to move quickly across defensive barriers like walls and moats. I will be sure to add it to my list of assets."
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Grimold lets out a low whistle as Zoh finishes his story. "You did not lie. That sounds a lot like a Robert the Black story." Grimold pauses, nodding his head in time with his horse's steps. "Except for the part where you got color sprayed like a suka!" Grimold and throws his head back and laughs to sky for a good long while. As he regains control of himself, he looks over at Zohruk and cracks up all over again. "Purple never...never was your color," he squeaks out between giggles.
Zohruk joins in his friend’s laughter, after all, the whole thing had been pretty ridiculous, and when they’ve got you, they’ve got you.
After the laughter subsides, Zohruk pats his horse’s neck affectionately. “Mandakh, you’re the only one left that doesn’t give me any guff. I’ve gotta make sure no druid ever gets the bright idea of awakening you; the sooner you talk, the sooner you’ll talk back…”
“On the bright side, I’m pretty sure my shenanigans killed that deal, deader ‘n Aroden. The Empty Hand, they’ll see Akbar as a guy who can’t deliver what he promises. I mean, his daughter was in the building, and she slipped through their fingers. With a little help, of course,” Zoh smirks, thinking of the brief fight he’d had with the Ambassador. Maybe someday I’ll get to finish what I started there, but at least I left him with a nice scar to remember me by. “So there’s no way in hell they’ll think Akbar can deliver muskets all the way from Garund after this. I think Taj and I left everyone else feeling… empty-handed.”
That was terrible, and I don’t care.
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Then Taj shakes her head at Allie’s offer. “I thought about trying to break the bond, to free Zoh from this thing that he never wanted nor asked for. But my Uncle says that breaking the bond is just as likely to break us. This bond... it’s something that usually only happens by choice and after long consideration. It’s supposed to be for soulmates. That it worked with Zohruk and me... I don’t know if it worked because we were compatible, or if it changed who both of us were to make us so. All I know is that I cannot imagine going through life with a Zohruk-sized hole torn out of my heart. To break the bond... it would tear something out of each of us, Allie.”
“Well, new owner, maybe she’s earned a new name. What’s the Mwangi word for ‘treasure’?” Is Miss Gita still there? Is she getting this?
“The polyglot word is Igugu.” Taj smiles.
Yeah, I think she’s getting this. She says one down... Taj leaves off the wedding detail, not wanting to push Zohruk where he’s not ready to go.
"Spirit council you say? I'd like to speak to you, and possibly to them at length at some point in the future, but we are pressed for time. Perhaps you could take watch with me this evening and we can go over the extent of your powers to date.”
“I’d like that.” Taj smiles. After having met some northerners who automatically assumed that her spirit council meant dabbling in the dark arts, Sir Daen’s calm and logical demeanor comes as a relief. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s interviewed them. When I was a child in Greengold, all sorts of elven sages visited with me and the council. It was a great novelty to them, and it allowed the Mwangi embassy entree into all sorts of parties and events.”
Taj sighs. “I should warn you that they’re all rather opinionated, though.”
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“She says one down…”
Zohruk rolls his eyes in exasperation, and once again finds himself shouting out into the open air, at no place in particular.
“Oh, for… Hey, gimme a break, okay, Miss Gita? Did Iomedae perform all Eleven Acts in one afternoon? No. She did not. I...” Zohruk trails off as if having just realized something, and turns to Grimold. “You see that? I remembered something from Religion class! Hah!” Zohruk forgets to finish his argument with Miss Gita, he’s just too happy with himself.
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You make good time on the road and pass many wagons returning full of and often driven by the gravely injured. Bandages adorn the men and those who have strength send up the occasional cry of ”Ozem!” or ”Lastwall!” at the sight of D squad.
Four hours into your trek, you feel about halfway there but it is twilight and if you press on any further it will be in the dark.
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“Oh, for… Hey, gimme a break, okay, Miss Gita? Did Iomedae perform all Eleven Acts in one afternoon? No. She did not. I...” Zohruk trails off as if having just realized something, and turns to Grimold. “You see that? I remembered something from Religion class! Hah!”
Gita’s voice is high-pitched and querulous.
Yes, great mother, he shines brightly indeed. Taj gasps with laughter, and then grins at Zoh. “Ah, but allowances may be made for the divine. Mere mortals must deliver the bovines, or be forever deemed unworthy.”
