We've hired a mercenary band of ogres to bolsters your forces, Commander.
“Any day now they'll be here. And I have not the supplies to handle them.” Agrias leaned back, not knowing if she meant the orcs or her ogre support, the faulds on her armor clinking against the cuisse upon her thighs. The plate armor she wore was not pretty, nor was it home to any decorative etchings or metalwork. It was exactly as she wanted it, the armor of a soldier, a warrior. The blood she had spilled in the years gone by proved her prowess, but she had requested nothing of her newfound rank save for the ceremonial sash that hung off her right shoulder. It was once a stunning ocean blue that looked like a wave itself when she rode into battle, but not after the trying fight her and her soldiers had put up securing the building site. Now it looked like a tattered cloth, stained with mud, singed at the edges where she was nearly engulfed by an efreet's blast, and spotted with blood that she knew was not hers.
As she tucked a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, the bun she wore had long since began falling out before midday, she heard shuffling just outside the pavilion. Someone had barked an order to several soldiers, but not with the voice of a hardened general who shouted obscenities at his troops to light fires under their asses; it was the smooth almost liquid-like words of her lieutenant, Sir Ewan Alistair.
She did not raise her head from the map as the lieutenant stopped just five feet from her; she could almost feel his eyes squinting and his head cocking to one side as it was apt to do. She tapped the metal banded finger of her gauntlet against the war table and cleared her throat. Without addressing his presence, she made for the small bedside table where a bottle of wine, a plain looking goblet, and her waterskin lay.
“If I’m bothering you, I can go write my name in the ash upon the wall?” Sir Ewan asked with a bite of his all-too predictable sarcasm. She slowly turned her head, her cheek pressed against the raised collar of her cuirass. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the smug expression on the man's face. She was a soldier willing to unsheathe her sword alongside her men, and Sir Ewan would do the same, but he would be critiquing their form and position of their shields while doing it.
“Your jokes never seize, Lieutenant.” She took a deep drink from the waterskin and winced as some forgotten bruise reminded her of itself as she sat down on her cot.
“No, I suppose not. But neither does your sulking. It's a healthy balance, I'd say.” He crossed his arms and stood looking over the war table. His dark, charcoal eyes darted back and forth as he took in the latest addition, a hand running through the equally as dark mop of hair on his head. Agrias looked the man up and down and saw a splotch of blood that had stained the pauldron upon his shoulder.
While she was covered head to toe in plate mail, Sir Ewan was more haphazardly armored. His arms were uncovered, save for the chainmail hauberk hidden beneath a cuirass and a sleeveless gambeson. No armor covered his legs, save mismatched poleyns to protect errant blows to the knees. If it weren't for the greatsword strapped to his back, one would wonder why someone with his rank would risk injury over being so unarmored. But the movement that Sir Ewan was known for, despite the size of his sword, had earned him many nicknames and sobriquets among the troops. Agrias’s favorite was Sir Ewan the Streak. It only filled her head with images of the man happily wandering into battle stark-naked.
“We've managed to set up supply lines. That's good news. After seeing that boy come back after the orcs had gotten done with him, I didn't know if it was possible.” Sir Ewan picked up a small scroll and began reading it; finding it uninteresting, he tossed it to the side and picked up another. “How did you manage it?”
The commander rose, once more feeling the pain in her hip, and pointed to a small circle she had made over a noticeably bland piece of land on the map.
“There's a few miles of unmarked forest there. I told the messengers to take the long way south, to duck into the foliage as to avoid any enemy scouts from spotting them.”
“Orcs have goblins, Commander. Unlike their large and sloppy masters, goblins are skirmishers. You could have sent them into a death trap.”
“I know this, sir. But I didn't. And now we have our supply lines. Need we discuss it further?” Agrias took the tone of voice she had when she needed to pull rank. With his quick tongue, Sir Ewan was just as swift to not press any issue when that voice came out of her.
