“They're here.”
* * * * *
The two of them finished their quick descent, Commander Agrias leaping off as soon as she was a safe distance down. It wasn't until she stood straight that the bruising on her hip made itself known once more. Behind her, she could hear the loud crashing of armor as Sir Ewan slid down the ladder behind her. The two of them firmly in stride, side-by-side, made their way into the eastern end of the camp, the soldiers nervously parting for them to make their way through. Some of them were too busy trying to steal a look at what the rising noise was about and were nearly pushed out of the way by Sir Ewan. She had been trying to make her way through the growing crowds, and just behind her she could hear the knight starting to bark at the soldiers to return to their duties or meals, albeit with expletives thrown in for good measure.
As she passed her troops, she caught fragments of the men's gasps and their almost fascinated conversations about their visitors. Agrias had only fought with ogres once before, and though she was merely a foot soldier at that time, she remembered the brutality and the unending stamina that they brought to war. If the Abyssal forces, or even the orcs for that matter, tried a full-scale assault on the camp, they would be met with a relentless wave of muscle, gunpowder, and violence. A small part of her was happy that her men would perhaps now feel more comfortable, but the other was worried that she'd be viewed as weak for having to rely on the infamous mercenaries. She didn't blame her forces for not understanding why they'd been employed for the upcoming fight, nor did she want them to. If they knew that without the ogres they would all die horrible deaths, she would be commanding ghosts and scarecrows with bucket helms and short swords strapped to them.
When she and Sir Ewan finally made it to the edge of the camp where the ogres had arrived, the breath was nearly taken from her. The gores that pulled their chariots were all squealing mercilessly and were two seconds away from trying to impale one another. The infamous smell of an ogre mercenary company eked its way into her nostrils, and she had to fight to exclaim its awful potency. But just as she finally found herself choking back the bile, she saw one of the ogres, with its orange, reddish skin covering rippling muscle, pick up two barrels from the back of a chariot like they were nothing. He cried out with a guttural tone and laughed loud enough to wake the entire camp as he watched another one growl at a passing human, causing the man to yelp and scurry along.
She breathed in quickly, kicking herself after she nearly tasted the smell on her tongue, and made her way to one of the heavily armored warriors who was busy pointing and growling at the others. He was bald on top, leaving only the heavy, grime-filled beard coming to a point just below his clavicle. The signature under-bite of their skulls was particularly pronounced on this one, and she couldn't help but notice the cruel blades that were strapped to his back, large enough that a human would have to two-hand them like one of Sir Ewan's greatswords.
“I am Commander Agrias, I'm in charge of this unit. Are you the leader of this band?” The duel-wielding ogre quickly turned around, and whether his face contorted into a deep, hate filled scowl or if it was merely always like that, the commander did not know. He snorted deeply and walked away from her without a word.
“Sir!” Agrias called out. She closed her eyes and kicked herself realizing how stupid it sounded referring to an ogre the same way she would a knight. Now she could only hope that the entire camp wasn't watching her fail miserably at her diplomacy.
“He ain't gonna answer you, Commander.” The deep, booming voice nearly shook her out of her boots, and she quickly turned around to see two ogres quickly making their way over to her. Much to her embarrassment, she caught a glimpse of her soldiers all huddled up in a crowd, stopped just thirty feet of the gores that were now being fed what looked like slop. At the very edge of the group, she saw Darius and Sir Ewan staring, the latter with his arms crossed and all but radiating his hatred as if it was some spell.
The two ogres stomped their way over to her, and for the first time since she was a little girl, she felt small, almost powerless to do anything. A quick wave of sadness and frustration rippled through her, and she wanted to be anywhere but there.
But, she was a commander – a commander that was assigned a duty – and even though she wanted nothing to do with the mercenary band in front of her, it was what her lords had given her, and she was honor-bound to fulfill her duty to them.
“Are you the leader of this band?” She asked, knowing that ogres were not one for pomp and circumstance, nor have any desire for the pageantry that some knights and lord's bannermen oft were prone to.