Give Gita time too. She might need eleven miraculous acts to adjust to your lack of cattle. I’m sure you’ll moo-ve her eventually.
______
The sight of the injured men taking time to cheer for them tears at Taj’s heart. She wishes that she’d had time to sew the panels on to her banner, and hold it high to ease the sorrow in their hearts. Wishing to be discreet, she asks Daen, “স্যার ডেন, আমি সাহায্যের রেন্ডার করতে পারে? অথবা আপনি আমার মন্ত্র রিজার্ভ করতে চাও আমাদের নিজস্ব মিশন জন্য?”
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“Ah, but allowances may be made for the divine. Mere mortals must deliver the bovines, or be forever deemed unworthy.”
Give Gita time too. She might need eleven miraculous acts to adjust to your lack of cattle. I’m sure you’ll moo-ve her eventually.
Zohruk spends a few long moments sitting in his saddle, looking lost in thought, before he suddenly comes to and says, “Well, we can’t heifer feeling that way, can we? One way or another, I’ll steer Gita to a new way of thinking about me.”
Time, I can give. Hell, cattle, I'd give you cattle, but, umm, I don't think we're really up for a cattle drive just now.
Zohruk plays it a little cool with the injured soldiers, figuring his looks might be a bit of an unsettling reminder to some of the wounded. But still, his heart goes out as he sees what these men have given in defense of their homes. What are you prepared to do?
As night falls, he eventually calls to Daen, "See anyplace that's looking good for a campsite?"
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Daen stopped his horse had gave the men a firm salute. Those willing to pay the price to keep orcs from ravaging their land and families deserved his respect. When Taj mentoned what she could do, he quietly gave his assent. "Do not use more than half. It's possible we'll have to defend ourselves in the night as we approach the front. Keep it quiet though, we don't want to start an uproar."
Later, as the sun sets on the weary day, Daen calls the company to a halt. "Here's as good a spot as any. We're still fairly in the open. We will have to keep the fire small, We'll stop for ten hours. Everyone get eight hours of rest, everyone take your regular shift. Taj will double up with me so I can learn what she can do. We should reach our destination sometime before noon, and we'll have to make plans from there."
Turning to his fellow half elf, he nearly smirked. "Better get what sleep you can, we're up in four hours."
"So, how is it that they speak? Is it just to you, can they speak through your mouth, can they speak inaudibly to me, or must you do that mind link thing? I'd rather not the fourth, and I imagine it's the second only since that's how you and Zoh speak of them. I will ask that you tell me what they tell you verbatim. You don't have to worry about me saying anything sensitive to anyone else, I can be quite discreet. Which one will I be speaking with first?"
At near midnight, a figure approaches the fire and begins to weep. It is a emaciated human man in his mid forties. His skin appears pale and sickly and his hair is wispy and falling out. He is barely clothed, dirty rags hang about his skin.
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Zohruk wakes up grudgingly, forcing himself awake when Daen signals him for watch duty. “Mmmbgbggmg… ugh I hate this.” He brightens some at seeing Rataji, rising and walking to her, wordlessly.
Did everything go okay? None of your spirits got into it with Daen, I hope? I’ll cover the next couple of hours; get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning. He brushes a strand of dark hair back over the point of her ear, smiles, and preps himself for watch.
“Anything to report, boss…?”
As soon as he perceives the approaching figure, Zohruk confronts him, mandela blade in one hand, crossbow in the other. “That’s far enough. Please stop, sir. Who are you, and how do you come to be out here alone, in such poor shape?”
The man stops at the shout from Zohruk, the light from the fire barely reaching him, some ten paces from the camp.
The shout from the sentry, stirs Daen and Taj instantly since they had only just laid down. The others take less than thirty seconds to be on their feet, well trained knights responding to a threat.
He ceases to weep immediately and stands straight with an eerie calmness, in a voice not his own, strong and dark, like the roll of a wave and coldness of a forest night in winter.
”Lo and behold!” he exclaims, ”They preach servility, their conformed way of breathing.”
”They speak in the same useless tongues everyday. Betwixt your fear I smelt a carcass bathed of sin. The carrion swarm will love us for this one. Our only curse is the disgusting rotting urge, to feed our ears with this devil’s piss. Loyal and servile we kneel before his fallen throne. Let us try recite once, before we rot and burn.” he takes a raspy breath and speaks forth loudly and powerfully.
