“General Taides, sir. A message from the crown.”
The day courier sprinted up the slopes of clay and dust to reach the overlooking plateau that loomed over the canyon passage below. The muscles in his legs were throbbing in pain as he dropped to one knee in front of the lone man on the rock.
Despite the extremely hot climate of the region, the figure before the courier was outfitted in full regalia. For the Mont Ryoux army, this meant he was draped in the thick hide of a horned sabercat over his studded silver and brown silk plate armor. An impossible commodity to obtain that served as a status symbol. It revealed his position of being far above mere wealth.
A brimmed cap adorned with a four-pointed star and an elegant jeweled saber at his hip established him as the General and commander of this army to any passerby. The General stood with his hand folded behind him, not bothering to shift out of his intimidating demeanor when he turned to face the courier.
“Hmm…”
He nodded for the boy to give him the message.
“He-here you are, sir.”
The General took the envelope in hand and nodded without looking back at the boy, staring deeply down at the seal pressed in wax. The boy took his cue and left without another word.
Holding the envelope, the General carried himself with slow steps over to his equipment. Firm impressions were left into the dusty rock from the sheer weight of his armor. A tent had been set up on this overlooking rock, at a perfect level for the General to see the progress of his army below as they marched through the desolate canyon. His set up on the rock was merely enough for one person, as he preferred it, but it was obvious to anyone with a brain that someone important was in the tent. The gold ornamental flag and tent frame along with the armored horse, an unorthodox war thoroughbred, signaled to the soldiers just who was observing them from the rock.
General Taides set the envelope down on a table in his tent, right next to the letter opener designed to break the specially made wax seals of the kingdom. Taides then left the tent without so much as touching the letter and stood outside.
A bird sat in the tree overhead. With exceptionally cold nights and scorching days combined with the lack of any rainfall for years in this canyon, the Deadlands were famous for being a rocky, barren wasteland. The canyons had long served as a natural border between two warring countries. That was why it surprised the aged General to see any semblance of life in the wastes.
The crow was clearly starving. Its plumage was thin and graying, likely not due to age but disease. The General doubted anything fell to age in this part of the world. Just from the crow’s appearance, he guessed it probably had barely a few more hours left before it succumbed to hunger.
The General shook his head. In the next moment, a dormant light flared to life behind his eyes, stretching his pupils and turning his iris’s a blazing crimson glow. The crow that had attached itself limply to the tree in front of him suddenly snapped its attention to the man, its wings raised in a panic attempt to take flight.
Too late, the crow burst into flame, a bright hue consuming it like the flash of a bomb before settling down. Just as quickly as it came the light faded, leaving a skeleton of the bird to drop lifelessly off of the withered branch, falling alongside molten bits of burnt fat and feathers.
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The General grimaced, rubbing the top of his neck with a mild discomfort. Then as if nothing happened, he reached into a satchel to affix a pair of sunglasses to his face, a luxury courtesy of the noble shops back in his country’s capital. He turned to the sound of sand falling from rock, to see one of his aides had made the trek up to the plateau.
“Legate Gilles.”
“General Taides, sir…”
The Legate followed his General into the plateau’s sole tent where the General gave him permission to continue with a nod.
“Sir, I have heard that you may have gotten word from the crown about a change in our marching orders?”
“Mm. On the desk.”
The Legate’s vision turned to the unopened note on the center table in the tent. His throat gulped.
“General Taides, sir, why if I may ask, has the letter not been unsealed?”
The General stopped his movement of preparing a drink and eyed the man, but did not react as the Legate expected. Instead, he silently finished making his drink and sat down on a cushioned chair.
“Because I already know what it says.”
The General paused between gulps of scotch. A forty-year-old brand. Very hard to come by.
“And it bids us to venture further north, at twice the pace no doubt...”
“But sir, excuse my frankness, but that’s madness!”
The General nodded, closing his eyes.
“I may be unaware of many things that go on in the minds of our far southern leaders, but I wear no blinders to matters that concern Centralia. I know the king’s advisors are dissatisfied with our campaign’s progress, and they no doubt wish to blame me for it.”
“S-sir! They cannot do such a thing! If they show their unhappiness with our own campaign’s progress then they would be forced to disown Haladeen and Tedrovia’s legions as well. It would be utter insanity! They would surely never do such a thing.”
General Taides shook his head.
“Oh, Gilles, I believe they would. The men of Centralia are far too distanced from the war to understand how much their stable rule relies on us. No one in the south knows or would care to know just how fast this front would unravel if our campaign were to be pulled back. Their sole concern now is how they can trap me in the hinterlands long enough to set up a court-martial and put their own lapdog at the head of my men. It’s entirely about their desires, nothing more.”
The Legate digested this information. He was raised far away from the nation’s capital, Centralia. Unlike his General, he hadn’t visited the city until he was already a man and a soldier, and by that time the war was already underway. There was no time for him to get used to the power plays of politics in the way that his General was. In his eyes, the inner workings of Centralia were a hub for the scum of rat-like greed and moral filth, and he had long crossed the point of possible interest.
Pfsshh
The rumbling of rocks falling from the edge of the plateau alerted the two men to someone climbing up. The sound stopped, and they could see a silhouette paused at the flap entrance of the tent.
“Enter.”
General Taides bade the courier in. It was not the same boy as before. This one was quite a bit younger, actually. If the sweat off his face was any indication, a lot more nervous too.
The two immediately motioned for the lad to speak. The Legate in particular grew more hesitant at what the possible news was as he waited for the anxious boy to speak his peace.
“General Taides, sir. There’s been an ambush at the front!”