“The fuck are you lot doin’ here?” One of the larger men breaks away from the group as we approach, already rolling his shoulders like he wants to limber up, preparing for a scrap, looks like. Lovely, that’s just what we need right now. We’re s’posed to be here to help, but far as they’re concerned we’re just poking our noses in their business. Like they still ain’t clued up to the fact their precious dynamic’s changed some, and it’s been that way for a while now.
Another one starts to move out beside him, flanking without even really thinking about it, I notice. Smaller, leaner, but just as angry, looks like. Younger, too, so she’s likely gonna be even harder to reason with. “We got this shit handled, don’t need you lot for this. This is townsguard business.”
When I stop, the others stop with me, all at once. No hint of any rippling lag passing back, it’s like we’re one well-oiled machine, all working in perfect harmony. That’s another thing these southern bastards are being awful slow catching up to, they ain’t got the same kinda discipline we do. It’s a fatal flaw in their reasoning, da always liked to say. I guess he was right, cuz it’s one o’ the reasons we beat ‘em so roundly once we were finally able to take Tabaphic. Now all o’ Rundao’s under our control.
Means these idiots do what they do entirely at our sufferance. We could just give ‘em all the boot, bring more of our folk in to do their work too, but this is way more efficient. When it works, at least. Times like this though …
Holding out my halberd, it takes Vidram all of a single beat to take shift his own to grip it under his shield so he can free his right hand up to take hold of mine. Tuthi’s already stepping out of line to join me, having done much the same herself, so when I set my shield down on its bottom rim on the other side she props it up almost without me needing to check first before I let go. Finally I give my neck a little roll, just working it one side and then the other, working out any kinks that might’ve crept in since we got to marching. Looking straight ahead so much when you’re moving can wear on your neck some, I’ve found.
Now free of encumberment, I step across the remaining distance, letting my hand settle on Wirnur’s hilt as I stride cool as I can towards the slowly growing group of townsguard who are breaking away from the scene to intercept us. It’s a gesture I remember da adopting often when I was growing up, one I never been able to stop picking up for myself, I realise now it’s just another sign I grown up so much more like him than I ever planned. I may not have gotten into quite the same line o’ work as him, but …
“What’s going on here?” I venture as I draw close, taking a few more steps before finally planting my feet in an easy, casual stance now. Taking ‘em all in.
Five of ‘em, now. Three men and two women, all of ‘em looking pretty pissed. Pretty young, too, none of ‘em any older’n half o’ my squad. Which I guess means I know well enough how to deal with ‘em, but still …
They all look broadly alike, ‘least in terms of dress, kitted out in the standard light armour and livery of the Untermer townsguard. Worn, battered copper-and-brass accented laminar armour cuirasses with fitted pauldrons and separate greaves and vambraces, worn over thick quilted gambesons and tall leather boots and fingerless-gloved bracers. Over the top of all that, their surcoats are simple wool in a uniform bottle-green, each bearing the stylised waves and twin-sailed boat of the Untermer Authority.
Aside from that, though, they’re a mixed bunch. None are wearing their helmets right now, instead wearing ‘em hung from brass loops on their belts, so at least I can see their faces and identify their individual races. Two half-orcs, one male and one female, the rest are human, with one more in the mix, the second one to approach us. The leader, on the other hand, really couldn’t be mistaken from his pea-green skin, prominent jaw and protruding little tusks.
It's the fact his eyes are already darkening to deep amber running headlong into dull red that makes me mindful of the pervading mood now. He’s a big one, too, particularly broad across the shoulders and his barrel chest, while his black hair’s drawn back into a tightly cinched ponytail that gives his face a slightly stretched appearance. It can’t be doing any favours for his mood.
They’re all of ‘em armed, as I would’ve expected with townsguard, but at least none of ‘em are actually brandishing right now. Fairly cheap-looking longswords on their hips and a single knife belted on the other side, while most are still wearing their round-rimmed shields strapped on their backs, so far only the leaner human woman already wearing it strapped on her left wrist. The way she’s working the fingers on her right hand don’t make me any more comfortable either, she’s already itching to draw.
