Lanterns shone in the heavy mists along the shores of the Bitingsea as the Emissaries of Forgelight walked along the disused, pockmarked and rain-slicked roads. Captain Tana Twicesworn kept the warband’s pace brisk, her orders to collect allies to The Illuminate’s cause driving her forward. Her march was a mechanical motion, a function her feet simply knew how to carry out. Following orders was much the same. It required no thought, passion, or loyalty; Tana merely proceeded forward, her mind a passenger in her body.
Cannons thundered off the shoreline, accompanied by the sound of beating wings and bellowing orruk. With each distant blast, Tana heard the hooves of Mutandor Marcel Reverdin click with renewed vigor. Eventually, his impatient steps approached Tana. “So when are we joining the fight, Captain?” his guttural speech grinded.
“Not now.” Tana responded, not even turning her to her horned subordinate. “Fighting gains us nothing now.”
“What?” Marcel nearly roared. “Fighting can gain us everything! Servants, sacrifices, and slaves! Plus whatever valuables they might be hiding…”
Perhaps in another life, enslaving or sacrificing the remaining population of Civilia would have been Tana’s task, but she had long since left such a brutal existence. Instead, what remained was a clinical mind, easily able to dismantle such wasteful desires. “We are traveling to meet people with nothing, Mutandor.” she established quickly. “What they lack in resources, however, they make up for with knowledge of the region and its dangers. That is of value to The Illuminate, should he choose to establish an embassy in this land. More than simply that, the leader of these people is supposed to be a ‘mechanical genius’. I should not have to explain to you why such a person is of more value to The Illuminate as an ally than a slave, but I will if you are so unconvinced.” Still, Tana didn’t offer her subordinate a passing glance as she methodically explained what was so clearly evident to her about the people of Civilia.
Marcel bullishly shook his head. “I’d rather it be explained why an outsider like you-“
“Not this again.” Decuriarch Jacques Leloup groaned. As blood relative to one of The Court of Illumination, Jacques had had to consistently step into such challenges to his cousin’s decision. “What will it be this time, Marcel? Will you drop it, like I’ve told you to a dozen times, or will I have to beat it into you again?”
The Mutandor snorted and fell back in line, unconsciously massaging a bruise Jacques had given him in their last duel.
Tana didn’t bother with feeling grateful for the Decuriarch. If anything, all he did was make her job needlessly easier. She knew she could easily knock Marcel to the ground in no time at all if their disagreements came to such a head. Jacques only ever saved her such pointless effort, the same way a lever did for moving stones.
Ahead, a shadow shifted in the mist.
“Captain,” a Hornhelm called in warning. The Emissaries’ hands went to the blades, anticipating an attack. Tana made no motion to stop their advance or reach for her own weapons. What awaited them in the mists, the captain didn’t fear.
The Emissaries were soon halted by a trio of large boulders suspiciously placed in the roadway. Tana knew this sort of ambush. Still, she took no action, merely stopping to gaze flatly at the obstacle. It wasn’t long before the trap was sprung. Blades were drawn and leveled at The Emissaries’ throats while half dozen arrowheads glowing with searing emberstone glared at them in the distance. Bandits. Tana calmly raised her hands, gazing deeply into the deep blue eyes of the masked bandit holding a dagger against her leather gorget. She could see his worry, his inexperience, his desperation.
“Drop your weapons and all your valuables!” one of the other bandits commanded.
Tana almost wanted to laugh. Held up as she and The Emissaries were, how were they supposed to remove their valuables without spooking their captors? She decided it was time to speak up. “You’re all citizens of Civilia, are you not? There’s no need for this hold-up of yours. We’ve come to help.”
The bandit shifted with the suggestion, his grip slipping with relief slightly before he remembered the scenario and replaced the knife at Tana’s throat. “Prove it.” he growled.
“Check my pouch. There should be a bundle in there. I want you to take that to your leader, Sorrah Nikos.” Tana maintained a relaxed tone. This wasn’t the first time her life had been threatened this way. She knew how to cooperate.
The bandit immediately went searching, forgetting to keep his knife to her neck. Again, Tana wanted to find someway to mock his incompetence, but now simply wasn’t the time. She felt her ‘delivery’ be withdrawn, an ingot, wrapped in thick cloth for the moment. “What is this supposed to be?”
“That’s about ten spheres worth of my city’s most prized export—a metal, with properties I’m sure your leader can harness to better protect your city.” Tana let her words carry for a moment. The assembled survivors seemed transfixed with the strange gift. Perfect. “Of course, if that is not enough, then I believe my men and I could put our arms towards further providing aid to your settlement.”
The bandit almost had to shake himself from the trance to address Tana’s offer for further help. “O-oh, yes! Of course we could use more help.”
“Perfect.” Tana coldly echoed her thoughts. “I believe we could start with a meeting with Miss Nikos.”
Perhaps feeling the power of the strange metal in his hands, the bandit nodded to Tana. “I think that could be arranged.”
*END
