Year 3043 AGD

Month: Ragnós

Secondday

Continent of Terroval

Northwest of Asylum

Protectorate Base Camp

Victor’s body was still tingling as they reached the knights’ camp. The act of being transported by the lines of power was a singularly invigorating experience. It had lasted mere moments, but in that time, his consciousness had perceived the rolling fields of gold and the looming mountains that bordered them to the north. As he passed over the forest, he saw thin creatures on four legs frolicking through a clearing. Then, with a blink of an eye, it was over. When he told Nim how beautiful it had been, his mentor had simply looked at Victor, a curious expression on his face.

The camp was in a state of what Victor decided was an ordered chaos. The tents and all of the equipment were neat and tidy, and when he looked down the rows of tents in the vast camp, he whistled. It looked like someone had put a line down and the tents had followed that line perfectly. Among that perfect order, however, was the chaos of thousands of people moving in every direction. He knew that each person had a job to do and was going about it in the quickest manner possible, but it still looked like everyone was moving around with no idea what to do next.

“Is it always this busy?” Victor asked in a voice loud enough to be heard over the steady cacophony of the busy encampment.

“Not always,” Nim grinned a moment before his tone turned a bit more solemn. “Sometimes the camp is so quiet that the only perceptible sound is the crackle of the fire. That kind of thing mostly occurs after heated battles though, when the men want to order their thoughts and watch the flame as it dances carelessly throughout the campfires. That’s when man envies the flame most of all, I think.”

In the middle of the camp, there was a tent the size of a large house. Unlike the tan tents that made up the rest of the camp, this tent was black, with the purple and gold of the Protectorate trimming its borders and the symbol of the Protectorate adorning the front flap. Guards were posted around its perimeter, and in the few minutes it took Victor and Nim to reach the tent, he saw a dozen messengers run in and out of the tent.

“Halt. State your business,” one of the two guards at the entrance intoned.

“Soldier, I know you’re doing your job, but if you don’t move out of my way, I’ll gut you where you stand.” The guard bristled visibly at this and started pulling his sword, but before he could clear the first inch of the scabbard his partner was holding the man’s hand in place. The second man leaned over and whispered in the first one’s ear, and the man who had begun pulling his sword blanched visibly before sliding his sword back into its sheath.

“Master Mithriannil, forgive me, I am from the city of Freeport, and though I have heard of your exploits, I have never seen you in person.” He moved out of the way hastily, looked quickly at Victor as if he might bar his entry, but then thought twice about it and kept quiet.

The tent was one big room with desks spread out along the edges, and at the center was a large table with a map of the area upon its surface. There were translucent figurines placed about the map; some were a shade of blue, some were a shade of gray, and the rest had a red tint. Their entrance went seemingly unnoticed, as no one visibly acknowledged their presence. That proved to be a false assumption, however, as they were spoken to a moment later.

“Nim, come here a moment,” the squat figure standing at the map with his back towards the door said. His statement lay somewhere between an order and a request.

Nim walked up to the map on the right side of the man. “Yes, High Commander Cantel?”

“Oh, none of that rank nonsense in here, at least until I start issuing orders.” Stewart Cantel grinned. “I would, however, like it if you didn’t gut my soldiers for doing their jobs.”

“Ah yes, well, I wouldn’t have gutted the lad. I might have given him a black eye and a few bruises, but he would have been good for duty after a visit with a healer.”

“That is beside the point, Nim; it’s bad for morale if the soldiers think you might gut them on a whim,” Commander Cantel said with a straight and serious expression.

Looking stricken, Nim put on a mock tone of suffering. “But Stewart, I have a reputation to uphold. Surely coming from me, it can’t be anything more than motivation.” Nim grinned at the smaller man as Stewart began to laugh.

“Nim, you’re nothing but trouble, but I suppose you are right. It is better that the men fear and respect you; that way, their unadulterated respect for their superiors can be nothing but strengthened by your callousness.”

Looking even more hurt than before, Nim stated, “You’re a cruel man.” Victor wasn’t sure he was acting anymore.

“Yes, I am. Now, let’s get down to business. Zander arrived early this morning and is out with a scouting party heading for the other side of Asylum. These are the positions of the encampments that our other scouts have seen thus far. It is a large force, about two hundred fifty thousand strong. It is comprised of mostly goblin-kin and blood orcs, though a few frost and fire giants have been spotted. So far, there have only been a few blood mages and two dracair warriors amongst their numbers. A dracair patrol was spotted, but they will no longer bother us.”

“How many did you lose doing that?” Nim asked.

Cantel cringed, “Half: Five men to take care of one Dreadnaught and two warriors. I’m afraid of what would happen if they ever came at us in force, Nim.”