Ever since I got transferred down here, this has been a frustratingly regular thing over the past six years. The older townsguard we’re forced to interact with are usually a good deal more guarded, some of ‘em even pleasant, there’s rarely much of any trouble with them, but the younger ones, those who were just kids in the early days, are regularly openly hostile. More’n once I’ve had to restrain both myself and more’n one o’ my crew to keep ‘em from instigating violence – any fights been had, I always ‘em others come at us first, so we don’t have to defend our actions in the after-report. Most o’ the time, though, I can dissuade it ‘fore it actually gets that far.
The half-orc in the lead rolls his shoulders again, clenching his hands into fists at his sides now as he looks me over. “What’s any o’ that got to do with you? Like Bala said, this is our business, not yours.”
“You ain’t welcome here, Terror.” The woman growls, stepping closer on my side now, her fingers twitching again but still not raising her hand yet. Her face is darkening, though, clear red in her cheeks and across her broad nose now. There’s something of a bulldog in her face, actually, if she were six inches taller and a whole lot heavier I could almost suspect she might have a little orc in her own blood, but as it is she mostly reminds me of a yappy little dog. Clearly unafraid to pick fights with much bigger beasts likely to cause ‘em a whole lot o’ hurt if they actually did tangle.
I don’t flip my visor up yet, preferring to let the stark visage my own armour gives me lend a little anonymous edge to my intimidating air. Then again, the fact I’m easily big as the half-orc in front o’ me should help in that arena all on its own. So I just shift my stance, leaving my hand on my bastard sword’s hilt, and cock my head as I look her over for a moment more before finally turning back to their nominal leader.
“It’s disorder on the city streets, ‘specially this high up the Hill, which makes it our business much as yours. I asked what was happening here. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Yeah, but this ain’t city streets, is it?” The half-orc, who I finally notice, from the two red chevrons painted on his left pauldron, is a corporal, shifts his stance too, cocking his own head now as he gives me a hard, ruddy-eyed glare that really don’t have the effect I suspect it’s meant to on me. “This is a private residence, belongs to one very important member of our nobility. Somebody we respect, a whole lot. Unlike any o’ you.”
Suppressing the deep urge to sigh, I look past him to the substantial manor house at the end of the gravel drive we been climbing, making a frustratingly long, winding path up the gentle slope of a well-manicured lawn. It sure is a nice place, grand without being too showy, indicating that whoever lives here’s got a whole pile o’ wealth but also some decent taste too. Some o’ the places I seen in these neighbourhoods are ugly, garish and ostentatious to an almost vulgar degree. No Tektehran nobility would live in that kinda place. This one, on the other hand …
“Careful, corporal.” I put as much restraint in my warning as I can, not wanting to let the edge in my temper start to colour my interaction. Not yet, anyway. “Remember your rank.”
That makes him frown a whole lot deeper. “What the fuck are you … why would that make any difference to how I talk to a –”
“Everything all right here, sarge?” Corporal Gril Vokraz steps up on my right now, letting his halberd drop into the gravel with a particularly pointed clink that I know was entirely intentional. Much like his question, addressed to me but clearly spoken in Rundao Common rather than one of our native tongues. Backing me up without any need for me to ask for it first, just like a good corporal should. I can already tell this one in front o’ me ain’t nothing like my own trusted second.
“Can’t really tell yet, Gril.” I growl my response, never taking my eyes off the half-orc. I know he can’t see where I’m looking through the smoked glass o’ the visor but I like to think he can at least feel my gaze given its particular intensity right now. “This young man mostly seems to be talking himself round in circles.”
