The scraping of pen on paper.
The sound stopped, replaced by a swift and soft dipping, followed then by a short tapping; the scraping started once again.
The hand moving the pen was rough, scarred by countless small scratches and a big round scar on its back, between the ring and the little finger.
The sound stopped again, but this time the right hand took the pen, letting the left stretch itself a bit, opening and closing to get rid of some minor cramp. As rough was its back, so its palm was calloused, but clearly not from writing, even though the index and middle finger were starting to bear the signs of prolonged pen use.
Apparently satisfied, the left hand took the pen back from its sister and resumed writing. Their owner did not give much thought to the object he was wielding: to him, it was a simple tool, which needed to be durable and sharp. Given how much he had to write as of late, changing it often would be a definite annoyance, and having a dull one would only be good for making a mess of the paper.
To a member of Charlie Team, however, such pen would have appeared obsolete, ancient even, unlike any they had ever used: something even their grandparents had only seen in history books and movies. In fact, calling it a “pen” would be inaccurate.
With practiced movements, the quill – that is what it was – was cleaned of excess ink and gently placed upon a black cloth, point towards the writer. The inkpot was carefully closed to preserve it and prevent possible stains, and put to the left of the cloth, in line with its upper border. Back straight and shoulders relaxed, the man, sitting at the desk of what was unmistakably an office of some sort, nodded to himself before refocusing his green eyes on the piece of paper he had just finished writing on.
Clad in a pristine military uniform – except for the neatly rolled up left sleeve – his appearance was not that of a young man, as the wrinkles and creases on his face showed; and though his looks as a whole transmitted a sense of maturity and serious professionalism, he certainly could not be considered old. At the same time, no one would think of him as middle-aged, since no streaks of grey could be seen yet in his hair or beard, which still retained their fierce auburn colour; so much that under certain light an onlooker could have the impression of flames dancing around on his face.
An actual fire was crackling in the fireplace just a couple of metres to the man’s right, warming the room just enough to stave off the chill of an early spring morning: the tepid rays of bliss shining through the rough glass of the room’s only window were not up to the task yet. Two stuffed armchairs sat in front of said fireplace, and for a moment he pictured himself relaxing on his favourite one, a glass of red spirit in one hand, bare feet on top of the wooden table resting among the two chairs, basking in the cozy warmth of the fire, all duties and documents forgotten.
The moment passed, and the man carried on, his focus once again on the papers on his desk. The solid piece of wooden furniture seemed to blend with the floor due to the big carpet the colours of the Autumn connecting the desk and the door. Behind the man, a clean weapon rack stood next to a shelf full of neatly ordered books and documents.
As he finished reading, the man took his quill and checked its sharpness once again. Then, after carefully opening the inkpot, he lightly dipped it in and proceeded to sign the paper with focused precision.
A knock came from the heavy oak door.
A few seconds later, a hand rapped the door a second time.
After a third, louder knocking, the man absentmindedly voiced his permission to enter in the eloquent – almost poetic – language of the Diarchy of Voulvent, but with the crisp inflection typical of those living in its easternmost territories.
As his lone guest joined him in the room, «Close the door please. It’s hard to keep the warmth inside», the man said, eyes not leaving the document on his desk.
While the guest closed the door, the seated man cleaned and put away his quill, resting it once again on the black cloth, then closed the inkpot, dried the ink on the paper, and finally proceeded to carefully fold it in three. Without hurry, he took some sealing wax from a drawer, warmed it on the lit candle resting on his desk, and smirched it on one end of the closed paper, quickly pressing the wax with his personal sigil. He put the document on top of a neatly arranged pile of similar papers, adjusting it so that the borders were aligned.
Only after that did he look at the man still standing at attention in front of the door, helmet in hand and eyes looking straight ahead. The burly, grizzled veteran was more than ten years older than him, but still athletic and in good health, despite having reached an age at which most soldiers either retired or were dead.
«At ease, captain», he said, putting aside the signed document. «Please, come closer. I suppose you’re here to make your report».
«Yes, sir», the captain said, walking towards the desk.
The officer looked at his subordinate’s mud-stained boots as they left footprints onto the previously clean carpet, and for a moment his eyes twitched and his jaw clenched shut.
Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his face and took a closer look at the soldier approaching him. Only then he noticed the somewhat haggard look, the barely restrained scowl, the trembling fist and stiff posture, and he started to worry.
«Stavros, you look pale and… quite tense. Something serious has happened». It was not a question as much as an acknowledgement; to agitate an expert like the captain, something akin to a natural disaster was needed.
«Yes… yes, commandant. I was just briefed by the sergeants of Groupes One, Four, and Six, the ones we sent in the forest. The mission was a partial success… but also a complete failure”. The words came out slow and quiet, but clear enough to feel the anger in Stavros’ voice. Still, the commandant reined his emotions in and let the man continue without interrupting, the look in his eyes the only visible change. It was a look of understanding and trust, a gaze that put people at ease, as his wife often reminded him.
