by 5kops
Areck watched as the guardsmen shouted orders at peasants trapped between the company and the count. The rest of the crowd drifted to the side of the road, rediscovering the various tasks they had forgotten during the knights' arrival. It only took a minute for the small procession of nobles to wind its way past the last of the commoners.
Areck waited with an impassive eye, noticing how fast the commoners moved when confronted by the count's guards, likely thinking that to linger would incur the wrath of either the count or the Bre'Dmorian commander. He hardly noticed when the contingent of soldiers stopped, and Lysen dismounted and walked past him to join the Bre'Dmorian ranks.
"Commander." The voice of Count Oslov Gustafson drifted over the crowd. "We were not expecting you so soon!"
Areck bowed as the count approached. The man's small stature did not diminish his vibrant green eyes or the excited smile that stretched across his face.
"Forgive my informal greeting, my lords," said the count, taking the silence from Areck as being aimed at his own breach of protocol. "I am Oslov Gustafson, Count of Brenly. I oversee this town."
"Thank you for the welcome, my lord. I am Field Captain Areck of Brenly," Areck answered, trying to remember the proper etiquette to greet a high ranking noble lord.
"Not much of a welcome, Lord Areck," Gustafson said with a small smile, glancing around. "As you can see, my tide has done little to help this town."
"It hasn't changed so much since I left," said Areck, following the count's gaze. "However, I am sure you have more—"
"You come from here?" the count interrupted him.
"A long time ago."
"I do not remember seeing any notice of knightly conscription from this region in over thirty years. How old are you, commander?" Gustafson asked.
"Old enough to be a field captain," Areck responded, annoyed at the questioning.
"I meant no disrespect, Lord Areck," said the count, "but you don't ex-acdy look old enough to be a knight—none of you do."
Areck felt his face flush in anger. The count was questioning his command! Thinking quickly, Areck put on his best face of rage and leaned towards the noble lord. Several guards stepped forward, hands resting on their hilts. If it became known that a young man, not even promoted to the rank of knight, had come to protect the town, none of the local soldiers would follow.
"Stand down!" Count Gustafson said, his face creased with worry.
"I told you I was a field captain, my lord," Areck whispered in the noble's ear, his eyes upon the guardsmen. "You are wise to assume that that none of us are knights. In fact, there isn't a knight among us and I am no lord. However, if you would be so kind as to accept my help and move this procession to your estate, I would be happy to explain myself."
Count Gustafson was about to protest when Areck cut him off.
"Do not press this issue, my lord," he whispered. "We are here to help you. If you show us up now, you will be forced to wait another month for the Academy to respond, if ever."
The count stood in thought, his face flushed in anger. Areck realized too late that by securing his own command, he had unwittingly shown up the count. Even if Count Gustafson agreed to his terms, it would look as if the Bre'Dmorian had said something threatening. Areck realized it would be the gossip of the count's estate long after his command ended.
"My lord?" said the nearest aid, his face pinched in fear.
Finally, Count Gustafson shook his head and turned to face his estate seneschal. "Lord Barton, please hurry ahead and ready my war room for a private audience."
"Are you sure, my lord?"
"Do not question me, Seneschal," said the count. "The commander has explained his plan to me in short and needs a more private setting to make me fully aware of his preparations."
Areck was about to argue; he had said nothing of a plan! He opened his mouth for a retort when Redmon walked up.
"My lord has ever been cautious when considering these dangerous times," said Redmon, nudging Areck in the back. Areck snapped his mouth shut as his second-in-command continued. "By your leave, my lords, I think it would be wise for me to take the men to the barracks and discuss matters with your captain of the guard ... at least while the two of you discuss operations."
"A fine idea," Lord Gustafson said, turning his attention back to Areck. "However, I am afraid you will find most of the guardsmen infected by this wretched fever."
"How many?" asked Redmon, frowning.
"Enough that we have started to conscript soldiers from outlying hamlets. I do not have an exact number, but Karl here will lead you to Captain Telmouth for details."
"Thank you, Baron," Redmon said with a slight nod, displaying no emotion. "Do I have permission to leave, Captain Areck?"
“When you are finished, please report back, Lieutenant.” Areck nodded, seeing his company of men staring straight ahead, following knightly Code to the letter.
"Lord Gustafson, we should get to business before nightfall," Areck continued. He was about to play a dangerous game and he knew it. Fortunately for him, the count seemed willing to listen to the masquerade. It would now be up to him to continue the pretense.
"Of course, Captain," said Count Gustafson, not referring to the knight with proper etiquette. With a flourish the noble turned away and issued orders that sent various aids scrambling.
Areck could tell the count was furious . . . yet stuck. He guessed that the noble was not happy about the current situation, but at the same time was not willing to openly alienate any aid the Academy had sent.
Areck glanced at the sky, which had been perpetually overcast since the day they had left Stormwind. It always seemed about to rain, but never did.
He faintly heard Redmon issue orders to move: "Dismount and break from the column. We are moving to the barracks." When the men assented, Redmon followed the pock-marked Karl, signaling the others to follow him.
