[a contemplative inquisitor's journal]
Armies, it seems, are like having a house full of very worrisome children. They constantly require amusement and if they weren't told to do something, even if it made sense for them to do it, it would not get done, Miss Journal.
They're also crude. The jokes I hear them telling! I shan't be repeating them, that's for sure.
Some of the jokes are funny. I still won't repeat them.
"Why do western military units always have ten soldiers and not twenty?"
"Why?"
"Because they would need to take their shoes off to count any higher."
Terrible. I plan to blot it out when I can stop giggling.
----------------------------------------
What Elanor refused to put into her journal was any description of mud. It certainly wasn't as cold as in the north, but there had been enough rain recently to make the ground a quagmire once a few hundred feet had marched over it. The greatest problem for her, therefore, was being required to land to talk to anyone.
Having her own tent was a luxury she didn't expect. The respectful salutes from the soldiers as she passed them almost made her embarrassed. Only her experience as a noble lady and her attempt to not be a fool as a representative of Sandwalker kept her from blushing, stumbling, or both. She even managed to nod to the two bodyguards at the entrance of Stewart's tent before stepping inside.
Looking up from a map of the region that he was gathered at with two generals, Stewart did his best not to smile too much. "Lady Elanor. You haven't been feeding too many men to your wyvern, have you? We can spare two to three a day, but more than ten and we'll have a big problem."
Elanor let out a weary, suffering sigh. "I'm keeping her under five. It's the best I can do under the circumstances. Have our scouts found them yet?"
"No, but the King's dragon found them. There's a huge line of infantry some hundred-thousand or so. The artillery are preparing to move to my preferred field, and the army will move too. Will you be attending the battle, Lady Priestess?"
The question from one of Stewart's generals earned a dismissive shrug from Elanor. She knew she didn't owe these men anything—not even an explanation. "I'll stick close to the King. I am not trained to fight in the field, but if a threat comes for him, I will put myself in its way." As she said the last bit, she tucked the flaps of her duster back to reveal the revolver on each hip.
Stewart could well appreciate the wording Elanor had used; she made sure to commit herself to avoiding interference with the generals' work. "The Lady is here in her roles as a priestess, avatar of the kingdom, a guard, and because I asked for her presence. I know your focus has been primarily on this war, gentlemen, so I'll assume you were not aware of the fact I have declared my intentions toward the Lady Elanor."
Not knowing how to feel about it, Elanor decided she'd talk to Stewart later and deal with the army they were about to engage. "When?" She spared a little time to wish that Tinpot had built one of the automatic weapons that he'd told her about. The idea that a single soldier could hold similar destructive power she did in her revolvers when she used the kingdom's power to fire unrelentingly sent a shudder down her spine, though.
His mind racing, leaping to conclusions given the previous topic, Stewart felt a mild panic take hold. "You want me to set a date?"
The palpable tension in the air relaxed, each of the two hardened military men chuckling at the sight of the king and his intended focused entirely on each other. It was far easier to write off their words as love-addled now having seen them both truly in that state. One of them cleared his throat and said, "We plan to make contact with the enemy tomorrow evening."
"We'll be fighting at night?" Elanor asked. At a nod from the generals and Stewart, she continued her line of thinking, "Have you considered using something to encourage surrender?"
"I've already talked to Lady Penelope. She doesn't like the idea of me sitting on her back and asking them to surrender. They're our people, but I know she's right. It would only take one crack shot with a rifle and the worst would happen."
"Then don't stand up and make a target of yourself. I'll ask Sandwalker, but even without their help I should be able to make an image of fire in the sky." As soon as she said it, a hot breeze blew through Elanor, and she heard soft purring in her ears. "And, I think Sandwalker wants to help too."
Stewart smiled at that. "Then that's decided. Sandwalker has been a major force holding the kingdom together, I won't deny their aid now. For all a surprise attack would surely mean a more decisive victory, I'd rather attempt to have them withdraw."
With the two generals' expressions souring, Elanor knew that it was probably a sticking point. She'd leave it to Stewart to sort out, since she'd made her statement about not trying to interfere. If he needed support, and asked for it, she wouldn't hesitate to stomp on some toes. "Then I'll see to my preparations."
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Waiting for a nod from Stewart, Elanor exited the tent to find Penelope waiting outside. The two guards at the tent looked relaxed, having seen her around the castle every day, but the soldiers further out, to Elanor's eyes, looked a mix of awed, terrified, and curious. "Good afternoon, Pen."
Penelope was relieved that Elanor had finally started using her preferred nickname, and returned the woman's smile. "Good to see you again. Is the King free now?"
"You better check. He has company." Half-rolling her eyes, Elanor nodded back the way she'd come. "Nice work on tracking them down. I might need your help for something tomorrow."