«We captured twenty three Okkars, sir», he replied, using the name by which the northern tribes called themselves, «but we lost sixteen men».
«Sixteen?» He asked, incredulous. «Five per groupe? Was the greyskins’ resistance more than expected?»
«No, sir. Not from what the sergeants reported. I would not have come to you if that had been the issue. The problem is that Groupe Six lost nine infantrymen, three archers and a corporal. In addition, all of their prisoners escaped».
«What?! Who is in charge of Groupe Six? How did they lose almost half of their men, captain?» Barely restrained anger tinged his voice. «Did they encounter a praskafos perhaps? Those damned six-legged beasts are worse than the elves».
«Sergeant Cordonnier, sir, and no, no reported beast encounters».
«Cordonnier… Lucas Cordonnier?»
«Yes, sir. He’s quite the experienced and a capable officer. I served with his uncle».
«Then what happened this time? Please, don’t tell me they ate the forest’s fruits without letting the specialist check first».
«No, sir. None of our soldiers is that moronic. At the very least, they care about their own lives».
«Then how? Explain it to me, Stavros».
The captain took a deep breath, then spoke: «According to the report, Groupe Six’s raid was actually a success. They managed to capture sixteen Okkars from one of the unaligned tribes: ten men and six women. They incurred no losses and took extra care to leave no survivors except the captives, as per your orders».
«These villages are not part of the Ríki, so we’re not violating the treaty, but better safe than sorry».
«I agree, sir. Groupe Six’s archers had to take care of the höfuð ’cause they failed to surprise him and he was already armed, although it was our luck that he wasn’t wearing armour».
«Even then, they could have managed to take him alive. It’s not as if we’ve never met resistance».
«Indeed, sir. Alive he’d have made an excellent slave, even if only for his strength, but we knew from our informants that he was a formidable fighter, and I agree with Cordonnier’s decision: capturing him wasn’t worth losing many good soldiers. Plus, according to the report, seeing their leader dead snuffed out all thought of resistance from the other tribesmen». The captain took a moment to pass a hand through his grey hair, then resumed. «This was twenty two days ago. During the march back they had to beat a few into compliance sometimes, especially this scarred old giant of an Okkar, but Cordonnier described it more an annoyance than a problem».
«A scarred old giant… Tell me, how old was this Okkar?» He asked. «How tall exactly? Did it look like he could squash a man’s head with one hand? Where was he scarred? Most importantly, did he wear a blue earring on his left earlobe?»
Startled and confused by the barrage of questions, Stavros stuttered. «I-I don’t know, sir. I think it’d better to ask the sergeant directly».
The commandant did not wait another moment and rang the small bell he kept on his desk. A crisp chime came out of it and a couple of seconds later a knock was heard on the door, followed by the entrance of a sharply dressed man in uniform, with short, blonde hair, and sporting neatly trimmed mutton chops. Richard Dublé was impeccable as always, striking the right balance between elegance and practicality, as was proper for a man of his position. He closed the door behind him, carefully avoided stepping on the carpet, and addressed the commandant.
«You’ve called, sir. How may I be of assistance?»
«Richard, I need Sergeant Cordonnier to report here immediately».
«I shall fetch him myself, sir». After replying, he turned to the sole other person in the room: «Captain Komnos», he greeted with a nod.
«Adjutant Dublé», Stavros replied, right hand on his chest, bowing to the other man. «You will find the sergeant in his quarters. I told him to wait there until ordered otherwise».
The exchange between the two was short and dry, so much that a casual observer might have thought the two were not on good terms. To those more acquainted with the duo, however, the mutual respect was almost palpable.
A quarter of an hour later, Dublé came back with a soldier in tow. Stocky and shorter than the adjutant, his brown eyes looked straight ahead as he entered the room, the unwavering stare marred only by the dark shadows under them. Two short, parallel, yellow lines decorated the collar of his blue gambeson, identifying him as a sergeant; he saluted his superior officers and stood at attention, the sheathed sword dangling at his side.
The commandant kept silent, eyeing his subordinate up and down. Beads of sweat started to form on Cordonnier’s forehead as the tension in the room grew thick, slowly racing down towards the ground, but he kept his posture solid and his eyes fixated in front of him. Eventually, the commanding officer of the whole garrison of Marne nodded and broke the silence: «At ease, sergeant», he gestured. «I summoned you because the captain reported that Groupe Six lost thirteen soldiers under your command in the latest mission. I want to know why, where, when and how. Be thorough, tell us everything that happened, even if you think it inconsequential: I will determine whether it is important or not».
«Yes, sir», Sergeant Cordonnier replied, his voice clear but somewhat subdued. He gnawed at his lips and did not relax his shoulders despite changing his posture to stand at ease. «We were…» he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. «Our raid started as a success. Twenty two days ago we captured sixteen Okkars among those not protected by the Treaty, and suffered no casualties. We had to kill the höfuð, Voldugur, however. I wasn’t going to risk my men’s lives for one Okkar, no matter how important or useful. That bastard was known for being strong, fast, and skilled with the blade, so I ambushed him together with our archers before he could don his chainmail and fully arm himself».