The one who had spoken was massive, even among his kin. Two well-built soldiers could fit in the dented and stained plate that he wore across his chest, and the pauldrons that sat atop his colossal shoulders could be used as helmets for the average infantrymen. They weren't decorated, save for the twin spikes that jutted out at the bottom in a way that threatened to pierce his own arms with the slightest bit of ill-timed movement. He lacked faulds to protect his thighs, but instead there was matted animal fur that was decoratively braided and hung to his knees stopping just short of the armored ankle-boots that were also tipped with a spike. The jutting jaw of the ogre was covered in a fierce beard that started at the mop of hair that was slicked back with oil of some kind, and if he was a human, he'd have been told by his commanding officer to trim it in danger of looking like a vagrant. To finish the image, the ogre leader had blue war paint covering one side of his face that was starting to flake in various spots. If it was some ogrish design that had since come off, or it was designed to look that way, Agrias did not know.
“I am,” he responded. It wasn't until he cracked his neck that Agrias took notice of the long handle that peered out from behind his back. The weapon it belonged to, however, she couldn't see past the ogre's massive chest.
“I am Commander Ag-”
“We heard you the first time, girl,” the other ogre who had followed their leader piped up from behind him. Instantly, Agrias was reminded of Sir Ewan. And as if to read her thoughts, she saw the knight leave the gathering crowd and march his way over to her. Unfortunately, this did little to comfort her.
“She's the leader of this operation, Ogre, and we don't handle disrespect lightly in this camp.” Sir Ewan scolded. She was surprised to hear the venom behind those words. It wasn't often Sir Ewan's tone lacked some kind of sarcasm or ill-timed joke. The knight stood more rigid and straightened than she had ever seen him. He quickly took his place beside her, still staring daggers at the one who had called her girl.
“And who is this ponce? The pretty one with the black hair. Your bed warmer?” the second ogre shot back with a hearty chuckle. His voice wasn't as deep as his leader's, but that meant little for this race of humanoids. While not as large as most of his brethren, this one looked no less intimidating. He lacked any beard, and he had his hair done in a tight top-knot. The warpaint on his face was much more intricate, and it seemed to loosely resemble a skull. Agrias did not allow herself to stare, as her gaze was too focused on what the man had in his arm. Slung over one shoulder and lazily keeping his wrist to balance, it was the weapon in an ogre's arsenal that would send their enemies cowering.
The blunderbuss. To call it a firearm was to do it a disservice even among human armies. While they were of dwarven craftsmanship, a blunderbuss was most deadly in the hands of an ogre. The kickback alone would be enough to knock anyone prone, save for the mercenary bands. While their crossbows were as deadly, these guns would render their target unrecognizable if they struck true.
“I am Sir Ewan, savage. And I find your sense of ineptitude when talking to superiors to be... inauspicious,” the knight said, clearly enjoying his noble schooling perhaps for the first time.
“I don't know what you just said, man-girl, but I sure can tear you from limb to-” the smart-mouthed ogre was quickly stopped by a swift punch to the gut by his leader. Agrias stood there wondering when the mon
strously sized one had spun around and struck him; she felt as though she merely blinked. Sir Ewan was perhaps no longer the quickest warrior in the camp.
As for the punch, Agrias thought, that was well needed.
“As I was saying,” Commander Agrias continued.
“Yes, you're Captain Aggrass. I got that,” the leader boomed once more. The commander did little to correct both of his inaccuracies when addressing her, fearing a punch that would send her lungs into the tent behind her.
“And you are?” she asked, trying not to stare, as she realized the ogre with the two blades on his back was now taking his place on the leader's other flank.
“I am Gresh. They call me Boss Gresh. The one who can't keep his bloody mouth shut is Ogrin. And the one you attempted to talk to is No-Tongue.” Agrias was going to press for more information, but she suppressed that thought after realizing that it was probably all she was going to get from this Boss Gresh.
