They waited by the wagons for the scout to return, the atmosphere was tense.
At least. The guards were tense.
Oliver was falling asleep, River was already asleep, it had been over an hour.
The two rested against the wagon, in full sight of the guards.
When the scout became visible through the trees wearing a complicated expression, he was immediately asked the question.
The young captain stood, a bit too fast. “What is the status of our forces?” He spoke hurriedly across the small distance
The scout snapped out of his stupor, and the weight of knowledge slumped his posture. He kept approaching, though slower now.
“C-Captain…”
The captain was fighting reality with every breath, but no matter what he wanted the case to be, things were playing out in that dreaded direction. He waited for the words.
The scout, about to continue, noticed the two prisoners and stopped.
The captain snapped, “Recruit, spit it out!”
But the recruit was in his own world now, he reached out a desperate hand toward Oliver, who was watching him with uncomfortable eyes.
“Did you see? Did anybody… ?”
Did any guardsmen get away. Oliver could tell what he was asking.
“As far as I can tell, all the guardsmen died… As a matter of fact–”
Oliver turned to the captain, who took this as confirmation of what Oliver had already recounted prior, and seemed to be processing the information himself.
Oliver opined, “Now that everybody’s here, we really should get going.”
The captain’s eyes flicked toward Oliver, then over the guards and wagons. The situation dawned on him. His hand shook for a moment, but he steadied, and steel entered his eyes. “Break camp immediately, we’re hightailing it back to the city.”
Nobody moved, confused at the rapidly changing situation. The young captain adjusted his posture, feet shoulder width apart. Oliver felt something radiating off him, some small amount of… authority. The captain inhaled all the way in, and shouted.
“NOW!”
The guards sprung into action, nearly tripping over themselves as the captain approached Oliver and River, grabbing one of each of their arms, and shoving them into one of the guard wagons, rather than the prisoner cart they had come on.
There was simply no need for so many transports now, and driving them would take all the guards they had left. Who cared if they lost some assets, so long as some arrived back at all – separating like that when they were practically on the run was a death sentence.
They returned to the city, Oliver surrounded by intense eyes– not accusing in the sense that he was an enemy, but insinuating it was a waste prisoners had survived and not guardsmen. The captain wasn’t focused on the idea though, he was too busy writing up the beginnings of a report with Oliver’s and the scout’s input.
Though the scout seemed to have trouble staying cognizant.
—
The guardsmen at the gate awaited the return of their most combat oriented expeditionary members, and as day became night, when only two transports approached–where five had set out–something seemed amiss.
Two guardsmen went out to meet the small convoy, and they were allowed through the wall. The Gate Commander sent an urgent letter to the Minister of Defence, defacto commander of the city’s armed forces.
Once the wagons were parked by the gate’s adjoining guard building, Oliver and River were pulled out by several unnerved guardsmen, and they were led into separate rooms.
Minutes passed, then the Gate Commander entered the room swiftly, followed by a string of guards and scholars, one of which being the interrogator from days prior.
Gate Commander and interrogator sat side by side, other scholars arrayed behind– taking notes.
The Gate Commander begins, “I want to hear the whole thing, from the beginning.”
Oliver was wont not to cooperate, however he didn’t think he had much of a choice. If he showed resistance, they might see it necessary taking him to that truth-telling room. There was too much to hide. Best to be selectively forthcoming while he had the chance.
“Well… we entered the forest, prisoners in front.”
Quills and pens started scratching.
“And suddenly, about ten to twenty minutes in, we had arrows rain down on us from ahead.”
Oliver continued like that, unsure of what or how to make a report. Detaching himself from his motivations, glossing over his positioning and reasoning for certain actions. Objectively recounting the events as they happened otherwise.
He received the occasional question throughout, clarifying certain details, but they seemed content to have Oliver give them his version of events without their influence or direction.
The real questions came after.
One of the scholars in the background spoke, “You mentioned sacrificial… armed noncombatants?”
It was how he had put it. Oliver nodded.
The scholar spoke again, “Would you call them slaves?”
Just the word made Oliver grimace. It was degrading, and Oliver didn’t want to use it, but to him– unfortunately, that was probably the best word for it. He could say refugees who were taken advantage of, but then he would need to say from where.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Oliver hesitated, but nodded at that. “Yes, I think so.”
The Gate Commander remarked, “Not a fan of slavery, I’m guessing?”
Oliver rested his eyes on the Gate Commander. “Can’t say I am.”
“What if they deserved it?”
Numb to emotion, Oliver had thought he was for the moment. But after seeing what he had just seen, and hearing that…
Deserved? The fuck does whether they deserved slavery or not matter to this investigation anyway?!
Oliver’s eyes widened with anger, and he managed to avoid flipping the table. He was restrained, it would have been a terrible idea.
“They were children and elderly folk.” He managed with gritted teeth.
Before the situation could derail further, the interrogator asked what Oliver found to be a fairly chilling question.
“What were the attackers wearing, slaves and not. Any hooded upper body garments, with a line down the middle? Any headwear that protruded from the front? Extravagant colours, strange materials, anything?”
Oliver’s disgruntled state gradually cooled down over the course of the question, in which Oliver held eye contact with the interrogator. They were learning things, the signs of modernity. Or did they already know? Have people appeared in the past?
Oliver spoke again, “All the slave’s clothing was too… ragged, for me to say.”
But rather than play into what the interrogator was asking for, Oliver took this opportunity to report certain people he wouldn’t mind identifying. Derailing this risky line of questioning.
