Chương 14: There's Your Evidence

"Is this not the fate you all crave?" Asgar demanded of the horde and their silent regard. The orcs shied back whenever his blunt faceplate pointed their way, as if they could see the rage in his eyes and recoiled from it. For a heart-rending moment, Asgar was filled with hope. It looked like the greenskins might cut and run and they'd survive this insanity after all. Then his soul guttered and his armour disintegrated, turning to motes of ash and swirling away from him in a phantom wind.

Suddenly without support, he crumpled to his knees, and it didn't take long for a few of the orcs to scuttle down towards him. Savage they might have been, but they weren't all stupid. These few, at least, had recognised the opportunity. Stalking his way, breaths snorting in the downpour to leave licks of steam curling from their tusked mouths, the handful of enterprising greenskins hefted their weapons and advanced on Asgar and his companions with dire purpose. So close. He'd been so Goddamned close.

Asgar watched his death approach with weary resignation. Nothing exceptional about these orcs, really, and that was the worst of it. To fight so hard, to triumph over such a powerful foe, only to fall to its underlings moments later. What a shitshow. Then as one the orcs gasped, tottered in place, toppled over. Protruding from their necks were the fletchings of arrows. He thought at first that Talia had come through for him, somehow stringing together a handful of shots in seconds with some unknown skill.

Her blessing from Avarron, perhaps? But no. These fletchings were brown, unlike the crow feathers she used for hers. He'd thought the sudden roaring and braying from the orcs above to be outrage at the cowardly act, but that was also wrong. Arrows were raining down upon them, too. The orcs scattered.

Goblins fell by the dozens as they were dislodged from the shoulders of their bigger cousins, and in moments the horde that had chased them into the canyon and funnelled them to this little arena were running in fear themselves. Asgar wanted to seize the moment and escape while they still could, but his body was completely wrung out. He had nothing left to give. With his luck, rather than rescue, they would find the arrows belonging to a hunting party of Deep Elves from the Wraithwood.

A grand irony that would be—out of the frying pan and into the fucking bonfire. He tipped backwards to sprawl on his back in the rain, catching the drops with his tongue once again. No point fighting it. He was weak as a babe now that the blood rage that had been roaring for so long had finally deserted him. Orcs bellowed, bodies fell, arrows whizzed through the air, and beneath it all were strange whistles and yips that Asgar couldn't place.

A minute or two passed and the silence settled once more, punctured only by the crunch of boots approaching. Then a head appeared in his vision. It was upside down but he recognised the mane of red hair, the wide shoulders.

"Strix?" he asked in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" The blacksmith gave a crooked smile, though her concern was evident.

"Oh, you know. Just out for a stroll." Asgar laughed weakly.

"Didn't even take your fucking apron off." She looked momentarily embarrassed at that, and he laughed again.

"We're saved, then?"

"Just about."

"How'd you find us?" he asked, as she levered him up to sit.

"Tansel felt her sister was in trouble through some magikal nonsense. Persuaded a whole bunch o' rangers to come on down and save you. Weren't sure where to go at first, but we soon figured it out."

"How?"

"Tansel had the rough direction, and once we looked at a map, I knew for sure.' Asgar's the only man dumb enough to somehow get lost in a fucking canyon', I said, and low and behold, here you are." He tried another laugh but it trailed off into a cough. A weak one, too. Strix winced.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," he answered breathily.

"Yeah, all good. The others? Tarkin and Talia? They still kicking?"

"They're fine. Being trussed up by the rangers now." She grunted as she pulled him to his feet.

"I'm more worried on account o' you though. Your chainmail's right full o' holes."

"Just lost some blood," he muttered.

"Just some blood…" She caught him before he hit the ground.

The rangers apparently enjoyed benefits that the regular soldiery of the Golden Lance's 2 nd infantry regiment lacked. They had a former preost from Caer Andel in their ranks, and his blessing allowed him to heal. Nothing like what the ordained fathers of the Ardent Flame were said to be capable of, nor the focused divinity that the church's Illuminaries could channel in the heat of battle, but more than enough to make a difference for their injuries.

Talia's knee was set and the bone partly healed, and Tarkin's head wound addressed. Asgar was in worse shape, but they'd plugged the multitude of holes in him, and by the time they'd made it back to the regiment several hours later, he was alive, awake, and walking under his own power. With the aid of a stick, of course, but still. It counted. Talia was in rough spirits, spending most of the journey back in sombre discussion with her comrades over the death of Tresca and Dansel.

Jaxton was declared missing in action officially, but all were certain he'd perished so no search party was sent after his remains. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Asgar's mood was fair bit lighter, it had to be said. Tarkin's initial distrust had softened into a begrudging respect over the last day of frantic battle. Or at least tolerance.

The grizzled veteran was happy enough to join him and Strix as they marched in the middle of the column, in any case, though he didn't partake much in their banter. His smile was nowhere near as dazzling as the blacksmith's though, so Asgar didn't care overmuch. They made it back before nightfall, the witch's head somehow having survived the day's ordeals where it hung from his belt, tied by its straggly hair.

The dozen rangers and their two-dozen apprentices headed towards their part of the camp, while Asgar and his group were intercepted by a harried-looking adjunct just before they reached Lord Finley's company's designated area.

"You came with the rangers, yes?" he asked nervously.

"From the scouting mission to the Hills yesterday?" At Asgar's tired nod, he continued.

"Lord Hendry demands your presence immediately." Tarkin raised an eyebrow at that, but eventually gave the adjunct a nod.

"Best not dally then. His Lordship's not a patient man."

"That's putting it mildly," Strix scoffed.

"I'll see yer tomorrow, then?"

"Aye. Someone needs to fix up this pile of scrap," Asgar confirmed, banging a hand against his ruined chainmail. He savoured her parting smirk, until Tarkin clapped him on the back.