«So, you slew “The Vicious”. Were the situation different, I would congratulate and reward you». He paused, letting the silence stretch. «Not today. Carry on».
«Yes, sir». The sergeant did not seem to care about praises and rewards at the moment, but looked eager to talk. «The men all looked tough and strong, perfect for manual labour or prize fighting, and the women were pleasing to the eye, so… well, my men took some liberties and had some fun. I made sure they didn’t go too far, but it’s well known what the forest does to people, especially at dusk, and I feared that too much tension would make them snap».
The fist slamming on the wooden desk startled him, so much that he unconsciously took a step back. «That’s the excuse of the weak-willed, Cordonnier, and you know it!» The commandant’s harsh tone left no room for discussion. «If the likes of Okkars can resist it, so can we! None of your men had the willpower to oppose their most basic instincts, is that what you are telling me, sergeant?»
«... only Ronners, Pistor, and Corporal Flax sir. And myself».
«I know you better than assume you’d cede to such animalistic behaviour», Stavros cut in with a snarl, «but you should have controlled your men. Did you forget that the commandant explicitly forbid soldiers to have sex with inferior races?! Everyone in Groupe Six is fined two days of pay! One week for you as the commander».
«I, too, expect more discipline from our soldiers», the commandant said as he readjusted the quill on the black cloth, as well as the inkpot and documents that his outburst had spread over the desk. «It is unacceptable that only three out of thirty managed to resist the Lykofos’ influence». He paused in order to fix his sleeve. «Still, we must award those who stand above the rest. Captain!»
«Yes, sir?»
«Put their names in for a promotion, but do not let them know. We’ll have to see if they are actual officer material».
«As you command, sir».
«Cordonnier», the commandant called, and the sergeant stood, if possible, even more straight, «I do not care what the civilians do and what the governor allows: there are five pleasure houses in town that only offer the services of human courtesans. Excluding the Red Lace – too expensive for a common soldier – that leaves us with four venues; so, next time you have to take your groupe into the Lykofos, make sure all your soldiers satisfy their urges before leaving, or a fine will be the last of your problems. Know that if it comes to my attention that your soldiers have visited any of the other pleasure houses, you and them both will beg to be flogged. Now, sergeant, continue».
Taken aback by the sudden reprimands and threats, Cordonnier took a few seconds to regain his bearings. «Y-yes, sir. I’ll be stricter on the issue. S-so, as I was saying, on the third day of our march back, one of the prisoners managed to free himself. It was carelessness on part of one of my men, made worse by the fact that the prisoner overpowered him and took his sword. The Okkar was about to kill him but our archers were quicker. A stupid mistake that caused the loss of good workforce, and Hemer knows we need it right now. In any case, the soldier is safe except for a cracked jaw and a missing tooth, but he’ll be digging latrines and cleaning stables for the next two weeks».
«A pity you had to kill the Okkar. I imagine he would have been useful at the sawmill, but it was the right choice, given the circumstances. Who’s the soldier?» the major asked.
«Mavlin Malàka, sir. I tore him a new one earlier and made very clear how displeased I was», the sergeant replied.
«Good. Add another week of latrine duty to that fool’s punishment. What then?»
«We had a few other small problems, but nothing that a spear’s butt could not solve, and—»
«Captain Komnos tells me there was a “giant” among the Okkars, one that gave you annoyance», the commandant interrupted him. «Describe him to me. In detail», he ordered, and leaned forward from his seat, propping himself against the desk, fingers interlaced.
«Well, he was very tall, almost nine palms I’d say, and looked like he could wrestle a red bear to death. Bald, more than fifty years old, maybe even sixty seeing how white his beard was, and a body marred by battle scars». The sergeant gnawed at his lower lip for a moment. «Honestly, sir, he was scary. From the first day we kept a close eye on him and I always had two archers at the ready, fully expecting he would attack us at any moment. Even then, I anticipated that we’d likely lose five or six men before putting him down».
«Yet, you lost thirteen».
«… indeed, sir. Thirteen men under my responsibility», he confirmed, a haunted look briefly emerged on his face, before he schooled his expression, «but the cause was not that Okkar. He never actually did anything drastic; he had the look of a man defeated».
The commandant held his hand up, ordering silence, as he stared at the flames, lost in thought. After a few minutes, he turned his attention back to his two subordinates and spoke again. «Pray tell, sergeant, this giant Okkar had a scar on his right eye, perhaps?»
«Uh, yes, sir. How do you—»
«And, tell me, did he wear a silver earring with a blue gem on his left earlobe?»
«I don’t know, sir, I—»
«Think, sergeant! Recollect everything you’ve seen of that man. This is important, so take your time».
