by 5kops
"Busy, very busy," Areck said, nearly smiling. "After a night of explaining who we are and why we are here, Count Gustafson has kept me running from one aid to the next. Everyone wishes action, but they won't give me time to plan anything."
“That is to be expected, sir,” Redmon said, a small smile cracking his face. “If I were the count, the arrival of a mere seven men would be insulting. He is most likely testing your resolve, using your charisma to raise morale.”
"Did you see how these people looked at us when we rode in? How can I possibly help their morale?" Areck asked, face relaxed but betraying desperado a
"I know my late Lord Vinion despised what he viewed as your shortcomings," Redmon said after a moment, "but he also saw a man who would accept punishment and demand a certain respect. Count Gustafson is obviously using those same strengths to his advantage, hoping that you are willing to play the role and charismatic enough to pull it off—which will give him time to make his own plans."
Areck mulled the information over. It was bold of Redmon to admit that Lord Vinion had despised him. That Redmon had been the knight-captain's personal squire made the words more significant: Redmon was establishing rapport, and offering his support.
Areck knew his lieutenant was correct. If he was in Count Gustafson's place, he would use the same advantage. It was risky, but the count was playing on Areck's own need for secrecy.
"Let us hope that I can continue to play the part, then, until a refreshment of forces arrives," Areck said.
"You have sent the writ, then, sir?" Redmon asked.
"Unfortunately, no. As I said, the count has not let me out of his sight long enough to take any action."
"The writ needs to be sent as soon as possible, sir," Redmon said, his voice low. It seemed this was the reason he had come to Areck so late in the night.
"I was finishing it as you knocked on my door," Areck offered.
"I do not mean to pressure you, sir. However, I have nearly finished my investigation; if we are forced into action, our situation will turn from bad to dire."
"You have ascertained the health of the garrison, then?" Areck leaned forward with interest. This was the piece of information for which he had been waiting. This would nudge Lord Taryon into sending a proper column of knights into the town. Everything depended on this number.
"Indeed, sir. Captain Telmouth has been helpful, if a little condescending. Each time he looks at me, I can see him calculating a way to use my authority to his benefit." Redmon described the shenanigans of the amiable captain.
"That is all fine, Lieutenant, but what of the numbers?" Areck said to curtail the tangent. Redmon’s face flushed and his body stiffened. “I apologize for the small talk, sir,” Redmon said. “The town holds a garrison of approximately one hundred soldiers and several dozen guardsmen. However, Count Gustafson has employed several conscripts due to illness. Quite honesdy, the count has done a remarkable job keeping the town as safe as it is.”
Areck listened to Redmon's report on the military deployment of Brenly and a thought came to him of the boys used as guardsmen at the count's estate. Though he had not mentioned the younger men being posted as guardsmen, he had not forgotten the fact. Clearly, the boys had been accepted as guardsmen in lieu of healthy conscripts. The town was commissioned with only a single regiment of men, or one hundred and forty soldiers, with a single captain as the commander. Though the captain would have several lieutenants and sergeants, it really was a small, ill-prepared garrison meant only for protection.
Areck sighed. He had hoped the numbers would be much higher, or at least more veteran, better equipped to bring the fight to the enemy.
"The numbers are weaker than they seem, sir," Redmon paused, his face splitting in a frown. "Over seventy percent of the men have the weeping fever; a dozen of those have entered the last stage of the sickness. I am no doctor, but I guess that most of the infected will not last more than a week."
Areck did his best to detach himself. The disease was lethal and he had to look objectively at their situation. He also needed to figure out how many men would be healthy enough to use, should any problems arise. He dreaded to think what his next problem would be—quarantining the sick into two camps: those who might still shake the sickness, and those who were beyond help.
"That leaves us roughly forty-two healthy men," Redmon droned on in an analytical manner. "The good news is that Captain Telmouth is unaffected by the sickness, as are most of his commanders. Like I said earlier, each officer is willing to do whatever it takes ... to save themselves."
Areck sorted through the information. This was grave news. Out of one hundred and forty total men, only forty-two were healthy. He could almost guarantee that half of those men would be of actual use.
How can I be so unfeeling? 1 am about to insist that the count quarantine bis own people. I am about to send hundreds of men, women, and children to untimely deaths! And here am I thinking only of military strategy!
He did his best to maintain his composure as his stomach rolled in knots. He knew this would be the only way to save the town. The thought of sentencing men to their deaths by lack of medicinal aid almost made him second guess his decision.
"Have you been able to track down the source of the disease?" Areck managed.
"Two of the three barracks account for nearly all of the sickness, the same with several quarters of the township," Redmon replied.
Areck wanted to scream. He wanted no part in this game. Why did I not turn back, to Stormwind and allow someone better to deal with this situation?
"Because we are following the will of God," said Redmon, as if he had been wondering the same thing. "I saw the look in your eyes the day we rode into Brenly. You want to help these people. We all do. That is our purpose."