”Master almighty, my light, separate my sinful spine.” He points at you, "Bow your heads, to the sound of creation. To the giver and taker of life. Swallow the sand and let it drown your insides. This must be cleansing. Cleansing for the constant current of whispers. In the eyes of every second there is the warm breath of his lowness. Temptation is our common blood as it runs free through the brain of every human skull.”
The bones in his fingers and ribs ribble and crack with horrible snapping sounds, like someone breaking a dry stick underwater.
”Our fragile spines are so very meek. We fracture to the simple calls of six fingers, eyes and feet. Now I see what we've come to spectate today: To pit the flesh on our back against you, your nerves will never hold his will.”
Up until now he hasn’t really been speaking directly to any of you, now he stares directly into Daen’s eyes.
”They won't give in. They won't give in until you’ve surrendered. They won't give in. The signals deep beneath my feet preach past the beat and rest beneath. The martyrs call but we bind the lock and heave. And now you’ve fallen from such monumental height unto the grounds of summoning fear.” the wretch returns to his general diatribe no longer focused solely on the leader. ”So perfectly measured, calculated every deed. The books of his black hands march to the path of transcribed disease.”
He shouts to the sky now his eyes lifeless and broken,
His voice returns to normal levels, ”When there is nothing left of earth, recite the final words. When there is nothing left of earth, recite the final words. Recite the final words. When there is nothing left of earth, recite the final words.” his voice fades to a whisper you strain to hear. Suddenly he shrieks.
"Mother abysmal can you mask my life's obscenities? The sky has spoken its contempt up into my ears.”
”Cry every unbirthed captive wolf. The scale is now my master. Respond only to his voice. Respond only to his voice. They won't give in until we've surrendered.”
Black clouds spew forth from his mouth settling over the campsite. His body is reduced to an ashen husk as his life force is expended to use the magic.
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“Do not use more than half. It's possible we'll have to defend ourselves in the night as we approach the front. Keep it quiet though, we don't want to start an uproar.”
Taj nods, and reaches out to touch or grasp hands with the wounded soldiers, offering healing to the most grievously wounded. “Thank you for your service. It is brave men and women like you that give us the will to battle on.”
________
Taj pulls the pieces of her banner out of her bag, sewing the pieces together with slow and careful stitches. She bites her lip as she sews. The most sewing she’s done before was minor mending and alterations on diplomatic missions to make her clothes fit more with local fashions. Since purchasing her sleeves, she hasn’t had to sew at all. But this flag... to a demoralized people what could be a more potent symbol than an immigrant willing to fly it high? She wants no mistakes.
“So, how is it that they speak? Is it just to you, can they speak through your mouth, can they speak inaudibly to me, or must you do that mind link thing? I'd rather not the fourth, and I imagine it's the second only since that's how you and Zoh speak of them. I will ask that you tell me what they tell you verbatim. You don't have to worry about me saying anything sensitive to anyone else, I can be quite discreet. Which one will I be speaking with first?"
Taj visibly hesitates. She hates giving up her body, and hasn’t done so since she was a child in Greengold. Most of the time she keeps the spirits that she hasn’t bonded with in the deep background, each firmly walled away in the back of her head.
Gita laughs.
What about Grandmother Juju?
Gita snorts.
Taj meets Daen’s piercing and intelligent blue eyes. “Normally they speak just to me, and I repeat some of what they say to Zohruk. Not all of it... Both Shivaji and Gita have strong opinions of him, and... some of what they have to say is pretty embarrassing.” Taj blushes, feeling the heat all the way to the tips of her ears. “But I can step aside for a few minutes and let them talk to you directly. Gita... she’s the oldest and since she’s bonded to me right now, she’ll start off.”
Taj closes her eyes, and then reopens them, her body language subtly shifting. Hunched over, peering at Daen with narrowed eyes, she sits next to Daen. “Bah! The girl thinks she can sew.” Gita frowns and starts pulling out stitches on the banner. “I’ll have to redo this whole section.” Pulling out needle and thread, she expertly sews in tiny and even stitches. “So, elf, you’re the one they put in charge? You look awfully young to lead men. What are your qualifications? I’m Gita the Fat. I’ve ridden to war in seven lifetimes. Do you have it in you to lead? Can you and the silly Biza she’s fallen in love with keep her safe?”
________
Taj stands frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of the man's bizarre and nonsensical stream of words.