“Of course not. But, I should update you on our red, hellish friends from the Abyss.”
“Hopefully, this is good news.”
“Come see for yourself, Commander.” With a forced and over exaggerated bow, Sir Ewan parted the flap leading out of her tent. With a disgruntled snarl and a look that could kill, she ducked out of the pavilion.
The scene was not pretty, but she had seen worse. Men and women were all scattered around going about their duties. Some were chopping wood for fires, some were eating bread while rolling dice. Smaller tents dotted the landscape, a relatively flat ground with only slight elevations here and there. The commander's tent lay at the very top of the highest hill, which Sir Ewan thought a poor choice as it made her an easy target should the errant Abyssal gargoyle get courageous and attack the camp, but she swore that she needed a view of the wall more than anything.
And it was what her eyes went to immediately. The half constructed wall was of a pale stone, it was sturdy and inexpensive; but not unlike her armor, it didn't have to look pretty, it just needed to be stable. Most of the scaffolding had been torn down to prevent fires when the efreets showed up. The top of the wall was nearly three stories high and would serve as an ample defensive position once it was complete. The ramparts were dotted every six feet with arrow windows as to provide full cover for any long-ranged assault, and the areas in between were smooth and beveled to allow boiling oil to be spilled onto anyone, or anything, from scaling its surfaces. If it weren't for the alarming, jagged v-shaped hole of incomplete stonework, one would think it'd be complete. The Abyssal horde had saw fit to halt the progress.
Agrias stopped midstride and focused all her attention on the wall. She examined every little crevice, every imperfection of the stonework. In her head, she looked upon it as if it were another enemy, one she needed to outthink, outmaneuver, and finally put down. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sir Ewan with his hands on his hips, judging her for analyzing the stone enemy.
There was more to it than that though. As the clouded sky gave way to some sunlight, she could see that look in his eyes; the one where he tried to see through the guise of a commander and toward the woman underneath. She was sure that he, like most others, found her beautiful, but Agrias knew that Sir Ewan did not focus on such things on the battlefield. He took her word to heart, and though her sharp jawline, petite nose, and thin lips offered much in the way of attraction, she often found him giving that look into her eyes. Her green, vibrant eyes that attracted many long looks of men through her life.
But, to almost define the dynamic between the two leaders as Ewan was busy mulling over whatever thoughts in his head, Agrias had already restarted her stride and nearly passed him before he shook himself and fell in behind her. Unnoticed by Sir Ewan, she let the faintest hint of a smirk appear on her face.
They walked the camp for nearly an hour. Agrias stopped to check in with her spymaster, the medical tent, the blacksmiths; each reporting the usual and nothing of interest. Finally, she came to Darius, her taskmaster. He was an aged man, Darius, but he was kind and had survived countless years of being on the field of battle. While he was no war hero with tales of valor and bravery like Sir Ewan, Agrias had always thought the man deserved a song or two about him.
“Commander! I can only hope you found some rest?” he greeted with a bow and a caring gaze.
“Yes, she did actually. Though the muttering of battle plans in her sleep was a bit disconcerting,” the knight piped up from behind her. Darius gave a quick, confused glance behind Agrias’s shoulder, as though he wasn't sure
if he should believe Sir Ewan.
“I did, Darius. The constant bombardment from those fiends however…”
“Ah, yes! The efreet. Fascinating though they are, I am glad to see them finally put down. The man who put a bolt through the last one has named his crossbow Fiend Killer.” Darius smiled warmly, almost father-like.
“He named his crossbow!? Hah!” the lieutenant laughed, and while it wasn't unusual coming from the knight, Agrias enjoyed the brief moment of levity and the comforting thought of one less enemy to contend with.
“That is terrific news. It was well-timed too. The men are recovering nicely in the medical tent as well. Minor burns for most, though I am retiring the soldiers who took more damage. I need not go down in records as a woman who forced her men to fight on after such a thing.”