Count Gustafson pulled on Areck's arm. "If you will follow me, Captain, preparations have been made." Count Oslov walked close to Areck, hinting at a greater meaning. "And my private chambers await our arrival."
So the count is preparing a room where be can interrogate me, Areck thought with an amused smile. I should not be surprised—since I did force bis band. By telling the count he had something significant to say, there would be no way out around it. However, Areck had achieved the most important part of entering the town—securing his power. Now that the tough part was over, he needed only to show his insignia of rank and explain the purpose of his company. It was a long story, one that would no doubt anger Count Gustafson. But it was not Areck's fault that a single company of men, all squires, had been sent as aid. He would also point out that at least his small company would alleviate some of the stress. It wasn't much . . . but at least it was something.
Areck could not help but feel that though he had done his job, it seemed so useless. The seeping sickness Brenly harbored should warrant several priests. Even if he could secure the area, there was no way to defend the town without walls and soldiers' units. He just couldn't shake the question: why had Starsgalt not intervened on the behalf of these people?
As he rode in silence, his thought became, How could Duke Hawkwind and Lord Lightbringer allow this to happen? He had been taught his entire life to protect the weak. Who was protecting these people? He wondered what other small towns of Arsgoth looked like; and if they were anything like this, no wonder chaos seeded itself in the weak.
Areck clamped his mouth shut. He dared call himself a squire after such blasphemous thoughts!
When the small party reached the first gates of the count's estate, its marble pillars chipped and its vegetation overgrown, Areck realized that this was not a lord who lived regally while his people starved. From a distance visitors might have taken the large estate as a rather extravagant version of a small keep. However, as was common in an unfortified town, there was no central keep or castle built on high ground. Instead the estate
was surrounded by short walls, only high enough to keep out onlookers, a single entrance guarded by a pair of guard towers, and a weak iron gate.
As the party approached, a pair of bedraggled guardsmen leapt to their feet and saluted Count Gustafson. The short man dismissed the guard's formality with a quick wave of his hand. Both guards took the hint and barked orders inside, where Areck could hear the cranking and creaking of a chain opening the gate.
Waiting for the count to march in, Areck saw a hopeful glint in the young guardsmen's eyes, and noticed that they were several years younger than him, younger than fifth year tyros. They looked at him with eyes that burned with sickness, and something else he had seen so often: knightly respect and admiration. He nodded at each young man and moved on, disguising his pity. It was unfortunate that they had been conscripted at such a young age. It was something he would bring to the count's attention, as the law stated that no male under the age of sixteen was allowed to serve in the military.
Though the military age of young men was the least of Areck's concerns, the law was the law, and Count Gustafson should respect it.
As Areck followed the count up a set of stairs and into a small room, he noted for the first time that there was more to the count than politics. As they entered the room, he saw aged parchments: maps of the duchy, ancient military outposts, and various geographic locations of natural landscape dotting the walls and floor.
Areck reappraised the count. Though the noble had obviously been born to privilege, what Areck saw indicated that the tiny man was more of a military man than a spoiled noble. It also meant the count knew the goings on of the rest of the realm.
The count walked over to a desk made of a dark brown wood, moved around behind it, and scribbled on a piece of parchment. He rose and extended the document to one of the guardsman blocking the door. Satisfied that everything was in motion, he closed the door, mindful to lock it. Finally, the noble lord sat back down and waved at Areck to take a seat.
Areck would have felt more in control had he remained standing, yet to do so would be a slight to the noble's honor, something he couldn't afford.
“So tell me, Captain Areck,” Count Gustafson began, eyeing the young man with skepticism, “why shouldn’t I tell everyone our little secret?”
"I think your question might answer itself, my lord," Areck retorted, gesturing towards the small city. "However, if you will hear my story, maybe you can find a better reason."
"Yes, yes," the count said, his voice crackling in emotion. "I suppose it would be a good idea to hear more Bre'Dmorian words—words meant to cover up the shit I smell every day! You know the ones I speak of, Squire: the shit that goes by the name of roses."
Areck was too stunned to be appalled. His jaw dropped open at the sav-ageness of the words.
"I am not sure what words you are speaking of, my lord," Areck finally said. "However, I assure you my company has come to offer our services."
"You are squires, damn it!" the count slammed his hand down. "I asked for reinforcements from Duke Hawkwind and your precious Academy, and look what they sent me!"
"If you are referring to the squires who have been through a great deal to get here, or the ones who notified you of your fallen comrades, or the ones who rode east to assist in transferring information, then I think we have been of great use," Areck looked into the count's eyes, his tone firm and unforgiving.
Areck's manner gave Count Gustafson pause; his eyes grew dark and more reserved. They were on thin ice.
"Do tell me, Captain, what use do you think seven young men are against an entire band of marauding orcs? What good can you do for my poor, sick people?" Lord Oslov said, fighting the rage that burned behind his eyes.
Areck gave a frustrated sigh. He needed to give a practical answer but there wasn't one. "Regardless of my age I have been field-promoted to knight-captain," Areck said. 'You have already seen for yourself that my second, Squire Redmon, has begun to assess your manpower. It may be that we can do nothing against these orcs, but—"
"Where is your proof?" interrupted the count.