“We have a lot of good men and some of the best mages anywhere, Stewart. We’ll be able to make them rue the day they decided to test our tenacity.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that we’ll lose that battle anyway; they also have some good mages, some of whom were Academy trained. Those traitors could tip the balance. Even if they don’t, there is no telling what other monstrosities have been bred or what devices they have created for just that occasion. We need a spy, Nim, and I’m afraid none of us have enough of the pure draconic blood running through us like those half-breeds.”

“We have enough of our base natures left not to be corrupted by the power that our draconic side wishes to acquire,” Nim said, before frowning. “Well, at least some of us can resist that side.”

“Nim, it is not your fault your father was a dracair assassin. You have proven yourself a thousand times over. We all hoard treasure—it’s part of our nature, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in that. Your skills at some of the darker things have helped us just as much as your love of life for those who deserve it. Never doubt that you are above the Dracair. They kill anyone who gets in their way remorselessly, be it a soldier or a civilian. The quest for power and prestige amongst their ranks is all that matters to them. They would never have found homes for orphans—yes, I know about that. There are too many in our ranks that you have personally saved for it to go unnoticed. Your reputation is not as cruel as you think it is, Nim. Those men out there fear you, yes, but they respect you more. Your exploits with Tetriarch Halcyon and Colonel Theromvore are legendary.”

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“Retired Colonel, and don’t say legendary—we aren’t dead yet,” Nim said with a grimace.

“You know as well as I do, Brigadier General, that you never quite retire from the Protectorate. Ashur knows this as well as you do.”

“Wait a minute!” Victor cut in. “Nim is a Brigadier General, and Ashur is a Theromvore, too?” Victor looked at Nim accusingly. “That’s interesting.”

Nim had enough courtesy to look ashamed of leaving that information out of his notes. “Yes, Victor; I guess he and I are cousins of a sort.”

Stewart laughed. “Yes, Ashur is brother to the king. I assumed that you knew this. Of course, his family didn’t like Nim taking him out on his adventures, but there wasn’t much that they could do to stop them, either. In fact, they even acquired one hell of a reputation amongst the Protectorate. Enough to give them code names, at least…”

“That will be enough of that,” Nim said tartly. “We are getting off-subject here. What do you want me to do?” Victor knew that Nim had not missed the look he had given him that said this conversation was not yet through and they would talk about it later, and at great length.

“I’d like you to take command of the Three Twenty-Third.”

“No,” Nim said.

“Come on, Nim,” the high commander pleaded.

“No,” Nim stated, his tone growing stronger.

“Would you at least think about it?”

“No,” Nim replied.

Stewart Cantel sighed. “Fine, I’d like you to take command of the First Squad of the First Company of the Third Platoon in the Three Twenty-Third.”

“That I can do. Now, I’d like to go take command and get them ready for scouting before you put me in charge of a corps again,” he said. As he turned to leave, however, a grin slid onto his face a moment before he turned back around and offered the high commander a crisp salute.

“Nim, you are never going to grow up, are you?”

“Sir, is that an order to grow up from the high commander, sir?” Nim asked, his smile not quite leaving his face.

“No Nim, if you grew up, I wouldn’t have a job.” He sighed and returned Nim’s salute, just so he would put his arm down.

“Now, Stewart, that’s not true. You are the most qualified person to command the knights,” Nim stated seriously.

“Be that as it may, Nim, your exploits are known far and wide, while mine have all been in the background. I think if you hadn’t retired four years ago, you would be here instead of me,” the high commander stated, his voice full of regret.

Nim put his hand on Stewart’s shoulder. “My friend, not only have you been high commander for the last seven years, but had they tried to offer me the position, I would have turned it down. You know I hated being promoted as far as I had been. They tried to chain me to a desk job. None of us can handle being out of the action for long, but you have a lot more patience than I do; have no doubt that you are the right man for the job. Now, you do your job and I will do mine. Come on, Victor.”

“You’re not taking the boy with you, are you?”

Nim looked thoughtfully at Victor. “Tell me, Victor, what you would do if I were to leave you here.”

Victor shrugged and said, “I’d follow you.”

Nim and Stewart laughed, and the high commander looked at Victor. “You keep him out of trouble, then.”

“Oh, I dunno about that, High Commander; I figure if anyone starts the trouble, it will probably be me.” Victor grinned from ear to ear as he slid his finger across the hilt of his dagger.

Stewart raised an eyebrow and looked at Nim questioningly. “You sure you want to take him with you? I could have him thrown in a holding cell.”

“No, we learned the same way.”

“You were thirteen and I was fourteen when we learned on the field though, Nim, and even that was considered taboo. Don’t you think he’s a bit young still?”