He closed his eyes, probably in the effort to remember more about this particular Okkar. Meanwhile, the commandant turned to look at Stavros, who was staring at him with a mix of fear and surprise in his eyes.
I knew you would arrive at the same conclusion, old friend.
A minute later, Cordonnier opened his eyes.
«Once again, sergeant: did this particular Okkar wear a silver earring with a blue gem on his left earlobe?»
«Yes, sir».
Stavros sucked in through his teeth.
«Tell me, how old are you?»
«Twenty four, sir».
«And how long have you been serving?»
«It’ll be eight years in a month and a fortnight, sir».
«Am I right to assume you have never fought the Okkars in battle?»
«No, sir, I’ve never faced Okkars outside of small raids. The Treaty was signed when I was a child».
«Sixteen years ago, to be precise», the commandant corrected, reclining on his chair. A rare smirk appeared on his face. «You have been very lucky, sergeant. Despite the losses, that I trust you will explain well, and despite all that has happened to your groupe, I can say with certainty that you have been extremely lucky». Abruptly, he stood up and walked towards the fireplace, stopping to lean against its stone top and stare at the burning logs. «I would have never thought that monster would be hiding in the accursed forest, but thinking about it, it is fitting», he said in a low voice.
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«I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand».
«You have good instincts, sergeant, and you did well in following them when they told you to fear that old Okkar». He looked at his left hand, eyes fixed on it but mind elsewhere. «You know, twenty-three years ago I was part of the régiment tasked with retaking Portaigle».
Both of his subordinated sucked in a breath at the sentence, but did not interrupt. They did not dare.
«I was there when he held a breach in the walls, alone, against two escadrons of our finest men for almost one hour, supported only by a scant group of archers well protected behind the walls». There was a mixture of hate, fear and awe in his words. «One hour! Even in such a perfect chokepoint, how long would anyone of us last against two hundred men, before being overwhelmed?» He turned to face the others, his back to the fire. «It was as if Kohlk himself had descended on the battlefield, but on the enemy’s side», he said with a sneer, as if the thought amused him, but his eyes fell, overwhelmed as he was by grief and sorrow. It was but a moment before he swept such emotions back under the weight of memories and his head rose again. «A God in mortal spoils stands against you, but you still charge at him because those are the orders, because “the Okkars have already gone too far in their invasion”, because “they rape our women, burn the men alive and feast on their meat”, because “they wear human skin in battle”, because “you must defend your country and your loved ones from the plague they are”, because, because, because…» A pause of quiet reflection followed those words, words he had heard countless times as a youngster, words he had spoken to others, convinced of their absolute truth. It had been easy to paint the world in black and white back then, especially when blinded by the desire for revenge. «The captain fought in the war, so he can attest to it: he, too, has seen our countrymen and countrywomen killed, abused or taken as slaves by the Okkars. We did so as well, and we still do, I do not deny it, but compared to the war, now we do not kill them. Instead, we give them food, warm clothes, jobs where they excel, a purpose in life, real culture, and the chance to buy back their freedom as inferior, but civilized, people. Do you agree, captain?»
«I do, sir. We bring light to their barbaric ways».
«Indeed. It is a burden, but one we do not mind carrying. They, on the other hand, are still stuck in those times. They bring all of their slaves into their three cities and treat them worse than animals. The stories the few escapees told are hateful and harrowing… many prisoners kill themselves after a while, and most are broken in body and mind. This, sergeant, is why we tell all of you, soldiers, to kill yourselves if captured by Okkars». He went silent and stared at the sergeant. It was as if time was holding its breath, there in that room, waiting for his reply to the unspoken question lingering in the air.
A subtle nod and something in Cordonnier’s eyes gave the commandant the confirmation he needed: the sergeant had understood, and the breath was held no more.
«Good. Now, as I was saying, we all charged at him that day in Portaigle, because those were the orders, but it was like trying to strike at a hurricane. Whatever his tower shield did not intercept, his heavy armour blocked; his iron spear was deadly, and Dalia preserve you if you forced him to use his war-hammer. Every swing would leave a man dead or dying». He paused in his recollection, pouring himself a goblet of wine; thinking about that distant day still made his right arm ache, and the alcohol helped, if only a bit.
The captain and the sergeant kept quiet and looked at their commanding officer, unconsciously leaning forward, thirsty for more. Despite their clear desire to ask, they did not utter a single word. They simply waited for him to resume his story. Outside, the chirping of birds could be heard, as the sun continued its daily journey, slowly rising into the brightening skies.
