"How much further is it now until we reach Bramwell?" asked Buliwyf. "I mean not to sound impatient, but you did deny my men the chance to spill some blood. All this walking is making them rather restless. Perhaps a good meal and some good alcohol will make them forget their blood lust."
"It is not far from here, but the terrain is difficult and we must take the long way around to accomodate your wagons and horses."
Atrion could tell that the response was not adequate. Not by any means. He was hiding something, and he knew that this mercenary character, if he had any wits about him at all, could likely tell that as well. Still, he had his orders, and he wasn't about to disobey his king.
He watched with a watchful eye as the mercenary slowed his pace, dropping back to speak with his men. Atrion did not bother trying to overhear. It was the right of a leader of men to speak with them, for good or ill. Besides, both of them knew who held the superior force.
"Tell me Atrion, son of Demetrion, how is Bramwell faring these days?"
The words startled him, but he did not show it. Years of experience had forged a hefty resistance to being startled.
"It has been many a year since I last passed by it."
"Oh?" he responded, his interest evident. "So you have been here before?"
As the group marched on, the leader of the Bramwell company allowed his pace to slow, inching his way back through the line of soldiers to Bulywif.
"I appologize," he said, his voice sincere, "I did not mean to be so rude earlier."
"I have been disturbed these past few weeks. There is great evil stirring in these parts and as the man charged with my kingdom's protection, I cannot help but suffer the effects of such stressful leadership... I am sure you know of what I speak. But that is no excuse for overlooking the principles of first contact."
He glanced away, eyeing the woods suspiciously for several moments before turning back.
"I am Atrion, son of Demetrion. I command these men and several other divisions like them in the name of the King, Mentaeus. And you; you command this ragtag group of.. interesting characters. I would know your name and your purpose.. if you would give it me."
The soldier, introduced as the second in command, stepped forward.
"It is time to depart," he said. "We will march until it is too dark to see. The next day we rise at dawn and complete our trek towards Bramwell. With any luck we'll be there by noon. Pray we do not meet company along the way."
With that, he nodded at Bulywif, turned, and walked back the way he had come. The other men began to follow him.
"A wise choice. Tell them to leave behind whatever they do not need. We must travel quickly. My second in command will inform you when it is time to depart."
With that, he turned and headed back through the line of men. The soldier that had conversed with him stepped forward and took his place, eyeing the Knights closely.
The stranger's eyes widened for a moment, then he turned back to the soldier who had spoken to him, conversing quietly. After a minute he turned back.
"If you what you say is true than we have more to worry about than your rogue meanderings. These woods are not safe. You will come with us, back to Bramwell. There we will discuss these matters further. For now we must move. Ready yourselves for the journey ahead. Take no more time than you need. We leave in three minutes."
"That is yet to be determined, stranger. And as for your business, it became ours the minute you stepped foot within these woods. This is the land of Bramwell. These villages - Tappas and Riddia - are within our borders and, as such, are under our supervision. Now you have destroyed them both, seemingly without reason."
Another soldier stepped quickly forth, whispered something in the stranger's ear. There was a pause as whatever news had been spoken sunk in, then a curt nod.
"Enough talking. Identify yourselves at once and explain your actions here or you will suffer the consequences."
"Halt, in the name of the King!" came a loud and stern voice from the wood as Donsro charged forward.
He was forced to a sudden stop as men with bows raised stepped out from behind the trees and surrounded the small offshoot group, pushing them back together. Behind them came a row of men with spears, not poised to strike but clearly at the ready. Down the middle came a man of unimpressive stature but of powerful character, the men parting like a sea around him.
"Identify yourselves and name the group you travel with. Who is your leader and what is your business. If it be against the King, Mentaeus, admit your guilt now and your lives will be spared, though I cannot say the same for your freedoms."
There was a brief pause.
"Speak now or I will have my men execute the others even now as they leave the village of Riddia burning behind them. I have half a mind to as it is."
Jamis lay off some distance from the fight, sweat pouring over his brow and pooling on his eyes. His breaths were short and ragged and with each movement he whimpered.