Taj nods, eyes narrowing as she studies the raving man.
Taj sees the black mark on the throat, but as the black clouds spew forth she fails to hold her breath. She breathes in the miasma and coughs as the foul stuff fills her lungs. What sort of necromantic horror is this?
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Zohruk listens to the man’s insane rantings, growing more concerned as it goes on. Whatever’s going on here, I think it goes a hell of a lot deeper than the Empty Hand… As the blackness explodes out, he sees Rataji breathe in a faceful of it and start choking. The first stirring of real panic wells up inside Zohruk, worse than anything he felt on the way out of Urgir.
“RATAJI!”
Oh, you dumbass, you were supposed to keep her safe…!
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As Gita began speaking, Daen saw her offensive nature from the start was intended to get him to backpedal and capitulate. She was a warrior, or so she said, so perhaps she wanted to spar. "I am Daen of no other name. I earned my place from the respect of my peers and valuation of my superiors. I have led my squad through seven successful missions against foes superior in physical strength, age, and number. I do not need someone unable or unwilling to see that I do not have any more elven blood than her own kin to appraise me according to my appearance."
He tented his fingers and narrowed his blue eyes. "Cheerful greetings aside, if you treat me with a modicum of respect, I will listen to what wisdom you've earned from your lifetimes of war. If you refuse, you're more of a danger to Rataji than I am. As I'm sure that you are aware, discipline in the ranks saves more lives than it loses."
"As for my friend, he infiltrated the enemy stronghold alone and saved the girl from a fate worse than death. His optimism helps morale and his skills are sharp. He earned his place in a hostile environment and earned several commendations for excellent service. " He spoke with absolute certainty, according to the stories spoken softly by the knights gone before him. "I'd say you have much less to worry about with him than you do with your own with her rash bonding and volunteering to help countries who are currently losing their wars."
The half elf hops to his feet and walks out toward the intruder as he speaks, noting the black hand manipulating the man's speech, he postulated that the man they were talking to was already dead. Letting him go on with sword in hand, listening and cataloging every word, he was too slow to stop the spell that suddenly erupted. "Look out!" He spoke, covering his mouth with his sleeve.
As the mist settled, his mind whirled on the various spells it may have been, but coming up short. "Look out for more enemies, just in case. It seems the leader of the orcs has gotten rather full of himself. We have a lot more information about what is going on. How's our status?"
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"I am Daen of no other name. I earned my place from the respect of my peers and valuation of my superiors. I have led my squad through seven successful missions against foes superior in physical strength, age, and number. I do not need someone unable or unwilling to see that I do not have any more elven blood than her own kin to appraise me according to my appearance."
He tented his fingers and narrowed his blue eyes. "Cheerful greetings aside, if you treat me with a modicum of respect, I will listen to what wisdom you've earned from your lifetimes of war. If you refuse, you're more of a danger to Rataji than I am. As I'm sure that you are aware, discipline in the ranks saves more lives than it loses."
"As for my friend, he infiltrated the enemy stronghold alone and saved the girl from a fate worse than death. His optimism helps morale and his skills are sharp. He earned his place in a hostile environment and earned several commendations for excellent service." He spoke with absolute certainty, according to the stories spoken softly by the knights gone before him. "I'd say you have much less to worry about with him than you do with your own with her rash bonding and volunteering to help countries who are currently losing their wars."
Gita continues sewing, letting the boy rant. When he is finished, she spends a moment silently inspecting the seam that she’s sewn. It’s good, tight work. Then she looks at him assessingly. “Aiiie, boy. Are you quite done? You let me get under your skin a little, but it’s clear that you have a bit of the self-confidence and brashness that’s needed to lead men. And you’re not afraid of me, that’s good.”
As she ties off the seam on one side, the spool floats up to her in midair. She estimates a new length of thread as it unwinds in the air, and then snips it off. She’s quite pleased as she threads the needle on the first try. It’s so refreshing to see the world through young, excellent eyes again. “My calling you ‘elf’ was not an insult, boy, even if it only pointed to half your heritage. I knew elves in the Mwangi... They were a fine, fierce and clever people.” Then she scowls. “Akbar had the worst taste in women. If he wanted to mate with an elf, why not find one closer to home? Why did he have to go after that snooty aristocrat? She left Rataji behind. The girl’s never gotten over the pain of that, even with the full support of our bloodline backing her.”