"My what?"
"Your proof, Captain," Count Gustafson said, drawing out the words as if Areck were daft. "Where are the papers, signed and dated, that have given you a field command?"
"There are no papers," Areck said, pulling Lord Silvershield's signet ring from a pouch, along with the insignia of a captain and handing them over to Gustafson. "However, I do have these."
Count Gustafson took both pieces and rolled them over thoughtfully, his eyes still dark with anger. "How do I know you did not take them from your dead commander's fingers?"
The comment was absurd, and Areck tried to remain patient, his eyes locked on the count. "What would be the purpose of killing a knight captain, removing his ring, insignia, and orders, then riding into a town surrounded by orcs and disease?"
"Granted, that question was a bit of a stretch," the count relented. "But I do want to know how you got these."
"I told you we have come to offer aid," said Areck, leaning forward so his hands were folded across the table. "Are you now willing to listen to me?"
"It is going to have to be a great tale." Count Gustafson snorted in contempt. "I still do not see how a single company of men, even if you were knights, could assist in our plight."
"To start, these two items belong to Knight-Captain Bowon Silver-shield, the commanding officer of this company," Areck said, ignoring Lord Oslov Gustafson's snort. "And this was to be a select group of squires' first campaign, a training exercise."
"How dare they . . .! You are here on a training mission?"
"We were sent here to offer aid for a small disturbance. By all reports, we were told that you had requested aid for missing persons and possibly a small group of bandits," Areck replied. "The reports of orcish activity and sickness are unexpected dilemmas which we are now forced to deal with."
The count opened his mouth, but Areck continued, "One of many unexpected events that we have been forced to adapt to."
"What do you mean?" asked Count Gustafson, his rosy complexion piqued with curiosity.
"Well, to start, we have suffered casualties: two of the three knights our company carried," Areck explained. "That is the reason Lord Silvershield is not here, as he was forced to continue on to Natalinople. It is also why Knight-Captain Silvershield promoted me, his personal squire, before continuing."
"What could have possibly caused casualties to an armed party of Bre'Dmorians . . .?" Count Gustafson was cut off mid-sentence, as Areck raised his hand for silence.
"I mean no disrespect, my lord, but that information is private," Areck said. "What is important now is the fact that when I received news of your jeopardy, I decided to continue on with my orders, rather than turning back to Stormwind. Those orders were to report here to you, awaiting Lord Silvershield and possible reinforcements."
The count's eyes sparkled at this news. "Reinforcements?"
“Baron Marqel was asked to send a pair of writs to both the ducal palace and the Bre’Dmorian Academy for assistance. I saw the couriers leave with my own eyes,” Areck explained. “However, looking at your township, I would guess that neither the church nor Duke Hawkwind consider our ‘training exercise’ important enough to send more men, even with the unexpected events”
"So say it straight, Captain, what do you want of me?" asked the count, realizing that Areck was indeed trying to assist.
"I need you to embrace my command, my lord," Areck said, tapping his leg in nervousness. He was finally to the crux of the matter. "I will send a writ to Lord Lightbringer, relaying my personal interpretation of the situation. After that, all we can do is hope that it will be enough to draw reinforcements."
"It is my only option, isn't it?" sighed Lord Gustafson. "And what will we do in the meantime?"
"To start, we need to quarantine the sick and possibly burn the infected parts of town for the sake of containing the sickness," Areck re
plied. "Then we must begin to fortify this location, sending scouting parties into the outskirts of the forest. Orcs are cowardly beasts. If we can show them enough military activity in the area, they may move on to easier prey. And finally, we wait."
The conversation took several more hours to complete, as the men discussed various strategies. The new Captain of Brenly learned all he could about the landscape, defensibility, and the layout of the region. When Areck finally left the room, it was dark and streaks of moonlight pierced the ever-shifting cloud cover.
Well, he thought to himself, the first part of my plan has taken effect. Now if I can only convince myself that this is a good idea.
Areck lingered only a moment before he moved off into the darkness. His next stop would be the barracks, where his men would be fast asleep.
21
ARECK'S SECOND day in Brenly kept him at the count's estate, away from his men. He was so busy writing greetings and petitions for knightly aid that he had no time to visit with Lieutenant Redmon. He wondered if every other commander spent most of their days processing paperwork. Shrugging, he put his head back down and went to work.
It wasn't until late in the evening of the third night, as he was studying maps, that a solid knock sounded on his chamber door. Areck looked up from the maps, hoping whoever was knocking would either think him gone or let themselves in. He was about to pull an architectural map of the town layout from the bottom of the pile, when the knock came again.
Areck grumbled, stood, and moved to the door. He had specifically asked for a night of peace; if this was a servant, or another aid from the count, he would show his ire and dismiss them at once.
With a sigh he opened the door. To Areck's surprise his second-in-command stood outside in an informal stance. Turning sideways, Areck gave the proper gesture and invited Squire Redmon in. He closed the door and moved behind his desk.
"Take a seat, Squire Redmon."
"I prefer to stand, sir," Redmon replied, but his stance relaxed. "Are you enjoying playing captain?"