“We are going to need all the sword-arms we can get, Commander.” Sir Ewan chimed in, the humor had left him just as swiftly as it had come.
“I'm not throwing already injured people against this horde, Ewan. The orcs are merciless. They'd cut them in two before they could take a swing.” Once more, the voice of someone in position took over. Agrias noticed Darius shuffle uncomfortably at the disagreement. It wasn't often she was openly defied, but Sir Ewan had also earned some ‘titles’ for his quick tongue as well as his quick feet.
“Which brings me to my next point, Darius,” the taskmaster regrouped his stance and once more looked like a man ready to take an order. “We're expecting... guests.”
Sir Ewan clicked his tongue and scoffed. If she were in private, Agrias thought she may have done the same.
“Ogres. They're sending us fu-”
“Enough, Lieutenant!” It was barely a yell, but the bite behind her order was enough to catch the attention of a few passing soldiers. Sir Ewan sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head.
“Y-yes, Commander. There have already been tents made up for them, and we've rationed what we can manage for their meals. I am afraid, however, that unless we send out a hunting party or two, we're going to be in short supply of food. Unfortunately, we do not have enough supplies to see to the treatment of any of their wounded or-”
“Ogres don't have wounded, Darius. They either live or they die on the battlefield. I saw one of them fight off a werewolf with its arm hanging on by a sliver of flesh. And despite the fact that it died, it managed to take the werewolf with him. You need not worry about the medical tents.” Sir Ewan chimed in once more. The disdain in his voice for the ogres wasn't hidden, and if he could wear a sigil showcasing his displeasure of the mercenaries, he would.
“Very good, Darius. If you could give me written reports of our coffers and food stuffs by nightfall?” Agrias asked.
“Of course, Commander.” With one final glance, Darius nodded to Sir Ewan and returned to his duties. Darius was quickly met by a cloaked man who was carrying a crate of poultices, rags, and other medicinal agents. The two quickly began to make their way across the camp. Agrias was not envious of Darius. She only had to send the men out into the field, she didn't have to listen to their longings for home and their cries for help as they lie dying in a tent. Darius seemingly did it all, always quick to jump in with whatever task needed doing while at camp.
“He's not going to be able to do this much longer.” Agrias said aloud to no one in particular.
“Who? The old man? Well, you'd be better off fighting a horde of orc by yourself then to try and get him to stop.” Sir Ewan added.
“Do you intend to fight until you’re gray in the hair, Ewan?” the commander asked as she watched Darius walk away.
“I don't think we get to live that long, Commander. We'll die on the field with our swords in hand as the battle continues on around us.” Sir Ewan's voice grew grim, an oddity in and of itself. “Its what warriors do. We die bloody, but we get the songs and the tales over campfires. Men like Darius get a warm bed and hopefully their children's children watching over them in their final moments. But no one will remember them. It's the way it has always worked.”
Without a word, Agrias turned on her heel once more and made her way down the main stretch of the camp that led to the wall. She wanted to see what kind of state it was in after being buffeted during the last skirmish. Behind her, the knight followed with his clean-shaven cheeks taught as he clenched his teeth. She had caught him doing this in the past, and she knew the warrior well enough that she needn’t even look at him. The cloak he wore around his neck billowed in the wind like the legends that they would one day depict him as.
The two of them walked the length of the wall, talking strategy and tactics. Commander Agrias pointed out areas where the wall was damaged and pieces of it had been blasted off. The ground had been stained a dark shade of red from the bloodshed; areas where injured men bled out leaving their echo on the area. The v-shaped hole was littered with axes and swords that had been discarded in favor of a hasty retreat. Bolts from her soldiers’ crossbows glistened as the afternoon lit up the battlefield, and every so often, a fleeting ray of sunlight would reflect off of a dead man's shield out in no-man's-land.