"Come on, lad. Best not keep 'em waiting." As he steered Asgar, his hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, and he leaned in close.

"You and I need to have a little chat soon." Asgar stiffened. The adjunct hurried ahead of them, out of earshot.

"About what?" he asked cautiously.

"Don't play dumb. You might look a sandwich short of a picnic, but I'm not fooled. That armour of yours wasn't just a blessing." Asgar went to protest, but Tarkin kept going.

"No, no. Keep your lies to yourself. I know what I saw, and I know more than you think, besides. Just keep your mouth shut for now. Could get in a lot of trouble if the wrong people found out."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Huh. Maybe you are that dumb," the veteran muttered.

"Just keep your head down and say nothing to the lords."

"I think Lady Valentia knows something already."

"Then say even less." With his advice imparted, Tarkin picked up his pace and joined the adjunct, leaving Asgar to hobble after them, thoughts a blur. He arrived at the command tent to find Tarkin had already entered. Lord Hendry was seated at a table beside Lady Valentia and Captain Strand, with maps covering it and Tarkin standing smartly opposite while he delivered his report. He'd just got to their battle with the witch when the pompous nobleman leaned back with a scoff.

"Oh, spare me the tall tales. Captain, I've advised you twice now to take a sterner hand with the men under your command. It's one thing to have the levies behaving like superstitious simpletons, but this from a sergeant?" Captain Strand frowned.

"I can vouch for Sergeant Tarkin's good sense. I trust he has some evidence of these claims?" Tarkin winced.

"The body should be recoverable, but there will be others in the hills. It's not safe to send anything less than a full company up there now, sir."

"A company?" Lord Hendry practically shouted.

"You think I'd countenance you wasting an entire company on this foolishness? Captain, I once more advise that you allow me oversight of these soldiers. A few examples on the flogging posts and I'll have them whipped into shape in a single afternoon!"

"That's enough, my lord," the captain responded, turning back to Tarkin.

"Unfortunately, he is right about our stretched capacity. You are sure there is witchery in the hills? I am loath to delay our—" He was interrupted by a heavy thud, the witch's head rolling across the mud at their feet. It bumped against Lord Hendry's leg, and the aristocratic man flinched back with a look of disgust.

"There's your evidence." Everyone turned his way, and Asgar did his best not to quail beneath their combined gaze. Captain Strand and Lord Hendry, he could weather, but Lady Valentia? Something in those amethyst eyes made him shiver.

"How did you kill it?" the lady asked.

"As a team," Asgar lied.

"Tarkin and Talia held her attention and I cut her head off."

"You expect me to believe that a simple levy killed a witch on his own?" Lord Hendry asked, incredulous.

"You don't seem keen on believing much," Asgar replied, surprised when he realised the words had been said aloud. The noble reared back as if struck and opened his mouth for another no doubt caustic tirade, but surprisingly, it never came. Captain Strand shot him a look that seemed to say ' shut the fuck up' with enough vehemence to make the noble hesitate. Asgar wished the captain would have just said it. Lady Valentia spoke instead.

"I have seen first-hand the damage a coven of witches can rend on this world," she said quietly.

"I am also surprised that you defeated one." Asgar hesitated.

"Was just the one witch, in fairness. And I have a…" Tarkin shook his head minutely.

"…an item. This." He pulled at the enchanted cloth wrapped around his bicep.

"It's a tourniquet, squeezes tight when it touches skin.

"The witch, she was distracted by the others and I got close. When I swung, she turned my fucking axe into a snake and laughed. Forced me to my knees, and was going to do something to the others. When she looked away, I slapped this around her neck, and it just cut off all the blood to her head. Knocked her right out. Then I just…" Asgar trailed off, then mimed decapitating the witch like he was chopping lumbar back home on the farm.

"Seemed to do the trick," he finished lamely. Tarkin was staring at him in shock. Asgar was faintly shocked himself, honestly. He'd never been much of a liar, but that had been a good one so far as he could tell. The nobles seemed to buy it at least.

"Resourceful," Lady Valentia muttered, though her eyes never left his own as she leaned back in her chair once more.

"Back to your report, sergeant," Captain Strand said after the lull, and the veteran recounted the day's events professionally. He glossed over Asgar's defeat of the orc war chief, simply describing a running battle through the hills until they were saved by the rangers, and little mention was made of Talia and her sister's strange connection.

"Thank you. Rest for now, both of you. We are grateful for your contribution." With that dismissal, the officers turned back to their maps. Tarkin saluted and turned, and Asgar followed until something caught his ear.

"…send word to the Lance," Lady Valentia was saying. Asgar stopped.

"He is hundreds of miles away," the captain replied wearily.

"No messenger could reach him in time."

"They don't have to," she snapped.

"There is a watchtower with a relay stone some twenty miles through the hills, here." Tarkin was saying something in his ear and trying to pull Asgar out of the tent, but he ignored his companion, his focus on the officer's conversation.

"Will he even make a difference?" Lord Hendry asked irritably.

"He's just one man."

"He's a knight," Strand countered.

"He's the knight," Lady Valentia hissed.

"He's The Golden Lance. Send for him, and this entire regiment will be saved—" She cut herself off when Asgar appeared before the table once again.

"I'll go."

"What?"

"I'll go. You need someone to send word. Send me."

"You don't know what you're talking about, boy," Lord Hendry said derisively.

"Sergeant—get your man out of here." Tarkin nodded apologetically and once again tried to lead Asgar away, muttering in his ear about how he was ' being a damned fool', but Asgar shrugged him off again, barely noticing the man stumble back.

"I'm going," he said, steel in his voice. He pointed at the squiggle on the map he thought represented the watchtower.

"Give me the message."