Chương 15: Go Now, And Be Swift

Asgar had been expecting more of an argument. Well… truthfully, he'd not been thinking enough for expectations at all. He'd heard the name and marched right up to the most senior officers in the whole regiment to demand they send him out on a mission he knew nothing about. Perhaps he was an idiot. But they actually seemed to consider it. Lord Hendry spluttered like an old hound at the water trough, because of course he did, but Lady Valentia cut the noble off with a raised hand before he could really get going.

She stared at Asgar. Hard. Purple was an unusual colour for eyes in their neck of the woods. The nomads from the Khagan plains boasted colours from brown to yellow and back. The dwarves were all white or black, and the less said about the elves the better. The kingdom of Ardentia, though? Blues, greens, and browns were the norm, with more exotic colours reserved for those of particular ancestry… or those heavily touched by magik.

With her deep purple cloak and her aura of eerie calm, Lady Valentia looked very much the latter. Asgar didn't flinch though. He marshalled every ounce of charisma he had to express the depth of his intent upon his face. He would be leaving for that watchtower. It was only a matter of whether he'd do it bearing a message from the regiment, or pursued by its guards for desertion.

"Very well," Lady Valentia said. Asgar blinked.

"Of course, there are details needing confirmation and you should get some rest and new gear before you leave. You'll need supplies, and there are other considerations for us to discuss first. But broadly: yes, you are a good choice of messenger."

"…Right. Good." Asgar was wrongfooted. Captain Strand rolled his eyes.

"Congratulations, soldier. You've been drafted for a higher calling. Head back to your company. An adjunct will come for you in a few hours." When Asgar still hesitated, his face hardened.

"Dismissed." Asgar winced and bowed his head, then scurried from the tent after an exasperated Tarkin.

"What the fuck are you thinking, lad?" But Asgar kept his face down and strode away. His head was filled with the smell of burning wood, the sound of choked sobbing and the echo of that gleeful laughter. The Golden Lance. The source of it all, and a chance at revenge, finally. The next few hours passed in a blur. Asgar received new clothes and armour: lightweight leathers, a cloak, a heavy bandoleer to hold waterskins and hard tack. His rondel had been lost so he took a hatchet as a sidearm instead.

Not quite as good for digging into the joints between armour, but then again, the only ones known for well-fitted armour in the area were the soldiers of the 2nd themselves. The hatchet also boasted a spike on the back-edge that could function well enough in a pinch. He was given a simple spear and a machete—both good tools for trekking through wilderness as well as combat. There was no time for Strix to forge him anything from the strange bone-branch he'd recovered from the confrontation with the witch.

She promised to ' have a play around with it' before he returned, whatever that meant, but then he was off again on another errand. There was simply no time to discuss all that he wanted to with everyone he needed to. He shared a few polite words with Tansel, accepting her gratitude for saving her sister, however much it made him feel an imposter. The ranger herself expressed thanks for keeping them all safe, but her final searching look seemed to communicate a future conversation between them.

A lot of those seemed to be piling up all of a sudden. This was why he had tried to stay at arm's length from everyone in the levee during those first couple weeks. Problems for later, though. First, he needed sleep. He'd been exhausted after the witch, and by now he felt more dead on his feet than anything, so he retired to his tent after a very brief scrub in the freezing stream. Staring at the canvas above, Asgar fretted. Someone would soon come for him, and then he'd be back out there, fighting and killing.

That thought didn't scare him so much as the excitement that followed did. He hardly recognised himself these days. When the blood rage wrapped him in its pulsing, siren song, he wanted it to last forever. Sometimes it felt like he'd take any target, so long as he could slake his thirst for violence upon it. That wasn't in line with the revenge he'd sought, nor the oath he'd made that had started all of this. What if the day came when his companions were the only ones left standing on the battlefield? What then?

He wouldn't harm them directly, he knew, but he wasn't sure he would truly put their lives above his own bloodlust either. What would he do when it came time to choose between saving innocents and killing the guilty? He sighed and rolled over, double checking his preparations for the mission ahead. With his light weapons and his light gear, the wilderness and its myriad threats might have scared him, but Asgar had his class.

Class: Squire of Slaughter Level: 15 Alignment: Celestial Blessings: Abilities: Blood Rage, Hallowed Strike, Armour of Avarron No, the real fear was himself, and the depths he might sink to for his revenge. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The shaking of his tent woke Asgar, and then a young adjunct barged her way in and shook his leg.

"Up!" she commanded, with a surprising amount of authority.

"Lady Valentia is waiting. Now." Asgar groaned and pulled himself from sleep's grasping fingers, shaking his head to clear it. He regretted it immediately; dehydration, exhaustion, and copious blood loss leaving him with the mother of all headaches. Still, he stumbled from the tent, pulling on his leather vest and buckling his weapons belt. All around him, the camp was a hive of frenetic activity. Soldiers rushed back and forth, hammers and axes in hand.

There were fewer tents, many having been packed away onto carts and lashed in place. As he followed the adjunct through the camp, he noticed a surprising lack of soldiers. He'd been deceived on their numbers by their frantic rushing, but as he passed outside of the palisade walls—which had doubled in height overnight—he saw the rest of them. The Golden Lance's 2 nd infantry regiment was two thousand strong when counting the professional soldiers.

Perhaps two hundred assorted scouts and the rangers, then another thousand levies and camp helpers. All in all, just under five thousand men and women. On the plain beyond the encampment, nearly half that number toiled. Shovels rose and fell, wheelbarrows moved mounds of earth, tree trunks were lashed together and sharpened stakes dug in. What had been an open plain the day before now resembled a broken land of pit traps, ditches, mounds and other defensive architecture.