His frown creasing a little tighter, the half-orc looks Gril over for a moment before turning back to me again. There’s a touch o’ consternation in his expression now, I notice. Like he’s trying to work out if I’m actually insulting him. “You … what did you …” Finally he grunts, shifting his own stance now, and the way his strong hand’s twitching now I get the feeling he’s itching to draw much as his friend. “Now just wait a minute –”
“Surchan, stand down, please!” The order ain’t shouted, but the way it’s delivered carries significant authoritarian weight all the same. Certainly the way the half-orc straightens up instantly hearing it tells me he recognises the voice much as the tone, and the rest o’ the townsguard hustle with similar haste to follow his example as they all freeze on the spot with rigid backs and raised chins.
“Sir!” the half-orc takes a quick, cautious look through the corner of his eye the best he can without otherwise moving as two more individuals approach us now, cutting across the lawn on a much more direct line from the house. “Yes sir. But … but sir, I –”
“That was not optional, corporal.” The leaner of the two figures adds a more warning edge in his voice as he draws closer and I’m finally able to properly make him out in the scattered torchlight that’s been planted around the place. Likely to aid those who’ve arrived ahead of us in the darkness now night’s settling in proper round us.
Now I finally flip my visor up, I can’t help it, cuz I recognise the other individual who’s coming over with the newcomer. Captain Vessof Ceinog, of the Central Control. Now I know this is serious.
The man with him seems to be townsguard like the rest, but the more well-appointed quality of his gear, well-made half-plate instead of laminar-mail like his subordinates, already marks him as someone a good deal higher up in the hierarchy. The fact that his gloves and boots are very much his own individual style, and clearly a good deal more expensive and well-fitted, than the standard issue of these rankers, makes me suspect he’s one o’ the fancy trained investigators from the Criminal Division. But the thing that actually throws me a little is that this one’s a half-elf.
I got nothing against half-bloods myself, I served with plenty of ‘em in my time, an’ they’re just as capable as their highborn full-blooded kin, which is why I never personally considered any o’ them as really truly their betters. But elves tend to rise to the top, and they can be stuffy ‘bout those born o’ what they unfairly consider to be lesser races, which I noticed is a sentiment’s coloured the views of a whole lot o’ regular folk that look up to ‘em. Meeting a half-elf of clear significant rank here like this is, therefore, a surprise.
The half-orc’s still frowning, his irises still uncomfortably dark as they lock onto me again, and while he’s stood to full attention now, the way he’s quivering tells me he still wants to fight. “Sir … yes sir. I –”
“Corporal Surchan, I am currently counting down from ten in my head. Unless you want to start putting a lance in front of your rank again, or perhaps even see yourself busted back down to private, I would suggest you and the rest of your squad be back about your business before I reach one. Am I understood?”
His brows shoot up again as he swivels at a cool ninety-degrees to his left and, with particularly military precision that surprises me a little to look at him, along with the rest of ‘em, the corporal nods once, sharp and clipped and barks: “Sir! Yes sir! Men, march it off!” He starts marching forward, again with impressive discipline, moving in a straight line for a few paces until he’s cleared the group, then finally turning again to start heading back up towards the house. He don’t bother checking to see if the rest are mustering after, but none of ‘em seem to be caught napping any more’n him, even the yappy little woman scrambling after with similar haste and clear cowed deference.
Vessof watches ‘em go with his own well-arched brow cocked quizzically high, clearly unimpressed, before looking back at me. I don’t bother standing to attention myself, I know him well enough not to worry about appearances right now. I know the rest o’ my squad, Gril included, are attentive enough on their own to serve, and besides, I was in the right here.
The half-elf watches ‘em go for a few moments, giving me time to look down and check myself over once before we start with … well, whatever this is gonna turn out to be. To be perfectly honest I ain’t entirely sure why we actually got summoned up here in the first place. Certainly the way the captain’s watching me don’t fill me with a huge amount o’ confidence.