Areck looked up with the realization that he had said his last thought out loud. "Tomorrow we begin," Areck said through clenched teeth, his frustration showing. "At daybreak, gather the sick and quarantine them in one of the infected quarters."
"There are not enough of us to carry out such an order," Redmon said.
"Gather whatever resources you need. You said the captain is willing to help us. If so, then he will know that this is a necessary action and should be willing to sacrifice enough men to accomplish this task."
Redmon nodded. Areck saw that his second-in-command had been waiting for this, and though he was reserved, it looked like the man's pulse had quickened. Areck took it as a good sign that the man did not take killing lightly, whatever the justification; even in this situation where they would be saving thousands of lives, it would still be hard.
As the lieutenant turned to go, Areck spoke another thought that gripped him. "Make sure each family gathers their belongings; this relocation will leave many people bereft."
"What do you plan to do, sir?"
"The following daybreak, I will burn the infected areas to the ground," Areck said, dropping his eyes. He had finally said what had been eating at his soul. The end would justify the means. To save thousands, he would need to purge the sickness—something that the count had refused to do.
"It will be done, my lord," Redmon said as he walked from the room and shut the door.
That Redmon had referred to him with a knightly tide did not go unnoticed. Areck's eyes lingered on the door, then he pulled a quill from atop a shelf and began to pen a letter. There would be no turning back after tonight. From here on out, he would no longer be acting.
A line of people followed several squads of escorting guardsmen to the eastern district of the town. A large stone building, once known as the Lawlian Fortress, had once quartered a column of Bre'Dmorian knights and now loomed menacingly in the morning sky, made more ominous by the fact that it had once been a jail.
Areck noticed that the people were sullen, accepting their fate with quiet dignity. As he looked back, he could see that the line trailed off to the town center, where his company of squires sorted out th
e sick and those still unaffected by the disease. He felt the trepidation of each person. Their eyes were cast downward, and many held weeping children with a yellowish tinge to their skin.
Areck could not help but think that the line looked a lot like a criminals being marched off to their death. The thought made him shiver.
He was so deep in self-loathing that he did not hear the slow plodding of hooves approaching from the town center.
"How dare you issue these orders without consulting me, Commander?" Count Gustafson hissed, his face contorted in rage. The man sat on a thin stallion who danced around Areck's charger. The commotion caused the line to stop, and the creaking of the carts holding the terminally ill to come to a halt. All eyes turned towards the hostile count.
"I told you this town needed to be quarantined, my lord," Areck held his hand up before the count could respond. "If you had not kept me so busy with your local dignitaries, I would have started this task the day after we talked. Even now, it may be too late."
"Does the Bre'Dmorian Order now condone killing innocent people?" said the count through clenched teeth, his voice catching.
"My lord, if you can not keep your voice down, you will have to leave," Areck said. Did Lord Gustafson not understand? Areck hated this as much he did.
Count Gustafson looked taken aback by the comment and his eyes were wide with uncontrollable rage.
He is asking himself bow I have the gall to call him out, Areck thought. He is trying to show me up and remove his mistake. He wanted to tell the count that inaction had cost many lives. This was the only way. The town had to be purged.
The count moved his horse next to Areck and leaned in. "You are killing my people!"
"I am doing what must be done!" Areck shot an accusing glare at the count. "This decision should have never fallen to me! It should have been done weeks ago, when your people were in the beginning stages. Only by God's mercy has most of your town been lucky enough to stay unaffected."
The words had the desired effect. Count Gustafson shut his mouth, his hands shaking. Areck had not wanted a struggle of power and had intentionally left the man with few options. He knew that if the count tried to publicly embarrass him, it would be a rebuke to the Church. If Count Gustafson did that, all aid would be cut off to his town.
“I should have never hoped,” Lord Oslov Gustafson whispered, his face draining of its color. The man looked old, as if the event had sucked out ten years of his life. “How can you be so unfeeling under these circumstances? You are ordering the death of my people!”
Areck looked at the count. He wanted to tell the noble that duty came first. However, first he needed to get things moving again. He gave several orders and the carts began to heave and the line began to move.
"I am not as unfeeling as you might think, my lord," Areck whispered. "I will have my men make sure that we offer as many comforts as possible to the sick. We will save as many as we can. This is not my preference, but there is no choice here. The disease is running rampant in your poorer quarters and the barracks. I am afraid this is only the first part of what must be done."
"What else do you plan?"
"You know what must come next," Areck said. "I will collect every diseased person in the town, move them to this section, and light it on fire."
"You will burn the town to the ground, then? The duke will be infuriated with the cost," Count Oslov announced. "He will never allow it. There is no way we can rebuild."
"I would never slander a lord, but the duke has allowed . . . this to exist. If it becomes an issue, I am sure can explain that you thought this was the only way to save his loyal subjects."
"There is no way I can go to the duke with this," the count whispered furiously. "I don't agree with it. I will—"
"Then give the order for it to end, and it will," said Areck his face flushing in embarrassment. He knew the other man was being selfish, tucking his own guilt neatly away.