"He's not going to make it," said the surgeon from Thasos to the Knight's field medic.
"Are you sure?"
"I am. The wound is bad and he has a fever. In addition to that, his guts've been torn to shreds. I can't imagine a man surviving the initial wound, let alone the following sickness. I have seen this too many times before. He's doomed."
"Surely we can do something!"
"We can give him medicines to dull the pain, put him to sleep, let him die in peace rather than in agony. Beyond that, nothing."
There was a pause.
"I will tell him."
"He cannot hear you. I've seen that look before. His body remains here but his mind has long since passed beyond our realm. He is now between our mortal plane and the next - whatever that may be."
"But.. He has spoken."
"His mouth babbles."
Another pause.
"I will gather the medicine that will make him sleep."
"I wish I could do more."
"You've done all you can do. Better that you turn your attention to the others now."
"I am sorry. Were you two close?"
The medic thought for a moment, then responded with a morbid chuckle.
"No. Brothers in steel only. I barely knew the man."
The surgeon simply nodded. The two men looked at eachother for a minute, sharing mixed sentiments without unnecessary speaking. Then, without another word, they turned and headed for their respective duties.
Jamis lay still in the cot, his breaths growing shallower by the minute.
Jamis walked past the many wounded and fearful that lay huddled in the church, clutching one another for warmth or for protection. His mind raced nearly as fast as his pulse. The pain in his side had continued to grow worse and worse and a cold sweat had started to cover his paling skin.
He reached the back door and swung it open, stepping out into the night air as the sun lay low over the horizon, giving everything a soft red glow. He stood, staring off into the distance, towards Riddia.
"Everything I've fought for," he whispered to himself.
"It's all been in vain. Where is the honour that once was? The glory of a fair and balanced battle? When did we sink to such a level as this? Deceipt, murder, the senseless killing of innocents? Were we always this way? Were the legends of old only that? - Legends?"
He put a hand on his brow, beginning to feel weary and light-headed.
"Oh no," he said aloud then, with the heavy thud of armour, collapsed to the ground.
James spoke through clenched teeth, partly out of horro at what had happened, and partly out of pain. His own wound was getting worse. The field medic had told him he needed real medical attention and, with no doctor around, that wasn't going to happen.
"Let's get these people some help. Whatever we can do, whatever we can give, we give it."
As Jamis watched the priest die in his brother's arms, he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Ashamed for being so easily deceived. They had been outsmarted by the Riddians, he had been outsmarted. His wound began to ache, the sting of failure added on to an already sensitive disgrace.
"I can't believe it," he said, dumbfounded. "Come on, let's look in the church. Maybe someone can tell us why the Riddians would do this."
Jamis grunted through clenched teeth as he felt the familiar sting of a needle pushing through sensitive flesh. He had had sitches before, but never this many and never for so nasty a wound.
"Will the stitches be enough?" he asked the healer, already perfectly aware of the answer.
"No," responded the man, matter-of-factly. "No, we will need to get you to a proper bed soon enough. I am but an herbalist. It will take skill beyond my own to fix this. Do not worry, there are several of great skill in Tappas. I am sure they will be willing to help after your victory against the Riddians."
"Thank you."
With that, Jamis started to drift off to sleep. He felt his body being moved to a wagon, didn't protest. He knew that soon enough they would be back in the town and he would be well.
Jamis arrived at the medical tent with some of the others just as Buliwyf finished fitting his armor. He looked sturdy, as usual, but Jamis noticed a certain difference from his normal mannerisms. Something darker, more reflective and introspective. It was something new to his brother that Jamis had not seen before.
"Brother," he said, as they grew closer. "Victory is ours. Although, I can't say I'm surprised. It felt almost like we were fighting a rabble rather than a militia."
Jamis felt the hands of a healer on him, guiding his injured body away from his brother and into the tent.
"Tell the others where we are going. They need a leader and I'm afraid that my injuries have taken too much out of me to be that man right now."