Finally the investigator clears his throat and turns back to us, taking a moment to look both me an’ Gril over now he can actually see our faces. He’s got a sharp, critical eye, I realise, and now I can actually properly make out colours again without the tint of the glass I see they’re a particularly striking colour, like warm honey. In truth he’s pretty good looking in a somewhat angular way, lean and svelte like all elvish types really, and androgynous enough that if his voice weren’t so very deep I’d have had more trouble identifying his gender. He’s pale enough in his distinctly clean, subtly incandescent skin that he's clearly Northern Rundao born and bred, while his hair’s a particularly striking shade of auburn which, I’m sure, will fluoresce into blazing fire in brighter light than out here now. He keeps it cut pretty short for an elf, too, and what there is has been brushed back behind his ears to keep it out the way.
And then there’s his sword, which definitely most readily sets him apart from the rest of the townsguard – it’s a proper elven blade, clearly, a slender, subtly curved blade in a rich leather scabbard, the narrow, thick oval guard and two-handed back-curved handle made from or at least decorated with what looks like actual silver. Like the intricately carved leather of the scabbard, the hilt has been etched with curving, swirling patterns I’ve come to recognise from highborn officers I’ve encountered in our own ranks. That’s an ancestral sabre from an ancient house, I’d bet money on it.
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Who the hell is this guy?
“So this is the one you were talking about, I take it?” he asks after a moment, never taking his eyes off me. I start to frown as I’m a little floored about how to answer the question, until I realise he must have directed it to the captain.
Vessof Ceinog grimaces just a little bit as he catches the instant cold stinkeye I direct his way, reaching up and starting to rub the back of his neck the way he does every time I catch him out. Fuck, it’s like being back on Barricade again. What damn fool business has he got me dumped in this time?
“Yes.” Vessof finally finds his words again, stepping forward the last few paces so he can step in between us now. He gestures to me, almost like he’s showing me off to a prospective buyer, actually. It don’t make me any more comfortable under the circumstances. “Sorry. This is Sergeant Vifri Staduva. You said you wanted the best we have, I couldn’t think of anybody better.” He turns now and gives me a rather pointed look which I know all too well, one I came to hate back during our first tour.
Still, he outranks me, even if I’d be hard pressed to honestly call him a superior officer, so I defer, putting on my best face now as I stand to attention and snap off a smart salute to the newcomer. “Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.”
The half-elf cocks a brow at that, looking past me to regard Gril again. “And your friend?”
Nodding, I turn to gesture to my second. “Corporal Gril Vokraz, sir.”
To his credit, Gril snaps off an even smarter salute than I managed, but then he’s always been a good deal better a non-com than he’s ever been recognised as, much to his detriment. He should be leading his own squad by now, far as I’m concerned. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
This time the half-elf gives up a cocked little half smile that looks pretty sly as he looks at me again. “Good, good.” He shifts his footing a little now, laying his hand casually on his own sword-hilt, no threat I can judge in the gesture given how comfortable he seems now. “Inspector Gilrach Tormed, of the Special Investigation Division.”
That makes me frown a little, I can’t help it. Special Investigation? What the hell would they be doing out here? This is a rich noble’s estate, there’s no reason for a townsguard investigator who spends his time hunting dangerous killers, enemies o’ the state and potential supernatural threats to be up here. Unless …
“Does this … forgive me.” I blanche as I realise I’m about to really overstep my bounds, and have to think for a moment so I can work out how exactly I’m gonna try an’ word this. “Sorry … it’s just there’s been wild stories going round the garrison since this afternoon, something about some kinda … scary shit set loose in the city. Nothing I ever heard of down here before. Honestly, they made it sound like –”
“Something you would have encountered during your first tour?” Tormed finishes for me, clearly following the same line of thought as me. That’s enough to give me chills, just thinking about how on the money I am right now. I don’t like the implications at all. “You were with the Barricade Forces in the Far North in your first few years, I’m told. He says you served with him in …” He frowns a little now, turning to Vessof again. “What was it you called it again?”
“The Twilight Campaign.” The captain looks as uncomfortable talking about it now as I feel having the memories dredged back up.
“Yes, of course.” Tormed nods, licking his lips as he looks off to the side now, growing thoughtful. “If that’s the case, then you might be able to help us here.”