«I was only a corporal back then, and my sergeant led what remained of our groupe – the bravest men I’ve ever fought alongside – to swarm that monster. Jeune and Krason fell first, without getting a single hit in; those reckless bastards had an ongoing bet on who would kill more enemies, so they were always first into battle… but I guess they had never thought they would die together. Still, they bought the rest of us enough time to get closer and surround him on three sides. Normally, well, normally that would have been the end of it, but none of us was fool enough to deem our foe normal». He looked at his subordinates and smiled. A sad smile. «Boucher died after she was struck by the butt of his damn spear: she lost her footing and fell down the rubble, slamming her head on a rock. That idiot wanted to be a hero and prove something to her parents; went as far as disguising herself as a man to enlist, though we had all known she was a woman from the first day». He stirred the wine and took a sip from his goblet. «The only thing she proved was that she could die like everyone else». His narration was dispassionate, at complete odds with the tragedy he was recollecting; one might even call it callous, but it was the only way he could tell that story without grief rearing its ugly head and bringing him down in the dumps. «Old Kishi was pierced in the gut, front to back, chainmail and brigandine included, but managed to wrestle that damn iron spear off of that monster’s hands; he would have probably tried to bite him as well if he hadn’t been choking on his own blood». He twirled the wine inside the goblet, absentmindedly. «He was strong and skilled, old Kishi… he knew how to move his body to get the best results with the least amount of effort. Heck, I never did manage to beat him at arm wrestling, despite being bigger and half his age; Hemer knows how much money I lost betting against him». He chuckled, the grim humour coming easily. Again, he knew it was another coping mechanism to control the sorrow, but he did not care. «We attacked that son of an elf before he could recover it. I still remember the feeling of the wooden shaft of my spear, smoothed by hours upon hours of practice, as I tried, desperate thrust after desperate thrust, to kill him, while Shiad stood in front with mace and shield, harassing him in all manners as to keep his attention away from me. That’s when it became a nightmare». The commandant paused and closed his eyes, the memory still painful to recollect despite the years that had passed by. «To this day I don’t know what happened; I remember Shiad crumpling to the ground and not a moment later my entire right side was a torrent of pain, as if lightning and thunder had just stricken me. I could scarcely breathe, my right arm was an unresponsive sea of fire, and I have no shame to admit I started to cry». He paused and looked at his subordinates in the eyes, daring them to criticize him. They remained silent. «It was my last remaining comrades who saved me, by taking that chance to disarm the bastard! Despite the pain addling my brain, I vividly remember when the sergeant knocked the war-hammer out of his hand and wounded that beast with two masterfully aimed swings. To this day, I still relish the grunt of pain he uttered when the blade took his eye! Only the helmet saved his damn life. Sometimes I wonder how history would have changed if the gods had let that strike hit just a bit lower».
«What happened then, sir?» Stavros asked. Even the stoic captain could not keep quiet anymore, moved by curiosity and by the desire to know how one could have survived such an encounter. Few could claim to have been there, and even less could boast to have heard the recollection of this epic – almost legendary – tale from someone who had lived it. It was an event whose ripples had impacted the whole war.
«Rupert was dead a moment later. That greyskin son of a bitch crushed his neck by punching with the edge of his tower shield; sounds absurd, I know. Athos took advantage of that moment to tackle the giant and bring him to the ground. The sergeant unsheathed his dagger and quickly moved to stab the Okkar in the eyes, one of the few places not protected by his armour. Behind me I heard the rest of our escadron rapidly advance, and despite the pain I was in, despite the death of my friends, I thought, for a moment, that we were going to win and avenge all the soldiers that had died that day».
«We all know the gods had other plans». The good captain spoke with finality.
The commandant showed no sign of having heard him. «An arrow pierced Athos’ skull. I do not know when he had lost his helmet during the fight, but it brought about his end, and with it our doom. Without his presence, that damn monster managed to avoid Sergeant Kim’s stab, grappled him to the ground and crushed his head, helmet included, with his bare hands. It is something I cannot forget… It is the most sickening sound I have ever heard in my life». He paused only to empty the goblet of the last of the wine. «I am alive only because he let me live. I was injured, weak… at his complete mercy. It was not due to my skills, divine providence, or luck that I survived, nor was it pity on his part: I was but an ant in his eyes, insignificant and harmless… and so he ignored me».
«Merciful Dalia…» The sergeant whispered.
«I surmise you both know the rest».
«The Bane of Portaigle…» Sergeant Cordonnier blanched and started to sweat. He clenched his hands to stop them from trembling. He closed his eyes and uttered a simple plea born of fear, voice caught in his throat. «Kohlk protect me… The Bane of Portaigle was my prisoner».
«Eiðvörður the Unyielding, First Pillar of the Iron Shields», Stavros murmured.
«You look unwell, sergeant. About to faint, actually. I would not fault you for that, though. Were I in your situation, I would feel similarly». Still, it would not do to spare you the truth, despite how doomed it will make you feel. «But I ask you to remain standing, to take a deep breath and listen carefully to what I will say. Will you do that, sergeant?»
A nod was his sole answer. From the looks of it, trying to speak would have ended up with Cordonnier throwing up on the carpet, so the commandant appreciated the self-control.
«I have valid reasons to believe Voldugur was the Unyielding’s son».