“There were a few wearing distinct magical robes, however.”
The Gate Commander raised an eyebrow. “Robes? That’s not consistent with–”
He winced in pain, but he shut up with side-eye at the interrogator.
The interrogator prompted Oliver to continue. “Go on.”
Consistent with what?
“Three individuals. One wore black hair and robes, he wielded a wand. Another guy with blonde hair and green robes who seemed to prefer a knife.”
Oliver grimaced as he recounted them, “And a man with shimmery green hair and grey robes, accented in silver. He wielded a staff, and I believe controlled the aforementioned undead.”
Everybody in the room considered this, and started scratching down notes–except one of the scholars in the back, who whispered to the next. They looked at each other for a moment, then came forward with a note for the Gate Commander.
The Gate Commander plucked the note out of their hands, and gave it a quick read. Becoming increasingly concerned as he did so.
“... He can’t have come that far…”
Oliver guessed they knew something about the rogue cabal leader.
They seemed to have all they wanted out of Oliver for the moment, so they filed out of the room.
Oliver, finally in ‘safety,’ couldn’t resist the temptation of unconsciousness, and slipped away right there in his chair.
He didn’t dream at all.
—
There were many occasions with which the convening of ministers was a necessary part. Often, not all of them showed up – much to the dismay of Lord Willowen and his entourage.
Perhaps, though, this time – the message was worded more convincingly. All four Ministers had shown. Defence, Finance, Law, Resources.
One might have assumed all meetings needed a big round table or some such–a hall or a throne room. That might have been the case in other cities, but Lord Willowen didn’t much care for such places, he believed the best kind of discussions were held in a less formal setting. Of course, security of important individuals provided that walking about in the sunshine in a big collection was not a particularly bright idea.
And so, rather than a formal gathering at some meeting room or office…
The Minister of Defence was splayed across the couch, exhibiting her dismay at the situation. Her untidy black hair was peppered with grey strands, her black military dress clothes exuding practicality.
“... How could they possibly…” She held up a clenched fist, and released it.
The Minister of Resources sat against the wall, cross-legged. Thoughtful. He sported curly light brown hair and round glasses, and wore a scholar’s garb themed orange.
He spoke in a monotone fashion, meeting nobody’s eyes. “I bid we take action to protect the outlying farmsteads, this is clearly a significant force.”
The Minister of Law sat in a couch-chair with her hands in her lap. A stylized peaked cap in red, not dissimilar to those worn by officials, sat atop her blonde head. She wore a high collared white coat which was accented in red, and cinched at the waist by a belt.
“I imagine this falls within the requirements for capital reinforcement.” Her eyes darted from face to face, as if trying to capture their reactions to the statement.
The Minister of Finance sat in an adjacent couch-chair, hunched over, his elbows on his knees. His face was neutral. His grey hair was combed, and he wore a navy blue suit, accented in a lighter blue.
“To my knowledge, the capital’s forces are doubtful even on this side of the Empire.”
Lord Jason Willowen stood amongst his advisors, his extravagant black, blue, and yellow robes haphazardly worn, though that was as much a style choice as an indicator of the Lord’s personality.
“... Is that so?”
The Ministers all looked at their Lord for a moment, before avoiding his glare.
The Defence Minister sat up to address the question, rubbing at her forehead. “Yes my Lord, as far as I’m aware. They’re weeks away, if they decided to come at all.”
The frown that played across the Lord’s face was one that all present were familiar enough with. He had clearly been banking on some such help. He let the silence play out for a few moments before he nodded to the Defence Minister.
“We were already short on forces before this, so I’ll venture that sending a larger force is out of the question?”
The Minister of defence gave the Lord a half smile. “Yes, that’s correct”
The Minister of Finance raised a hand, “If I may, adventurers are an option. Though we would need to extend the recruitment to our neighbors’ guilds if we want a substantial enough force– we at least have the funds.”
Lord Jason considered this, and pursed his lips. He shot a glance at the remaining two Ministers.
The Minister of Law remarked, “A mercenary force like that shouldn’t be hired in such numbers as to outnumber the city garrison. There is too high a chance for complication.”
The Minister of Resources bit his lip, “I have an alternative approach regarding adventurers.” He met Lord Willowen’s eyes.
The Lord waited for him to continue, but after a few seconds–lost patience. “Well? Out with it.”
The Resources Minister frowned. “Well, considering our supposed funds,” He glanced at the Finance Minister, “We simply offer a high enough reward for their capture or defeat. Let the adventurers decide how to approach it, and leave the problem in their hands.”
Lord Jason smiled, “Sounds straightforward enough.”
The Defence Minister voiced an objection, “If I may, our adventurers are not equipped enough for such a task. We’re not exactly a hotspot for adventurer work.”
The Lord considered her words for half a moment, but dismissed them. Having found a solution he was personally happy with.
“No, no. Set the award at a quarter what you might have been willing to pay for an army, George. I’ll leave this in your hands.”
The Minister of Finance nodded, but decided to ask something before Lord Willowen escaped the room. A little self indulgence, a curiosity.
“My Lord, I will be happy to do so. I have just one more question.”
Lord Jason Willowen turned an annoyed expression back to the Finance Minister, “Yes?”
“The prisoners that survived the encounter, the ones conscripted to fight–have they earned their freedom? They are not violent and have been cooperative.”
The Minister of Law tried to speak up–
Lord Willowen waved a hand dismissively, “I pardon them in my magnanimity. I truly need to get to other business, so please send any other matters requiring my attention by way of Marland.”
And the meeting was over.