“No-Tongue? However did he get that name, I wonder?” While she had hoped it would comfort her, Sir Ewan's ill-timed sarcasm decided to come back at the worst time.
“He challenged me for leadership of the boys. He lost.” Gresh said, as if the answer should have been obvious.
“And you didn't kill him? I daresay, maybe we could learn a thing or two from you ogres should there ever be a civil war,” Sir Ewan jested, his signature smirk returning once more.
She felt lost within this group, a fact that she was not comfortable with. She was the leader of the operation, and if she had an inkling that was easy enough to dismiss before, now the feeling that she was losing grip of the situation was becoming all too overwhelming.
“Now that we've all become... acquainted. Would you care to join me in my tent and I can show you what our scouts have found out about the position of the orcish horde? There are strategies I think we'd be able to quickly defeat them with.”
“Food and drink,” was all Gresh answered with.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“My men and I have been on the road for several days now. Had to put down some of those devils from the Abyss on the way. We're hungry and in the need of some strong drink. After that, we discuss your strategies,” Gresh said, before he yelled orders at the rest of the band. When he turned his back and spoke the harsh language of his people, Agrias's eyes went wide as she finally saw the weapon that Boss Gresh had equipped.
“What, dare I ask, is that?” she said, weakly pointing to the weapon.
“It's a greataxe. You never seen one before?” Ogrin answered for him. To that, Sir Ewan could no longer hold back his laughter. Ogrin shot him a menacing look.
It resembled no greatsword that she had ever seen. Its blade was a dark brown, almost black in color. It was slightly curved, and instead of a clean, sharp edge, it had jagged teeth. The crude design of the blade was rivaled only by what passed as its hilt. What looked like animal bone, bent like a longbow, was wrapped in boiled leather and was peeling off in random places. The length of the ‘axe’ was far too long for even the most mountainous of men to wield.
But the most notable feature of it was the goblin skulls that were crudely roped around the pommel and left dangling behind Gresh's back. One was cracked down the middle, another was missing the bottom jaw, and the third and final one was larger than the others that Agrias speculated may have actually been a human's in life. She shuttered at the thought.
“With all due respect, Boss Gresh,” she knew that under any other circumstance, Sir Ewan would find it hilarious to hear her say such a thing. “I beg you reconsider. Take your meal into my pavilion at least.”
“Hah!” Ogrin cried out, startling several onlookers. “A human, beggin'? Usually you lot die screamin’!”
Sir Ewan flexed his fist next to her, and as subtly as she could muster, she put her hand on his forearm, attempting to calm him down.
“Look, Commander,” Boss Gresh said. “We ogres don't take to fancy plans and your stratagems.” With that, he shot Sir Ewan a defiant look. “We fight whatever we're paid to fight, and we don't stop until it’s dead or bleeding out. So when this horde of orcs show up, we'll do just that. Point us in the direction you want us to go, and make sure the money finds its way into our hands. Is that enough talk of tactics for the night?”
Commander Agrias did little to answer the question. For once, Sir Ewan's words haunted her ever so briefly. No answer came even for a question of military topics. She watched as Boss Gresh turned his back on her and walked toward his men, No-Tongue expressionlessly following behind him. Ogrin turned as well but not without looking her up and down, snickering to himself.
“Well, that went well.” Sir Ewan added right on cue.
“I don't understand why the Kingdoms wouldn't send us more soldiers. Why they hired... them, is beyond me.” Agrias admitted. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. While she too could use some food in her belly, the thought of eating only made her queasy.
The two of them turned back around and left the ogres to whatever they did when setting up a camp. It wasn't long before more Red Goblins appeared, and as the commander and her lieutenant broke up the still bunched up soldiers, they gave orders and told them to go about their business like the ogres weren't even there. Agrias feared that one of them would grow too curious or they'd start asking the wrong questions and end up on the receiving end of one Boss Gresh's blows.