Cordonnier’s complexion became, if possible, even paler; sweat beads fell from his chin down on the carpet, a blank expression on his face.
«Worry not, thought. I suggest you and your men do not tell anyone you were the ones to kill the Vicious. If you do not bring attention to yourselves, it is unlikely the Unyielding will ever find any of you». Unlikely, but not impossible. If you are lucky, he will not remember how you look, or he will die before finding you. Even monsters succumb to old age, after all… Still, the desire for revenge can give strength even to a dying man.
«I-I’m sorry sir, but how… how can you be certain that man was him? And why do you think he’s the Vicious’ father?» His voice trembled, almost pleading for the commandant to be wrong.
«Everything you told me painted a picture of that same Okkar I saw slaughtering my friends many years ago, sergeant, just older. I was not sure, of course. I could have been mistaken, but the confirmation I needed was—»
«The earring». Cordonnier completed the sentence. The interruption did not bother the commandant, who nodded.
«By end of the war, our spies told us that Eiðvörður had been granted the right to establish his own tribe as a reward for his service. The “Wisdom Seekers” he named it, if you can believe it. As if vermin could pursue real wisdom… Most of his tribesmen came from the Iron Shields too, at least in the beginning, but they laid low after the war, so we slowly lost track of the tribe».
«And my groupe found them in Lykofos…»
«That, you did, but most of his original tribesmen have certainly been dead for years, otherwise I doubt you could have taken their village by surprise or even escaped alive. No offense to you or your men, sergeant, but the Iron Shields are the elites of the Okkar army».
«None taken, sir».
Stavros, who had stood mostly aside until then, chose that moment to speak, apparently having connected the dots. «That he donned the blue earring of command after the Vicious died, means he took it back from him! Since he is the original founder of the tribe and the position of höfuð is hereditary, they must be father and son».
«Correct, captain».
Silence fell, and for a while no one spoke. The commandant went back to looking into the fire, reminiscing the past, and the other two were likely processing the story they had just been told.
«Back to your report, sergeant. Tell me what happened next», the commandant ordered, still looking at the fire. When no immediate reply came, he turned around to look at his subordinate. Cordonnier was visibly shaking, though unclear if in anger or fear, and his left hand was gripping his sword as if afraid it would disappear. After a long stretch of silence, he finally managed to calm down enough to resume talking.
«We were attacked. Four nights after we raided the settlement. All the sentinels, even the hidden ones, were killed with a blow to the head. No one heard anything and no alarm was raised. We only discovered what happened when the next guard shift woke up».
«Assassins? Wood elves, perhaps?»
«Don’t know, sir. Maybe, but I fail to see why they’d be in Lykofos and why they’d target only our sentinels and not kill everyone else».
«Elves might be crazy enough to go and live in the accursed Forest», the commandant remarked. «Common sense does not apply to them».
«Well, sir, what I can tell you is that all the sentinels had a small hole in their head; it looked like the work of a bolt or a javelin».
«But to shoot so well at night means we’re dealing with people with terrifying aim…» The captain added.
«You are thinking of plains elves, Stavros, are you not? You know how unlikely that is. Plus, those barbarians always travel on their fulas… Mudit take them, they probably lie and frolic with those terrors as well», the commandant spat out with unrestrained disgust.
«Sorry, sir, it was just a wandering thought. Who did it is not the issue, not the most pressing one anyway. The problem… the real problem is the rest of the story». The captain passed a hand on his hair, his countenance cracking.
«What about the rest, Stavros? What gives you pause?» The commandant asked, determined to know everything that happened.
«Sergeant, tell the commandant as you told me».
«Yes, sir. We… we found their brains sprayed on the ground. Not even a javelin could do that, it was something I’ve seen in the wake of war-hammers. Then, there were the two soldiers guarding the prisoners…»
«And I am to believe not a single one of you heard anything? That there were no shouts, no noise at all? Do you take me for a fool, Cordonnier?!»
Voice pitched higher than before, the sergeant managed a brief reply. «N-no, sir. I’m just recalling what happened, sir! T-this is the truth, sir».
«We shall see about that. Captain, call Corporal Flax, I need a second opinion».
«Sir, Flax was killed in action. He was on guard duty when the attack happened. They brought back his body».
«I understand. Unfortunate, he was one of the few soldiers I was considering for a promotion… Captain, have the quartermaster notify his widow and tell the nomismáton to present her with four livres in addition to the normal compensation and the military pension». The commandant reclined on his chair and looked up. «Now, what were you saying about the two men guarding the prisoners, sergeant? Were they killed in the same way?»
«No, sir. They were attacked but survived the encounter, they are shaken but alive. I had one of them guard the prisoners as often as possible because he can keep his focus, has a good head on his shoulders and is a trusty subordinate, but...»
The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of the first birds of Spring.
«... But, sergeant?»
