Far south of the canyon mouth leading into the territory of the Pytheonians, a vast arrangement of tents were stationed beneath the boiling sun. In one of these tents near the back of the camp, several warhorses of the highest stock and an unorthodox thoroughbred had been hitched outside. Within the tent a multitude of men dressed in finery and military regalia discussed quietly. After a brief shuffling of papers to get himself in order, a young man dressed in a legate’s uniform spoke aloud and quieted the voices.
“Among the dead…seventeen hundred heavy infantry hoplites, four dozen skirmishers, fifteen cavalrymen- oh that’s not so bad…”
“Legate Hermann!”
Legate Gilles stood abruptly to his feet, his face red with anger. Scornful of the man who sought to make light of their current situation.
“Excuse yourself, Hermann.”
All eyes in the tent traveled to General Taides, who was seated just on the other side of the table. He only waved Hermann out of the tent, but the others could see from the lines marking his face that his mood was no better than Gilles’.
The motion of dismissing Hermann was in line with what Gilles was about to request, but it unnerved the whole company of Legates and advisors that the General, one who had never been a man to turn away even the most critical of advisors, made it before them.
“Legate Gilles, take over.”
The Legate’s flushed face calmed after hearing his General’s orders. Such a command would almost certainly lead to a gap in protocol, but no one present spoke up.
“Yes, sir. Ahem, let's see here. Among the dead:
1,700 Heavy Infantry Hoplites.
48 Skirmishers.
15 Cavalrymen.
357 Archers.
…And 97 warministers.”
When the Legate’s eyes saw the last line, his heart faltered a bit. A unanimous round of gulps could be heard from around the tent.
“God fucking damn it!”
General Taides jumped out of his chair, slamming both fists down on the table. If before, the defeat had hurt the General’s pride and made him a little mad, now he was beyond seething. The difference between a loss of prestige of one’s military career and a real material loss that might affect the war as a whole was a huge one. The General made a motion to grab something at his hip, but upon realizing nothing was there, he expressed a slow breath to calm himself down.
“Those losses will not be easily replaceable. This must have been Pytheonian’s goal in this ambush. They knew they likely couldn’t take us all in a single ambush, so disabling our ability to use our warministers was their priority.”
The General shook his head.
“They’ve crippled this legion. Legate Gilles, give me a point of exit.”
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The Legate gave a crisp nod and explained what their scouts had been able to find.
“There appears to be a crevice in the wall of the canyon, south of our current encampment by a few hours. When the scouts explored it, they found a forest on the other side that should be suitable for a retreat and resupply.”
“A forest, huh. Is it connected to the main landmass?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. The Deadlands appear to serve as a natural southern wall of the woodlands. We will have to reenter the Deadlands to make our way back to Mont Ryoux.”
“Then we’ll have the men march at their fastest. I have a suspicion that we haven’t seen those bastards for the last time in this campaign.”
A chorus of agreements filled the tent before the Legates dispersed to gather their troops still able to march.
…
“Do you hear that?”
Several men clothed in animal hide and plain trousers sat around a campfire. The ambient sound of people reveling and drinking in the background made it slightly hard to focus on the sound.
“Hear what? I thought you weren’t supposed to drink tonight?”
“I’m not, idiot. I mean can’t you hear that? That sound?”
The other man sighed exhaustedly and set down his whittle next to him. Standing up, he made a dramatic display of cupping his ear as if attempting desperately to hear something. His face was comically focused, earning the laughter of several onlookers who knew the two men well. After a moment, his face snapped out of a comical focus and became genuine.
“Oh shit, I do hear something.”
“Uh, yeah! What the hell is that sound?”
“I don’t know, I’m going to get Chuck.”
The portly man tossed aside his ale on the natural forest floor, no longer caring about its contents. His friend trailed behind him. Soon, they approached a tent, the only one in the camp that had a flap and four walls.
“Chuck! Chuck, you gotta come out!”
There was a moment before a response came out. Despite the whole camp being bursting with noise at the moment, the two men could still make out the sounds of grunting from beyond the tent’s flap. Multiple voices were present, though some were much higher in pitch.
“Chuck! It’s serious!”
The grunting stopped, before the sound of rustling took its place. Finally a shadow came to the flap and opened it. A body poked out. Chuck.
“What the hell do you two fools want?”
The portly man waved his hands empathetically at the man, gesturing to the forest around them.
“There’s been a sound!”
Chuck rolled his eyes.
“No shit. Is that it? Cause I’m going to get back to what I was doing…”
The man behind his portly friend pulled him aside, speaking to Chuck.
“It’s important, Chuck. We think you should come out to listen.”
“Hoh…fine. Give me five minutes.”
After about ten minutes the man came out, covered in a loose-fitting silk shirt and fine leather trousers. At his hip was a well-maintained sword. It was evident upon closer observation that it hadn’t been used all that much.
“Oh shit.”
“You hear it too?”
“I do. That’s marching. Shit! Why didn’t you tell me sooner! We need to move the camp.”
Chuck spat venomously at the two sweating men. All three started to scramble, yelling for everyone to move the camp. They would have to go further inland, somewhere uninhabited. Their trade wasn’t illegal in this nation, per say. But the things they had done to their ‘merchandise’ would certainly find them in a cold cell in the gallows in any reasonably-ruled settlement. That was only if they were lucky, too.
Chuck looked at the amateur map in his hands, one of the many things he had carried with him from his family’s inheritance.
“Yes, that’ll work. Just northeast, to the Trescult Woods.”