"What the fuck is this?" he breathed, but nobody paused in their duties to answer him. The adjunct beckoned him on, and on he hobbled. The rest had done him good and he no longer needed a stick to lean on, but he was by no means fresh. How he was supposed to cross the hills by himself, he had no idea. Couldn't rightly activate blood rage the whole way, as tempting as it was. There was no time to ponder on it as he was soon standing before the command group once again.

Captain Strand and his advisors were busy overseeing the defences while Lord Hendry was nowhere in sight. Probably off berating some poor levy for not saluting properly, the prick. Lady Valentia spotted his arrival and made a beeline for him.

"You're here. Good. Follow me." He did, and soon enough they were looping back around the outside of the encampment to approach the hills at its rear. Lady Valentia walked quickly, snatching silent glances at him as he struggled to catch up. After the fourth one, she sighed and turned his way.

"Stop. You'll get nowhere in this shape." She pulled a small crystal from a pouch beneath her cloak. Holding it up before her face, she drew in a deep breath and… sucked the power from the stone? It was profoundly weird to watch, but the faintly pulsing crystal immediately lost its turquoise lustre and turned a dull grey. Lady Valentia then grabbed him by the hand and something passed between them. Heat travelled up his arm, wormed its way through his chest and then shot down every limb.

His entire body tingled unpleasantly, like pins and needles but everywhere at once. He stumbled away, but she held him fast. Her grip was iron. Seconds later it was done. She released him and stepped backwards.

"That should help. Come." Asgar patted himself down as she strode away. The many puncture wounds from spear and claw that had littered his body had vanished. Hitching up his brigandine, he saw nothing but pink scars. More than that, he felt refreshed, as if he'd slept for a full week and eaten several hearty meals. Shouldn't have been a surprise that a member of the royal house had access to such magik, but still.

Two months ago he'd been just another turnip farmer, and it was hard to keep up with all the ways his life was changing. They reached the forest, and after a few hundred yards, Lady Valentia turned back to him.

"You have food and water?" he nodded.

"A map of the hills with the watchtower marked?" He nodded again.

"I can see the weapons. Good choice of lightweight armour. That's probably as much as you need, and more than we can spare. It will have to be enough." The last felt like it was said for her benefit more than his own.

"What's happening? Why do you need to send word? And what's the message?"

"An army is approaching. Deep Elves destroyed an outpost around the Pit and now Hellspawn are flooding out. I understand the Ironbound have marched to plug the hole, but that still leaves several strands questing into Ardentia. One is headed this way, and we need to stop them." Asgar paled.

"A full invasion? How many?" Lady Valentia held his gaze.

"More than we can weather. That's why we need the Lance. He should be holding the western edge of the Pit, and if anyone can spare a day to come out and save us, it is him.

"Now listen. When you reach the watchtower, they're going to want to put you in contact with the capital to authorise something like this. Do not let them. The squabbling nobles will dither and delay until it is too late to send anyone at all. Make the watchers send a message directly to the Lance instead."

"How?" Asgar asked.

"I've been a soldier for all of a week. If they won't listen…"" Make them. Kill a few if necessary." He jerked up in surprise, but her gaze was steady.

"I don't yet know why or how, but you have power in your soul—use it if you have to. Your only job is to get a message through. Tell the Lance that a strand of hell is questing towards one of his regiments at the southern edge of the Haunted Hills, that we have a dozen dwarven siege engines with us and that we are all that stands between the Hellspawn and the hinterlands. He'll know what to do." Asgar's head reeled. He looked back to the encampment, knowing his companions were down there.

Tarkin, Strix, Talia and Tansel… it was surprising how much responsibility he felt for them despite how little he truly knew them. Lady Valentia nodded, somehow understanding.

"They're all dead if you don't make it. Do what you have to. Here." She tossed him a silver brooch, styled after a swallow circling a tower.

"Consider yourself promoted. Adjutant to the Royal House of Ardentia, under the command of Lady Valentia Silverspire. If nothing else, this should help convince the watchers that you are to be taken seriously. My command holds no authority over the Duskwatch, so you'll still have to persuade them yourself, but it's a start."

"Thank you," he said numbly, using the brooch to secure his cloak. It shone faintly in the dusky light.

"Remember: only the Lance. Noone else, no matter what they suggest."

"But why? You're a Knight, too—can't you stop this?" She sighed.

"He's comparatively weak in a one-on-one confrontation, but the Lance's true strength is battlefield control. Against an overwhelming singular opponent, he can be killed, but against the uncounted hordes of hell? Well, he's the closest Knight we have that can stop a strand in its tracks." Asgar kept his face purposefully blank, but internally he was reeling at the admission. Hope flared in his breast. The Lance was weak. Valentia continued on with no knowledge or care for his treasonous thoughts.

"My power is much less suited to this. I shall do what I can, but… let us just say that they don't send me after external enemies of the crown, and leave it at that."

"How long do I have?" Asgar asked.

"It's thirty miles through the hills to the watchtower, and there are no direct routes. You'll be lucky to make it before nightfall, assuming nothing bars your path. Considering your recent report of the witch?" She sighed, suddenly looking very human.

"The Hellspawn will be here by dawn tomorrow, and the Lance will take half a day to travel here, assuming he receives the message immediately." Lady Valentia Silverspire's amethyst eyes held his own.

"Go now, soldier, and be swift. Our lives depend on it."