My skin starts crawling immediately, almost every inch o’ me under my gear’s involuntarily shivering as great icy chills run right through me. “No, I … I’m sure I couldn’t, sir. I mean, there’s no way –”
“No need to be so hasty in your protestations, Sergeant.” The Inspector beckons now, starting to walk in the direction he was looking almost before he even turns that way. “If you’d indulge me …”
Again, Vessof gives me a particularly pointed look, a little more urgent this time. Damn it … I can’t stop myself this time, I just scowl at him in lieu of spitting the recrimination I want to into his face. Instead I turn to Gril and cock my head, gesturing for him to back me up again. Like always he just nods his easy assent and plucks his halberd up out the gravel again to fall into step behind me.
“I’d like you to have a look at this, tell me what you think.” Tormed says as he leads us up onto the lawn, heading in the other direction to where they just came from. Parallel to the house, now. “My … apologies ahead of time.”
I already sort of seen what he’s leading us to, although on our approach I couldn’t get a clear enough look to really gauge what it was, certainly not through the slight darkening of the visor’s tinted glass. Or maybe I was just hoping it wasn’t what I was starting to suspect it might be. Maybe the scuttlebutt from earlier today’s started proper working my nerves. It was just starting to look uncomfortably familiar to me.
No, damn it … shit, I was right. There are bodies lying scattered on the open ground, haphazard and … fuck, most of ‘em are in pieces. The light out here … even with the torchlight the grass is pretty dark, but the blood’s darker still, I can’t quite miss how much of it there is. Looks like it’s been proper splashed about, too. As we approach this corpse in particular, it become clear almost immediately that they were cut down and just … torn apart all at once.
“Fuck …” I can’t help the oath getting out in Tektehran rather’n Rundao Common, and that’s all I really can say in this moment. Suddenly my breath’s coming fast and hard, and even so I’m having trouble really catching it.
Honestly, I doubt it really needed translating, Tormed catches my meaning clear enough as he stops a few feet short o’ the mess and frowns down at it. “Indeed. It’s … charming. I was wondering if you thought it looked at all familiar?”
“Compared to what, exactly?” My tone’s a little sharper than intended, but I can’t really help snapping. Not looking at this. Gods … I can’t really look away.
“Something you saw Up North, perhaps? Captain Ceinog is … reluctant to confirm his own impressions according to his experience.”
Gril stops a few feet short o’ me, but the only way I really know of it is when I hear both his halberd and shield thump on the turf as he lets ‘em settle. The suddenness is enough to confirm he’s unsettled as I am. “Fuck.” he breathes, making my same slip into our own language.
I take a few steps closer now, careful to avoid the worst of the blood that’s clearly soaked deep into the ground here, still slick but likely starting to dry some now. When I drop into a crouch I do it in real sufferance, definitely not wanting to be this close, but … I’m getting that this is some important shit. Now I’m closer though … yeah, now I pick up on the smell. It stinks, but … it don’t seem that fresh, not now I’m looking. Like this happened a few hours ago ... “Wait … that can’t be right.”
The inspector looks my way now, cocking a brow again as he regards me for a long, curious beat. “How do you mean?”
“This … the body, it ain’t that … fresh. I mean, I guess it is, but … reckon this has been here a few hours now.” I look up at Vessof, who’s watching me close now, growing nervous now as the meaning behind my point starts to sink in. “While it was still light.”
Tormed shoots a look at the captain now, who takes a stop back, his hand starting to massage the back of his neck again the way it does. He lets a heavy, slightly shaky breath go, and conspicuously avoids eye contact now.
“Something you maybe wanna tell me?” I enquire after a moment, turning back to the local investigator as I straighten up again.
“The rumours we been hearing.” Gril’s finally found his voice, although it’s still muffled some, and when I look back I see he’s got his hand over his mouth and nose, clearly trying to cut off the smell, even as he’s unable to keep his eyes off the carnage itself. “That shit’s actually been going on. This is part of it. Means it’s worse’n we thought.”