Jamis struggled with an answer, his clouded mind finding it hard to piece things together. Finally, giving up, he decided to take the best course of action he could think of.
"I am in need of stitches. If someone will take me to the medical tent we can talk to Buliwyf. He will know what to do."
"So then, tell me again, why exactly are we fighting this war for the Tappas?"
Jamis swallowed one more gulp of the soothing liquid and opened his eyes. He examined the faces of those around him. Some were covered in anxiety and confusion, others were concerned, and still others looked surprised - probably for the same reason Jamis was surprised. The battle, if you could call it that, was much too easy. It worried Jamis. What if the force they had fought had not been the right one?
"It doesn't make sense," he mumbled.
Quickly realizing that that was not an answer to the question at hand, he cleared his throat and spoke again.
"We are fighting for the Tappas for the same reason we fight for anyone. Their grievance was just and their pay was good. We're mercenaries, that's what we do. You all know this."
He watched as some of the faces made conceding gestures.
"The Tappas employed us to aid them against the agressing Riddians who, for years, have repeatedly been attacking and pillaging the Tappans. They have burned crops, houses, and taken many prisoners. Such injustice cannot be allowed to continue. I believe this. Do not you all, too?"
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"It is not far from here, but the terrain is difficult and we must take the long way around to accomodate your wagons and horses."
Atrion could tell that the response was not adequate. Not by any means. He was hiding something, and he knew that this mercenary character, if he had any wits about him at all, could likely tell that as well. Still, he had his orders, and he wasn't about to disobey his king.
He watched with a watchful eye as the mercenary slowed his pace, dropping back to speak with his men. Atrion did not bother trying to overhear. It was the right of a leader of men to speak with them, for good or ill. Besides, both of them knew who held the superior force.
"Tell me Atrion, son of Demetrion, how is Bramwell faring these days?"
The words startled him, but he did not show it. Years of experience had forged a hefty resistance to being startled.
"It has been many a year since I last passed by it."
"Oh?" he responded, his interest evident. "So you have been here before?"
"I appologize," he said, his voice sincere, "I did not mean to be so rude earlier."
"I have been disturbed these past few weeks. There is great evil stirring in these parts and as the man charged with my kingdom's protection, I cannot help but suffer the effects of such stressful leadership... I am sure you know of what I speak. But that is no excuse for overlooking the principles of first contact."
He glanced away, eyeing the woods suspiciously for several moments before turning back.
"I am Atrion, son of Demetrion. I command these men and several other divisions like them in the name of the King, Mentaeus. And you; you command this ragtag group of.. interesting characters. I would know your name and your purpose.. if you would give it me."
"It is time to depart," he said. "We will march until it is too dark to see. The next day we rise at dawn and complete our trek towards Bramwell. With any luck we'll be there by noon. Pray we do not meet company along the way."
With that, he nodded at Bulywif, turned, and walked back the way he had come. The other men began to follow him.
With that, he turned and headed back through the line of men. The soldier that had conversed with him stepped forward and took his place, eyeing the Knights closely.
"If you what you say is true than we have more to worry about than your rogue meanderings. These woods are not safe. You will come with us, back to Bramwell. There we will discuss these matters further. For now we must move. Ready yourselves for the journey ahead. Take no more time than you need. We leave in three minutes."
He stepped closer to Buliwyf.
"You are the leader of these men?"
Another soldier stepped quickly forth, whispered something in the stranger's ear. There was a pause as whatever news had been spoken sunk in, then a curt nod.
"Enough talking. Identify yourselves at once and explain your actions here or you will suffer the consequences."
He was forced to a sudden stop as men with bows raised stepped out from behind the trees and surrounded the small offshoot group, pushing them back together. Behind them came a row of men with spears, not poised to strike but clearly at the ready. Down the middle came a man of unimpressive stature but of powerful character, the men parting like a sea around him.
"Identify yourselves and name the group you travel with. Who is your leader and what is your business. If it be against the King, Mentaeus, admit your guilt now and your lives will be spared, though I cannot say the same for your freedoms."