«We found both of them gagged and tied to a tree with strange shackles. Another soldier too. Here, sir, I’ve brought what remained of it». The sergeant took two pieces of black material from a pocket and gave them to the commandant, who examined them with a puzzled expression on his face.
«Strange indeed. Hard but flexible… and much lighter than expected». He pulled, trying to stretch what remained of them, but to no avail. «Is that metal inside of it?»
«I don’t know, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It wasn’t easy to cut them free, it took time, even with a knife, and what they told us sounds...»
Again, a beat passed.
«Sergeant, finish your sentences. Your hesitation only annoys me».
«My apologies, sir. It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it well enough. I think it would be best if you heard it directly from Soldat Pattes».
«This is getting ridiculous. Shall I hear from the horses next?»
«Sir, I—»
«That was a rhetorical question. Captain, have this soldier brought here; I suppose he will be at the barracks».
«I took the liberty of bringing him with me, sir. I told Pattes to wait for my call at the quartermaster’s office». Sergeant Cordonnier spoke.
«Always prepared, eh? Stavros has taught you well».
«Thank you, sir».
The commandant rang his bell, and a few moments later, Adjutant Dublé knocked on the door and entered the room. «You called, sir?»
«Bring Soldat Pattes here, please. He should be waiting at the quartermaster’s office».
«Of course, sir»
As Dublé was about to open the door, the commandant called out to him: «Richard».
«Yes, sir?»
«Do not scare the young man, please. I need to listen to his report».
«If he behaves…» And with that, he was gone.
Five or so minutes later, the adjutant ushered a visibly nervous young soldier – no more than twenty years old – inside the room and closed the door, leaving the newcomer with the commandant, Captain Stavros, and Sergeant Cordonnier.
«Soldat, do you know why you are here?» The commandant could not help but gnash his teeth at the greasy hair, the missing shirt button, and the dirty boots.
«Sir! ’A believe so, sir. Sarge told me ’a was gonna be called to tell wha’ happened tha’ night», Pattes replied, his words made even less understandable by a nasal congestion.
«That is correct. Start speaking, then, and do not leave anything out».
«Yes, sir. Was terrifyin’, sir. ’A was sittin’ close to th’ fire as Robert did th’ rounds, ya know, keepin’ watch on th’ prisoners. That’s easy job, and them Okkars was chill most of th’ time, ya know. But now they got awake ’cause ’a think they heard a noise or somethin’, but we had th’ guys keepin’ watch, so ’a wasn’t worried. Then ’a get grabbed from behind an’ something starts chokin’ me. Never been so scared in my life. Thought ’a was gonna die. A grip of steel it was; ’a tried to free meself but it be like tryin’ t’ move a tree, if ya know what ’a mean».
«You were armed, were you not? You could have used your spear or your dagger to free yourself».
«Th’ spear fell when they grabbed me, sir, an’ it was like an invisible hand took my spear an’ carried it away from me. ’A think it was a gifted, sir. ’A had thought ’bout a spirit at first, but then ’a told meself “Karl, spirits don’t leave no man alive an’ don’t tie ’em up”. Ya know, it wasn’t no spirit, sir, but tha’ was no mortal man either. It was somethin’ sent by the gods, ya know».
The commandant turned his back to the soldier and stared at the crackling fire, lost in thought. «“Sent by the gods”… Why do you say so?»
«’Cause ’a couldn’t see its legs or arms, sir. They was hidden by a Gift, ya know. ’A tried to stab it t’ free meself, sir, but it was like hittin’ a rock. ’A only got a cut on my face an’ a chipped blade for my effort». He moved to grab the dagger at his belt, but a big hand loudly fell on his shoulder before he could.
«Never reach for your weapon in front of a superior officer unless ordered to, soldat. You don’t want your head on a pike, do you?» The captain’s voice was as stern as it could be.
Pattes visibly swallowed. «N-no, sir, ’a don’t. A-apologies commandant, sir!» He almost shouted as he quickly stood at attention. «It was not my intention, sir. ’A just wanted t’ show you my damaged dagger, sir!»
«Just give me your weapon, soldier. I will not order the good captain to kill you on the spot. After what you survived, it would be silly to die for such a blunder, don’t you agree?»
Visibly confused and still a bit panicked, Pattes managed an uncertain «Yes, s-sir», before offering his unsheathed dagger to the commandant with as much fear as possible. Captain Stavros was busy boring a hole into his nape.
«Captain, stop glaring at him, he is already nervous as it is», he ordered quietly as he inspected the knife. The point was completely gone, and the blade itself was chipped and cracked in a few places. How much was due to this mysterious foe’s sturdiness and how much to the low quality of the weapon, he could not say, but one thing bothered him. «You said it was like “stabbing a rock”. So it was different from plate or chainmail, is that what you are saying?»