The half-elf looks his way for a moment, finally nodding. “Not so much been … as far as we can tell it’s still happening. There have been reports coming from all over the Hill and beyond across the day, and they’re still coming. So far there have been …” He looks to Vessof again. “How many is it now?”
“Six.” The captain practically chokes getting the word out, but ‘least he’s finally able to look me in the eye again.
Simply nodding, Tormed carries on as he looks my way too. Now that I think about it … yeah, reckon he’s actually using my attention to take his own focus off having to look at the mess. Now he has to clear his throat to continue. “Yes … six of these … incidents. By this point I should imagine there have likely been more we’re not yet aware of, but …” He frowns towards Gril again, and then a little deeper as he looks past him now, likely looking at the rest of our squad. The other eight, and I don’t need to look back to know they’re all still stood straight and tall as ever. “I should imagine most of the Garrison’s been put on alert by now, looking into this along with the entirety of the townsguard, trying to maintain order.”
Vessof winces, looking my way again too. “Yeah, it’s … ugly out here, but it’s a whole lot worse inside. The whole place has been painted red, just about. From the look of it every single person who was alive in this estate was systematically hunted down and torn apart where they stood by something … unspeakable. And it’s much the same at the other scenes, apparently.”
“Yeah, well I dunno anything about that. Neither does my squad, we spent most o’ the day down the docks after that big explosion in the First Point. Whole fucking warehouse got wiped right off the map, all that’s left is kindling and a crater. You ask me, it’s a miracle you didn’t lose a section o’ the wharf along with it.”
Again, Tormed and Ceinog exchange a furtive glance which just makes my frown tighten. Like they got more information there too than I been privy to. I’m starting to get real irritated.
“What? You don’t reckon this actually has something to do with that mess too, do you? I could’ve done with that information hours ago.”
This time the Inspector actually smiles, which is a definite surprise. “You’re right, Vess. She’s a sharp one. I think she’ll do fine.”
Again I turn to give Vessof a good, hard stare. Fuck … it really is just like our first tour back at the Frontier. I know for a fact I’m gonna regret whatever it is he’s gotten me mixed up in now. It really does make it bloody hard to stay friends with the self-important bastard. “Captain?”
“Shit …” To his credit, Ceinog at least manages to seem contrite now as he lets a heavy sigh go and shuffles his feet while uncomfortably avoiding my look. “Inspector Tormed’s leading the investigation into … whatever the hell it is that’s actually happening here. The Commander’s been spitting fire the last hour about it, he wanted us to take the lead but the Authority are scared and they’d prefer someone on their end to handle it. So he asked me to land them some of my best to …” He shrugs. “Help out. And I thought of you, since, you know …”
Damn it, I know exactly what he’s getting at. And I s’pose he’s got a point, it ain’t the first time I done this kinda thing. It’s in my blood, Command were very particular to remind me o’ that last time they asked me to do something like this. Not that it ended well, all things considered. I would’ve thought that’d be enough for ‘em not to think o’ me again in future. Fat chance, looks like.
“Pick your four best and fall in as soon as you’re ready.” Tormed starts to turn away, ready to head back up towards the mansion, but holds for a moment to look past me again. “That being said, the corporal there seems sharp enough, I think. So just three more.”
I open my mouth to protest before he’s moved off entirely, but the captain’s already skirting the mess to join me, carefully choosing his footing as he comes. He starts speaking to me in our own tongue, telling me he’d prefer to have a private conversation now, and I can’t help pricking my ears a little, ‘least figuratively. “Before you start cursing me out, let me give you my pitch.”
“Your pitch?” I can’t keep from rolling my eyes at that. “Oh, this’ll be good.”
“All right, I suppose it’s more stick than carrot anyway.” He finally clears the blood again and steps in between me and Gril, who’s regarding him with a due amount of wariness now. I don’t blame him, he’s been with me much longer’n the rest so he actually remembers the last time. “You owe me.”