There was a brief pause.
"Speak now or I will have my men execute the others even now as they leave the village of Riddia burning behind them. I have half a mind to as it is."
"He's not going to make it," said the surgeon from Thasos to the Knight's field medic.
"Are you sure?"
"I am. The wound is bad and he has a fever. In addition to that, his guts've been torn to shreds. I can't imagine a man surviving the initial wound, let alone the following sickness. I have seen this too many times before. He's doomed."
"Surely we can do something!"
"We can give him medicines to dull the pain, put him to sleep, let him die in peace rather than in agony. Beyond that, nothing."
There was a pause.
"I will tell him."
"He cannot hear you. I've seen that look before. His body remains here but his mind has long since passed beyond our realm. He is now between our mortal plane and the next - whatever that may be."
"But.. He has spoken."
"His mouth babbles."
Another pause.
"I will gather the medicine that will make him sleep."
"I wish I could do more."
"You've done all you can do. Better that you turn your attention to the others now."
"I am sorry. Were you two close?"
The medic thought for a moment, then responded with a morbid chuckle.
"No. Brothers in steel only. I barely knew the man."
The surgeon simply nodded. The two men looked at eachother for a minute, sharing mixed sentiments without unnecessary speaking. Then, without another word, they turned and headed for their respective duties.
Jamis lay still in the cot, his breaths growing shallower by the minute.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. With that, he died.
He reached the back door and swung it open, stepping out into the night air as the sun lay low over the horizon, giving everything a soft red glow. He stood, staring off into the distance, towards Riddia.
"Everything I've fought for," he whispered to himself.
"It's all been in vain. Where is the honour that once was? The glory of a fair and balanced battle? When did we sink to such a level as this? Deceipt, murder, the senseless killing of innocents? Were we always this way? Were the legends of old only that? - Legends?"
He put a hand on his brow, beginning to feel weary and light-headed.
"Oh no," he said aloud then, with the heavy thud of armour, collapsed to the ground.
"Let's get these people some help. Whatever we can do, whatever we can give, we give it."
"I can't believe it," he said, dumbfounded. "Come on, let's look in the church. Maybe someone can tell us why the Riddians would do this."
"Will the stitches be enough?" he asked the healer, already perfectly aware of the answer.
"No," responded the man, matter-of-factly. "No, we will need to get you to a proper bed soon enough. I am but an herbalist. It will take skill beyond my own to fix this. Do not worry, there are several of great skill in Tappas. I am sure they will be willing to help after your victory against the Riddians."
"Thank you."
With that, Jamis started to drift off to sleep. He felt his body being moved to a wagon, didn't protest. He knew that soon enough they would be back in the town and he would be well.
"Brother," he said, as they grew closer. "Victory is ours. Although, I can't say I'm surprised. It felt almost like we were fighting a rabble rather than a militia."
Jamis felt the hands of a healer on him, guiding his injured body away from his brother and into the tent.
"Tell the others where we are going. They need a leader and I'm afraid that my injuries have taken too much out of me to be that man right now."
"I am in need of stitches. If someone will take me to the medical tent we can talk to Buliwyf. He will know what to do."
Jamis swallowed one more gulp of the soothing liquid and opened his eyes. He examined the faces of those around him. Some were covered in anxiety and confusion, others were concerned, and still others looked surprised - probably for the same reason Jamis was surprised. The battle, if you could call it that, was much too easy. It worried Jamis. What if the force they had fought had not been the right one?
"It doesn't make sense," he mumbled.
Quickly realizing that that was not an answer to the question at hand, he cleared his throat and spoke again.
"We are fighting for the Tappas for the same reason we fight for anyone. Their grievance was just and their pay was good. We're mercenaries, that's what we do. You all know this."
He watched as some of the faces made conceding gestures.
"The Tappas employed us to aid them against the agressing Riddians who, for years, have repeatedly been attacking and pillaging the Tappans. They have burned crops, houses, and taken many prisoners. Such injustice cannot be allowed to continue. I believe this. Do not you all, too?"