Nim shrugged. “Maybe, but there is only one way to find out.” He turned and walked out of the tent, and Victor followed.

∞∞∞

Twenty minutes later, they located the squad that Nim was going to take charge of. The men in camp they found were all hardened soldiers accustomed to recon missions. The first man Victor saw was Sergeant McDowell, a mountain dwarf with dark red hair, and a scar on his grizzled face. Victor wondered how anything that big could be called a dwarf.

“McDowell! You’re still a sergeant?” Nim asked, clasping arms with the dwarf who was nearly six feet tall. His shoulders were as wide as an ox, and seemingly twice as thick. Despite his size, he moved fluidly.

“Ah Nim, ye be knowin’ that them commanders would never allow a simple sort such as meself in command of more than a dozen men,” McDowell said with a feigned sadness.

“Oh yes, I seem to recall something about a border tower exploding a few years back.” Nim grinned as the sturdy dwarf flinched.

“Ye be knowin’ that tweren’t me fault, lad. Them mages shoulda told me what them kegs was full of. Can’t be blamin’ a thirsty dwarf fer lookin’ inta a keg now, can ye?” McDowell grinned as Nim began laughing at the last part of the dwarf’s statement.

“No my friend, one cannot blame you on that count. However, it would have been a great loss to the knights if you would have been found in a dozen pieces.”

“Oh lad, don’t give me that horse dung. There are thousands in this camp more skilled than meself, stronger than meself, and smarter than meself.” The dwarf’s voice carried a tone that let Victor know that this was a man who didn’t take any nonsense from anyone.

Looking critically at the dwarf, Nim stated, “Yes, and they didn’t survive three hundred years in the wardens and another hundred years in the knights. Many with more skill, strength, and intelligence have died in that time, yet you are still here. Be that as it may, though, it’s not the point, and I’m not here to argue. I have been given the charge of overseeing the operational procedures of this unit.”

Scowling, the dwarf said, “That’s just a fancy way of sayin’ that yer takin’ over me unit, general. Don’t be tryin’ ta blow smoke up me arse. As ye said yerself, I’m a bit too old fer that nonsense.”

Nim grinned sardonically. “Fine, I’m here to take over for a while. Now, assemble the men, so I can see what I have to work with here.”

About a minute and a half later, by Victor’s estimation, there were nine of the dourest looking individuals Victor thought he would ever see in his life. The unit was comprised of three humans, two dwarves, two grey elves, a half-elf, and what Victor thought must be a half-ogre. Sergeant McDowell stood in front of his men, giving them scowls and barking commands. When everything seemed to be satisfactory to the powerfully-built dwarf, he briskly turned and saluted Nim.

“All present and accounted for, General Mithriannil.” With that, a murmur went through the troops, which was quickly stopped with a sharp head turn from the sergeant.

Nim returned the salute and said, “I’m retired,” as he looked over the men.

Victor noted McDowell’s grin as he watched Nim appraise his men. “Aye General, yer retired, and all me an’ me boys are gonna be doin’ is campin’ out under the stars enjoying each other’s company for the next few months.” Victor noted the sharp intake of breath by the half-elf in line when McDowell had said ‘me boys,’ and after a few moments of further study, realized that it was, in fact, a woman. After a few more moments of consideration, Victor thought she might even be considered attractive if she took off her leather armor that restrained and mostly hid her curves.

“Where on Terrazil did you ever acquire such a multiplicity of men?” Nim was obviously impressed by whatever it was he saw in this group. Victor wasn’t quite sure if Nim had heard the half-elf clear her throat slightly when Nim used the term men, but it made Victor grin a little.

McDowell smiled at Nim’s question enough so that Victor thought the man’s head might split right in half. “Well laddie, that’s one of the perks of bein’ around so long an’ not bein’ promoted. The brass allows ye to pick and choose on occasion. One or two of ‘em actually requested transfers to this squad; only Ragnós would know why anyone would want that. I would count each of them among the best soldiers I’ve ever worked with, though. A true soldier, every one. They don’t want ta be in command, they just want ta be in the field doin’ their jobs.” The dwarf’s tone sounded very satisfied as he talked about his soldiers. When he continued, his tone was more whimsical than anything. “Oh, I miss those days, general.”

Nim rolled his eyes at the dwarf’s need to use his title. “We all miss those days, Sergeant McDowell. Now, introduce me to the… soldiers.” Victor caught the grin the little elven woman shot at Nim. It was as if she had won a victory. It was a small victory, but as Victor would soon find out, every victory was to be appreciated, no matter how small, because every defeat, no matter how insignificant, weighs heavily on one’s consciousness.