Gita continues her stitching, putting the panel on. “So you think me disrespectful? Bah. I’m merely stating my mind. It’s an old woman’s prerogative. I’ll never lie to you. Wouldn’t you have questions if your child wound up amongst a bunch of strangers?” She raises a querying eyebrow. “I heard your words accepting Rataji as a little sister, and your offer to protect her. Good. As an older brother, make sure she gets her bride price! The biza may be a fierce warrior and he does seem sincere, but tell him I’ll hold him to those thirteen cows he owes us. I’ll not let Rataji start as a bride in a new land with no status.”
Gita holds up the banner, the Lastwall flag now sewn firmly upon it. “You gave her only two hours to get supplies, and what does she purchase? This.” Gita shakes her head. “Rash? Perhaps. But everything she does, she does with her whole heart. Let’s see if we can help you win your unwinnable war, boy.”
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Gita- Prideful, Obnoxious,
"The only thing an elf has every done for me is raping my mother causing my family disown me. Please understand if I'm not flattered by the affiliation." He continues to make notes. "I also never called yourself disrespectful, you did that yourself.
Unobservant, Assuming, out of touch.
"Tradition of a bride price would normally cause us to give the cattle to her father, or nearest kin. I would only consent to giving anything to her father if he crawled back to her on his hands and knees, weeping and apologizing for trying to sell her to an orcish warlord. Especially one with such a reputation for such brutal acts as that one had. Currently she has no other kin, save yourselves, but you have no need for cattle nor do you have need for money yourselves, so the only one in her family who'd receive it is Taj herself, which is hardly traditional in itself."
The half elf cracked his knuckles and continued, hardly complete in his destruction of her idea. As far as the thirteen cows, I wouldn't dream of doing something so frivolous. Status in our country has nothing to do with how many cattle one owns, it has to do with title and station. Currently, Zohruk has a title equal to or greater than all but about forty five people in all of Lastwall if reports are to be believed. If being in the uppermost tenth of a percent and being a household name isn't good enough for you, I'm sure dropping over six hundred gold on a wedding ring would do the trick, especially since he already bought her a fine horse. Not only would the ring be more sightly, but it's far more ostentatious in our society. Should we come out victorious, I still can't foresee when even the practical aspect of owning cattle will outweigh several hundred years of tradition. Of tradition I'm sure you'll understand, people cling to it for no practical reason, and it makes them predictable."
Sighing, he pulled out his glasses and hung them low on his nose before continuing, dipping his quill in the ink more out of habit than of utility. "To be honest there are some who might say that besides her obvious attractiveness and minor magical talents, Taj is not really bringing any advantage to a popular young man like Zoh who would have done much better to marry into a local knight's family, or possibly a favored daughter of his own tribe. Her father is a known supplier of our enemy as well. So, as long as my new little sister can distinguish herself in battle, she'll be worthy to marry one of the knights of Lastwall. If she doesn't, she'll likely ruin his career if they both aren't dead. Then instead of castles, servants and large estates, they might just have enough to wander the hills with thirteen cows."
"But not me." He said, finally leaving the quill in it's well. "That flag is some of my strongest proof she's worthy. The guts it takes to carry a flag into battle is immense, and especially true of a recent conscript. This girl is going to either turn the tide of battle along side D squad or inspire a generation of bards to sing of our valiant sacrifice. It may take some time for her to grow into her role, but she's a welcome member of our team. It was Zohruk who inspired her to take that step, so it's fine that they are together. They are both more capable than you're letting on, and you know it. Although if your still this interested in being grumpy about it, I won't expect you to tell me I'm right later."
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“As far as the thirteen cows, I wouldn't dream of doing something so frivolous. Status in our country has nothing to do with how many cattle one owns, it has to do with title and station. Currently, Zohruk has a title equal to or greater than all but about forty five people in all of Lastwall if reports are to be believed. If being in the uppermost tenth of a percent and being a household name isn't good enough for you, I'm sure dropping over six hundred gold on a wedding ring would do the trick, especially since he already bought her a fine horse. Not only would the ring be more sightly, but it's far more ostentatious in our society.”
Gita stares at him in shock. “One ring, equal to thirteen ?”
Gita shakes her head and mutters to herself in her own tongue. “Yeka izwe obungavamile ... Can amasiko abo abe kuhluke kakhulu kulokho Ngiyazi?*” Then she looks at Sir Daen with narrowed eyes for a few minutes, and nods. “What you say of the biza’s rank pleases me. I grant you that you know your country’s customs and exchange rates better than I. If he can bring her honor in this fashion, I’ll approve the match.”