Before long, Agrias and Ewan sat in her pavilion, and one of Darius's assistants brought them meals. She stood once more, staring at the war table, again hoping that the map would have changed to allow an easy answer. But the sheer embarrassment she had suffered when trying to communicate with Gresh weighed too heavily on her, and the knight's hurried eating failed to help her concentration.
“And a greataxshe!?” Ewan exclaimed with a mouth full of pheasant. “It looked like nothing more than a shaw blade shtrapped to a big shtick!”
“Why do you taunt them, Ewan?” she asked, finally unstrapping her gauntlets to put them down on the table. She sipped from the waterskin that she unbuckled from her belt and was torn between touching her food. The sheer army of flies and gnats the ogres had brought with them was something that was not lost on her. The desire to eat had left as quickly as it came with that realization.
He took a chug from his goblet and let the wine take the mouthful of food down his throat. “Because I studied for years honing my skill with all manner of weapons. The sword, the pike, I even used a lance once. Yet ogres walk around like they're the best warriors just because they can swing big clubs and hold oversized crossbows. And Whatever-He-Is Gresh's axe? I bet its name is Skull Crusher or Back Breaker!” The knight scoffed as he tossed the bones of his meal back onto the dish, the rest of the scraps discarded.
“Well, we did have one of ours name a crossbow Fiend Killer.” She let a smirk actually appear on her lips for once. Ewan took notice immediately.
He laughed warmly himself instead of in the mocking manner he usually did. “So is that the secret for you finally dropping the title of commander for a night? Bring ogres into the mix and we'll see that the renowned Commander Agrias is still Cassandra Agrias after all? Though I bet even a dead man would seem funnier with ogres around.”
“I haven't heard anyone use my first name in quite awhile, Ewan,” she admitted.
“Well, that's what happens when you become important. The only reason people stopped referring to me as Captain Alistair is because I got a sir put in front of it all.” He once more took out the wineskin and held it up for Agrias to have a sip. “Besides, you weren't always Commander Agrias, were you?” he said, quickly realizing that she once again refused the offer of the drink.
“Don't,” the weight of command came through in her voice once more.
“Oh, please. No one even remembers that nickname,” he said, smiling as he drank.
“I said don't, Sir.” For once, she mocked him back. It was a return to the dynamic that had existed before she was eleva
ted to command. The two of them were put in charge of smaller units and would often pair together on the battlefield. The results that usually came from their combined strategies were enough for the military leaders of the Kingdoms to keep them together even after all this time.
“Emerald Eyes Agrias,” he blurted out. “I remember it was one of the most beautiful names to ever have weight to it, as far as soldiers go.”
“I'll force you to choke on that wineskin of yours if you don't stop talking, Lieutenant.” She hated the name. Always had. While the men under her command wouldn't dare use it with her in earshot, she knew that when she wasn't around, that was still what they called her. It had been some time since she'd heard it though. Once she received the title of commander, she thought it was all but forgotten. Some embarrassing story from her younger days, the kind of fact that Sir Ewan claimed was what one needed not to become like an ogre and just get told to kill things. It made Agrias think if maybe the same could be said for Gresh's band. Did they have favorite flowers or a preference for their meals?
“Yes, well. As far as I'm concerned, you, yourself, are quite-” Agrias watched as Sir Ewan’s nerves started to get the best of him for what he was about to say, but it quickly became unimportant when the last thing any of them wanted to hear filled their ears.
The war horn blasted again.
“What the hells?” Sir Ewan said, quickly getting up from his seat. “The orcs? Already? Our spies said they hadn't moved from the last reports!”
Agrias barely heard the knight's words as she, without hesitation, grabbed her heater shield and slid her hands through the straps. Luckily, she had never undid her scabbard, her hand reflexively going to its grip as she flung the flap of her pavilion to the side.
Outside, men were readying themselves for the worst. Shouting overtook everything, accompanied by the clanging of swords and armor being put on in haste. The soldiers that were already prepared for combat were busily helping those that weren't or running toward the sound of the eastern war horn. Commander Agrias swiftly accompanied them, nearly in full sprint.
Tales of Mantica Page 17