Her interest piqued, Penelope looked at one of the guards significantly, who nodded to her. "I'll make this report and then we can talk. I'm curious to hear what would have you distracted the day of a battle." She waited for Elanor to give her a nod before heading inside—which, for a dragon, meant she poked her head and half her neck into the command tent.
The second most concerning woman in his life poked her head into Stewart's tent. "Ah, Lady Penelope. Good news?"
"I flew your scouts to within sight of the enemy. You're sure you don't want me to strafe them a few times?" Pen could see the interest on the two generals' faces as she asked that, but Stewart's expression told her that he was not so enthusiastic.
"As you described in the attacks on the goblins in the North?" one general asked.
Stewart dismissed that with a shake of his head. "It would work only too well. If I could," he said, "I would gladly pardon every one of those soldiers and let them go back to their lives, or invite them into a commission in my army. Please, no strafing unless things become a problem."
"Got it. Your scouts should be reporting-in soon, once they're done changing their pants." Penelope winked at Stewart, and was pleased with his laugh. "It was going fine until they had to look down to verify numbers and memorize the terrain. Some people are born to ride a dragon—others less so."
Welcoming the mirth, Stewart nonetheless had to face facts. "Did they see you? Any reaction?"
"Nothing. I kept above the clouds except when the scouts needed to see. I think that's when they saw too much. But, credit where it's due, they waited until we were back on the ground before spending their breakfast on the ground." Penelope smiled, tilting her head toward the two generals before focusing back on Stewart. "When do you want me ready for tomorrow?"
"Check with Elanor. She has a plan to try something, and Sandwalker appears to support it." Thankful Penelope seemed willing to go along with the charade that he had some kind of mastery over her, Stewart nodded. "Thank you, Lady Penelope."
When Penelope left, Stewart had a moment to reflect that one of his citizens became the single most physically powerful being in the kingdom, and was still willing to listen to him. He turned his attention back to the two men in the tent with him, that he suspected had motives beyond what he wanted, but nonetheless had to put up with because they were the best at their jobs.
----------------------------------------
Despite a day having passed, Stewart felt no more ready for the first engagement of the war than he had before a night of tossing and turning. With no one rushing into his tent overnight, he had to assume the artillery was in place, which meant the fight's outcome was inevitable.
He sighed and turned, sitting up and preparing to face the day. The armor Travis had gifted him took a little work to put on, but he hadn't selected a group of squires yet, so he was stuck with doing such for himself.
Securing his ornate sword on his left hip and his two-revolver-holster on his right, Stewart took a long, deep breath and left his tent. The small enchantments on his tent, that reduced the sounds outside it, had been working overtime. The camp was noisy with the sound of soldiers packing up their kit, preparing themselves for a battle.
"Your Majesty, all is proceeding as scheduled."
Stewart's head turned to look at his guard. He nodded. "Glad to hear it." He sighed. "Did my father ever struggle with leadi—"
"Your father never led any army. He left any military actions to his generals and never set foot on a battlefield that wasn't already washed of blood and cold of anger," the other guard said.
It would be unfair to punish his guardsman for interrupting him after he'd told them explicitly they could. "I am not my father. I may have inherited everything from him, even this war, but that doesn't mean I have to follow his examples. If you see things I miss, tell me. If I am in danger, you have my permission to beat me on the head, if required, and drag me back to the castle. But, I need to be here for this. Every single one of those soldiers rallied at my word, and our enemies are still my citizens."
"Sir," the first guard said, "you don't have to explain it to us. We're with you until we die."
When Stewart looked at the other guardsman, he got a nod. It made him remember Harrow, and the frozen body awaiting all this to be dealt with before they attempt to bring him back. "You've both got talismans?"
"Two from different temples in the capital, and one from Northridge. Just like you commanded us to, sir."
Stewart realized both of them were looking at him with a raised eyebrow each. He sighed. "Two from Northridge. If everything goes to shit in this, I want to make sure I end my father's mistake—more than I want to hold the throne."
"Don't say that too loud. Besides, you have a dragon, an inquisitor, and the two best trained guards in the kingdom who are going to make sure you live to reach the capital." He gestured to where Elanor, Penelope, and Ripper were gathered before a nearby fire, the latter two getting nervous looks from the soldiers dispensing bowls of porridge.
"I think it's time for breakfast." Stepping away from his tent, his guards took up position slightly behind him and to each side. As he approached the cooks, he noticed they seemed more relieved with him present. Stewart had to remind himself of the ruse that he was in control of Penelope, and that he couldn't very well break it now. "Morning, soldiers. What are we having?"
"Beef porridge, sir!"
Stewart wasn't going to correct their address, not so close to battle. "Sounds good. And a drink." With a filled bowl, a mug, and his guards ordered to have something themselves, Stewart walked to sit with Elanor and Penelope, still not privy himself to what they planned.
Available at: https://www.royalroad.com/profile/220350/fictions
This story is released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. If you are paying money to see this or the original creator, Damaged, is not credited, you are viewing a plagiarized copy of the story.