“To be honest there are some who might say that besides her obvious attractiveness and minor magical talents, Taj is not really bringing any advantage to a popular young man like Zoh...”
If ever a young man deserved to be smacked with bread... A roll floats up out of Taj’s pack, only to return again. No. This arrogant young man is Taj’s leader. He’ll learn her value eventually.
“Minor magic?!? Minor?” Gita raises an eyebrow. “Hmmph. You’ve never seen a Yisik in battle before, have you?”
"But not me." He said, finally leaving the quill in its well. "That flag is some of my strongest proof she's worthy. The guts it takes to carry a flag into battle is immense, and especially true of a recent conscript. This girl is going to either turn the tide of battle along side D squad or inspire a generation of bards to sing of our valiant sacrifice. It may take some time for her to grow into her role, but she's a welcome member of our team. It was Zohruk who inspired her to take that step, so it's fine that they are together. They are both more capable than you're letting on, and you know it. Although if you’re still this interested in being grumpy about it, I won't expect you to tell me I'm right later.”
This last statement mollifies the old woman, despite the insult the boy tossed in at the end. She nods, folding the banner up carefully. “I have given everything I am to my bloodline. My Rataji is capable, but she was raised to be an instrument of peace, not war. Yes, I worry over her. If you become a parent,” she gives Daen a dubious look, “you will do the same.”
I do not want to see the bride price that young scowling man will have to pay to induce some poor girl to be his wife...
“So. This is an interview? For some strange reason, I expected that would mean questions. Do you actually have any questions for me, young man, or should I usher in Zemwaar to meet you?”
_____
Gita closes her eyes.
When the eyes reopen, they are hooded and wary. Again, the body language shifts, subtly. Standing straight and with a military carriage, the spirit looks Daen up and down. “When do we slay the forces of Grask Uldeth? This sounds like a worthy fight.”
Ignorant of magic, doting grandmother. Possible reference for parenting.
"I don't need to see a Yisik in battle to know the principles of magic. There are ten levels, or circles of magic. Discounting the parlor tricks most any magical practitioner can do, there are nine circles left that can be grouped into threes. Both your Rataji and I can cast from the first three, and I only consider magic to be a passionate hobby. She'll surpass me, likely quite soon, but for now what she's capable is considered minor."
"I will say this, you did raise her well, despite your fears. From what she says of her father, I imagine you were all fairly instrumental in the job to varying degrees. You're right to throw emphasis on the 'if' when it comes to my parenting. As you can tell, I don't exactly have the winning personality. It suits what I need for now though, and my particular interest is survival for the moment, should that opportunity arise later, I'll devote myself as fervently to that as I have to war."
Seeing how the interview had come to an end naturally, he nodded as the exchange of body took place and he had someone new to talk to. "Likely we will be killing orcs tomorrow, perhaps the next day at the latest. Reports are telling us that they are vast in number, so there will be plenty to do. You must be even more of a warrior than Gita with that kind of thirst for a good fight. Have you had a good many worthy fights?
*Orcish word of the day- Babushka=Grandma in Russian.
“Likely we will be killing orcs tomorrow, perhaps the next day at the latest. Reports are telling us that they are vast in number, so there will be plenty to do. You must be even more of a warrior than Gita with that kind of thirst for a good fight. Have you had a good many worthy fights?”
Zemwaar turns, his eyes searching every aspect of the campsite, before sitting down across the fire from Daen, spear in hand. “My homeland was under attack from scaly kind. We were outnumbered like you are, but they grew complacent and overconfident, and we had more reason to fight.” He tests the spear, feels its heft, then scowls. “This vessel is more fragile than the one I was born with. I strode into melee myself, enlarged, on the front line of battle. If I attempt to do that now, the fight will be short indeed.” He looks over Daen assessingly. “Your team all has light builds. You’re a skirmishing force?”
Then he stares broodingly into the fire. “Why the chat? My actions, not my words, are what will prove my worth to you.” He gets up, feeds the fire, and then shrugs. “I suppose you just wanted to ‘see the faces’ of the warriors by your side.” His lips upturn slightly at his ironic statement, and then the smile disappears as fast as it came.
“I'm not much of a talker. Is there anything you need of me, or should I pass the torch?”