«Yes, sir. ’A know plate an’ mail well, an’ this, this was different. It was softer but no less hard. Ya can see what it did on th’ knife. It also was, it was... warm. Well, warmer than metal. It was sent by Zoren, sir, ’a know it! Skin tough like a rock but soft like the good earth, strong like a root an’ invisible to us mortals as long as it’s on the ground. Only th’ God of Earth can have such servants, an’ they came for us. We angered him, taking th’ Okkars, and that’s why He sent one of His sons to punish us».
«That is enough, soldat! The Gods do as they will and favour who they desire, but they do not help the likes of Okkars, and their false gods are weak. Furthermore, why, tell me, would a son of Zoren bother to choke you and tie you up, when it could have easily killed you with a swipe of its hand?»
«’A don’t know, sir. The Gods decide an’ we obey».
«I said that is enough! I do not care about who you believe did it, just tell me what else happened!»
«Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir. When ’a woke up ’a was bound to a tree, gagged, but ’a saw them! They was made o’ rock and earth, as ’a said, with black crystal where eyes are in mortals; they cut the chains an’ made the prisoners free an’ led them away. One o’ them became a shadow and took down Gregory when he came out o’ his tent. He’s alive too, lucky bastard».
«Anything else?»
«Yes, sir. T-they’d left but two o’ them came back. They looked ’round a bit, then they got into a tent an’ came out a bit o’ time later with this youn’ Okkar female we’d captured. Then they walked away». He visibly shivered. «E-everyone in tha’ tent was dead».
«Thank you, soldat. Now go back to the barracks, do something about your hair, replace the button of your uniform, and clean your damn boots, for the love of Kohlk! You are dismissed».
The soldier saluted, bowed and exited the room as fast as possible without having to run.
The commandant looked at the door in silence after Pattes left. He took his seat behind the desk and addressed Stavros. «What was that about the tent, captain?»
«Sir, it is as Pattes said: the five men inside were killed, throat cut in their sleep. Two, however, were butchered in a way that I’d call inhuman. I've seen beasts butchered with less violence…» At a gesture from his superior officer, the captain continued. «I saw the bodies after the groupe came back, and they were a bloody mess. Eyes gouged out, nose and lips cut, stab wounds all over their head, their scalp cut off, and… well, their dick and balls were cut off and stuck into their mouth».
Cordonnier listened without moving a muscle, but he could not stop the mix of nausea and anger from appearing on his face. «Sir, we also found two other soldiers dead outside of their tent. They too had their heads cracked open on one side with only a small hole on the other. Their brains and skulls were scattered on the ground».
«Captain, prepare a list with the names of the deceased», the commandant said, passing a hand on his forehead. «The quartermaster will have to notify all of their spouses or next of kin, and be sure to tell to the nomismáton to send them the proper compensation and military pension».
«As you command, sir».
«Sergeant, thank you for your report. I grant you three days of paid leave. Use them as you will. You can go now».
Cordonnier saluted both officers and walked out of the room, his steps heavy.
Once they were alone again, the commandant allowed himself to ease up a little bit. In the captain’s presence he could do it. «You too, Stavros, go rest and clean yourself up. You’re relieved for today».
«Sir, are you sure? There are still—»
«Yes, I am». A warm smile graced his face for the first time that morning, and he approached the captain. «Ah, I almost forgot. Your daughter came yesterday, with her wife and husband, to deliver the good news, but you were supervising the cavalry training, so she left the incumbency to me».
«The good… you mean?» The confusion on Stavros’ face was replaced by a look of understanding and joy.
«Congratulations, old friend! You are a grandfather now». He slapped Stavros on the shoulder. «She did not say if the child was male, however», he said with mirth. «I think she takes a lot after her mother in this, because she seemed to enjoy the thought of you stewing for a bit more. She knows well how curious you would be, enough to sprout wings and take flight».
«Liandra knows me too well. Thank you for the news, sir».
«My pleasure. Go visit your family now. You can run if you want, I shall not mind». He knew well that the captain would have preferred a two days march compared to be seen sprinting around.
In fact, Stavros looked at him in askance, as if he had just told him that the skies were falling. «Sir, an officer should never be seen running, or the soldiers will think something bad is going on. I would—»
The commandant chuckled. «That was a joke. Relax, Stavors. Just go see your grandchild».
«Yes, sir. Thank you, sir». He saluted and all but ran out of the office.
The commandant watched his friend go with a smile, then he approached his desk and rang the bell for the third time that morning.
As quickly as before, his adjutant arrived. «Yes, sir?»
«Richard, I have to go meet Amélie. We will probably have supper together». He adjusted his shirt and put on the coat of his uniform; the blue cloth highlighted the yellow star denoting his rank, sewed on both sides of the collar.
«You will find the quartermaster in her office, sir».
«Thank you. While I’m gone, have the carpet thoroughly cleaned». He pointed at the dirty spots where his subordinates had walked earlier, as he took his sabre and tied it to his waist.
«Of course, sir».
«Good. I will see you later». He opened the door and walked out of his office.
Dublé gave a slight bow, a faint smile on his face.