Agrias and Ewan scaled the ramparts and peered out into the distance. As they stood in silence looking out into the north, the knight took out a small wineskin from his pouch and took a heavy swig; after he was finished, he silently offered some to the commander, who turned it to down with a stern, admonishing look. She could sense that he was concentrating on her eyes, perhaps trying to see something in them that she dared not reveal with words.
Agrias leaned on the merlons, her gauntlets clicking as she put her hands down. Ewan followed her lead, with his bare forearms supporting his weight.
“You know if it weren't for the carnage that occurred below, this would be quite a sight.” As he finished speaking, the wineskin found its way to his lips once more.
“The world is a beautiful place, Ewan. You just have to look past all the creatures and people populating it,” the commander said without even taking a second glance at her subordinate.
“That's just the most uplifting thing I heard all day, Agrias. 'Look at the world and behold! But look at its people and tremble!'” he said in a mocking, almost preachy, tone.
“Your words don't cut me, Lieutenant,” she said, fighting the smile she felt slowly coming across her face.
“Never said I was trying to, Agrias.” She watched as he switched his position so his back was to the northern wilds, watching as the camp began to light their evening fires and the men who had been resting all day came out of their tents. “But don't think I didn't notice you smirk. You should try it more often, you'll find it is much easier to kill things knowing you had a hearty laugh about it first.”
“Is that all this life is to you, Sir Ewan Alistair? Laughing and fighting? Are those the only things you consider yourself? A jester and a killer?” Agrias asked, finally taking a good look at the man next to her. It was in the glowing light of dusk that the man's glossy scars, running from all different directions upon his arms, finally became apparent to her.
“You ask so many questions, Agrias, but never answer the ones people have of you,” he said, slyly dodging the inquiries himself.
“I lack answers that I am unwillingly to give.” An edge of self-defense made its way into her words; she saw him twitch as Ewan registered the tone that was not terribly unlike the one she reserved for commands.
“Oh, yes. I know that. You'd spend an entire evening answering questions about battle, tactics, how best to use a kite shield, or how to properly cut into a Gore Rider’s haunch to spill its rider out onto the ground. Those are answers you'll go into full detail about.”
“What are you-”
“And don't deny it, Commander! I've seen it myself. This is our... what, sixth assignment with one another? These aren't questions that people want to hear unless you’re standing over that accursed war table of yours. What about the real ones?”
“And what real ones would those be, Ewan?” She stood with her arm
s crossed, a look of determination on her face. It didn't help matters that Ewan took one look at her and laughed.
“Never mind. You'd send me to the stocks, even if a Krudger stood over me with its warhammer, for asking you.”
“No, Sir Ewan. I command you to tell me.” She could feel her cheeks becoming flushed as she sought to keep her cool.
“Questions about real life, Agrias! What's your favorite flower? What kind of wine do you like after a proper meal? Do you prefer cotton or wool? Who was the first boy to ever have your heart?”
“We are not talking about this,” she declared as she began marching off toward the ladder leading back into the camp.
“Oh, now you're just doing this on purpose!” Sir Ewan said, tucking his now wineskin back into its home on his belt. She stopped and shot him a look that caused him to tense. Wordlessly, she continued to make her way down.
“Agrias, stop.”
“What do you want, Lieutenant?” she asked, the agitation barely being hidden.
“I'll give you one of my answers. You asked me if I only thought of myself as a killer?” She only gave him silence as he stood with his mouth half-opened. She gestured for him to continue, despite wanting to keep him standing there looking like a fool for a few more seconds.
“Daisies, a deep red wine, wool in the winter but cotton in the summer, and Gretchen, she was a lord's daughter I met shortly before my knighthood. Those are what make me much more than a killer.”
Commander Agrias remained there with one foot on the rungs. She went to answer, but a commotion just below them, back at camp, caught her attention first. Peering behind her to the best of her ability, she could see men stop and all stare in one direction. Sir Ewan also stood straight and his eyes narrowed as he watched the camp below.
Tales of Mantica Page 16