Count Gustafson turned away. His red face told Areck that he was right. "Is there anything else you need from me, Commander?"
"Tell your men to offer as much help as they can and be ready for action. Once we start the fires, there is a chance that your orc tribe will see the flames and come closer," Areck explained, turning to look at the forest where the first sighting of the orc tribe had been. "If we are lucky, they won't come until we have built some fortifications around the perimeter of the town."
"I will do as you ask," Count Gustafson said, with his back to Areck. 'You sent the writ to Aresleigh?"
"I did," replied Areck. "That is why we must hurry, in case we get no reply and are driven into more severe actions."
The count was silent for a moment. 'You will let me know if any word comes in, Commander." It was not a question.
Areck watched the nobleman as he rode away. He couldn't help but notice the man's shoulders were shaking, as though he was crying.
****
For three days Areck met with Count Gustafson before dawn, discussing the logistics for gathering the people of Brenly. With the backing of the count, whom the people trusted and respected, the procedure had gone over without a riot. However, Areck feared that as the sickness began to claim more lives of those in the hospital, people would panic. He did not want to suppress such an outcry with force but could not allow those already dying of the disease to further spread it.
Early the first morning Areck set the poorest district within the town aflame, his men managing the flames with an alchemical liquid that suppressed the fire's spread.
For the most part Count Gustafson had lain low for Areck's benefit. If Gustafson had shown up in the same state as he had the first morning, people would begin to ask questions. However, the man had been busy inside his own household and did not waste time explaining the tough decision to purge the city. Areck did not mind that the count had embellished the story by adding that this had been the duke's plan from the beginning, to be carried out by God's knights as a reward for the town's piety.
Around mid-day, as Areck watched the wandering billows of smoke rise from the western portion of the town where the buildings lay smoldering, Redmon trotted up.
"My lord," Redmon began, his calm voice belying nothing, "Captain Telmouth and I have sent a group of woodcutters into the forest. We have charged them with felling enough trees to begin fortification of the perimeter."
"Have we gathered the rest of the sick, then?" Areck asked, grateful for Redmon's ability to follow orders without question.
"It will be complete by nightfall," said Redmon. "The people are dignified in their unhappy fate. I think those truly sick know they are going to die regardless."
The voice was filled with the emotionless candor of a Bre'Dmorian doing his duty. Areck knew this is how he must have sounded to the count, and even to his own men.
"We still have a good day before us, Lieutenant," Areck said. "When you have stripped each quarter and moved the last of the people, burn the last contaminated sections of the town. I want it purged by nightfall tomor-
"What of the sick?"
"You know as well as I that there is nothing we can do for them," Areck replied, "but save all that you can."
"And for those that are in the last stages?"
"Place them away from the others and send word for Count Gustafson. He seems to be under the impression that we do not care ... so let him give the order to save the rest of his town," Areck explained. "Personally, I will offer God prayers so that our Shepherd may lead them into His embrace."
"I will do as you command, my lord," Redmon said, his eyes bright at the mention of God. "And, I will also offer a prayer for their souls."
Areck nodded and turned back to the plume of smoke rising high. He was surprised that the fires had not brought any undue attention and did not want to press his chances. He would send several men to douse the flames with buckets of water or a viscous retardant. The last thing the town needed was to be scouted by a ban
d of curious marauders, especially in their current condition.
He was just about to issue the order when he heard the pounding of hoof beats, as did Redmon. The noise made the pair turn to meet the incoming riders.
Areck could tell that the riders were not couriers, but rode mounts with steel-shod hooves. His first thought was that the High Lightbringer had already responded to his writ, but the thought did not last long. The riders, their uniforms soiled and faces creased in determination, rounded a small cluster of ramshackle houses.
Areck noticed that the horses trailing the party carried several figures slumped over and laying across saddles.
What are they doing outside of the town? Areck thought, then remembered Redmon's words. These were the lieutenant's wood-gatherers and scouts
With a pull on the reins and a soft squeeze of his knees, Areck's stallion trotted to the town's courtyard. He felt Redmon's mount approach from behind, pace to the right, and then stand next to him. Redmon was pale at having sent men to their deaths.
The leader, a man in his middle years with a beak nose and salted black hair, held up his hand. The riders halted, dismounted in a swift movement, and knelt before Areck's stallion.
"My lord," said the man. The three golden bands on his right arm indicated he was a sergeant in the royal army.
"Rise, Sergeant," Areck replied, his stomach once again rolling, his eyes drifting to the bodies hanging over the horses. "What happened?"
The sergeant stood as did the rest, though their eyes remained on the ground. "As we were scouting out the area, we were ambushed by orcs. I tried to form ranks and fight, my lord, but when men started dying . . . well, I issued the order to fall back. We heard drums and I figured it wouldn't be proper to be killed without first warning you."
"Thank you, Sergeant," Areck said with understanding. He wondered if he would have done the same thing—to lose men, and then recognize that a retreat was his best option. It was something that the great generals of the past had done.
“You said there were drums?” Redmon asked.