Wow … I’m genuinely taken aback that he actually thinks that’s how it works. “I owe you? Oh, that’s rich. After what you pulled before? You damn near landed me in so much hot water, I’d have been bloody lucky to just get sent right back to the Frontier. You think I wanna die up there?”
“No, I don’t. But you forget that before I stepped in with the Commander he was fully prepared to send you to a full court marshal. It wouldn’t have been back to Barricade duty for you, it would’ve been a short stay in the stockade and then an even shorter drop through a trapdoor with a noose around your neck. I reminded him that they’d be wasting one damn fine asset if they did that, and I reminded him that he owed me a favour. I burned a very lucrative bridge covering for you there, so you do owe me. I really didn’t think I’d actually have to remind you that you’re not actually wholly blameless in that little affair yourself.”
That has me scowling, I can’t help it. He’s got a fucking point again. Even though I wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place if he hadn’t put me up for the assignment, the way I ultimately handled it led to enough of a black stain I’m lucky he was able to talk me out of an execution. Mithra knows they had grounds enough for it, even if I did ultimately help settle the affair for the better … after a fashion.
And now that I think about it, this could be an opportunity in disguise. I been eating a whole lot o’ crow these past three years trying to earn my way back, and my new squad’s suffered through some pretty shit duties as a result. When I turn to Gril his own frown’s faded too, taking on a more contemplative air now as he’s clearly following a similar line o’ thought. When he see me looking he shrugs, then, after a thoughtful pause, finally nods. Giving his blessing, much as it’s needed with me nominally in charge. But I still trust his judgement.
“Fuck … all right Vess, you win. But what about the rest o’ my squad?”
Letting out a relieved sigh, Ceinog turns to look up towards the house, where the Inspector’s already circling round to the mixed cluster of both our folk and theirs gathered on and around the veranda. “Lieutenant Muzadz is up there, they can report to him. Gods know they could use the help right now, it’s still an ugly mess. He can find them a temporary assignment until you’re done with this. Hell, you pull this off right you could probably write your own ticket and take your squad with you if you want.”
Cocking my brow, I give him another pointed look of particular intensity that I trust brooks no argument. “Yeah, well I’ll hold you to that.” Pushing past him before he can reply either way, I lay my hand on Gril’s shoulder and steer him back towards the others. “Go back and fetch Vidram an’ Tuthi, then send the rest up to Muzadz.”
“Who do’you want for the third body?” he wonders, frowning a little at my omission.
“Dealer’s choice. You’re in this, might as well make one call for yourself. Whoever you reckon’s best fit for whatever this is gonna be.”
Cocking his brow, he ponders me for a moment. “Udre, then. Reckon she’d rather do this that clean-up anyway.”
Indulging him a little half-grin, I give his shoulder a gentle slap. “Fair enough. Get to it. Sooner we get started sooner we can get it done.”
“Better bloody hope so, Sarge.” He hefts his halberd and shield and swivels on the spot, marching off with a good deal more spring in his step than I reckon is appropriate under the circumstances. Reckon he might be getting hopeful as I am given the possibilities if this actually works.
Turning back, I find Vessof frowning down at the mess of a corpse again, and I start pondering what he said before, about how much worse it is inside. I don’t like the connotation that idea holds for whatever might still be going on. The more I look at what’s splashed all over this lawn, the more it’s starting to look like what we used to find sometimes when the sun finally came up in the late morning back in Urvetz. I’m sure he’s thinking the same.
“So who is it, then?”
He gives me a vague look when he turns back now, like he ain’t quite sure what I’m getting at yet. “Who … this? How the fuck would I –”
“No, up at the house. The noble, whoever it is owns this place.” I grimace a little at the thought. “Shit … used to, I mean. Y’know, before …”
“Some old general from the War. Dragonhalf, I think. Lord Wralin, I think the Commander called him.” He shrugs. “Whoever he was, he won’t be the last. Not the way this night’s going.”