If you are reading this and you have not read the first 500 words, please see my blog post on February 24th, or click here.
As he crested the next hill, Vlad saw the full breadth of the slaughter. It truly was a route but that was to be expected since Zlatos Mercenaries were trained soldiers, some more than others, and they were fighting against the remnants of a city watch that had been depredated by greed and laziness, along with farmers who had never fought a day in their life. A hand grabbed his ankle as he passed, a groan escaping the lips of the young woman swathed in brown garb and linen pants. She attempted to say something through gritted teeth and tears, but Vlad knew what she was asking before she could get the words out. A good leader should never ask their followers to do something they are unwilling to do themselves. The darkened sky seemed to open up and cast a few rays of sunshine upon her face. He was quick with his sword and her head lolled to the side with her last gasp of air. Only a deadly amount of blood magic would have saved her so there was no sense in dwelling on her any further.
Vlad wiped the blade on his dirty golden fleece and wiped the back of his hand across his face before he continued in the direction of Maven. He said a mental prayer to Sheneyr, the God of War, and cut a gash in his hand before placing the hand on his breastplate, over his heart, as a sign of respect and mutual understanding of the gravity of war. It was a common form of prayer remittance used in his home country of Razgarth and something he did after every battle. Though scars lined his hand, he appreciated them serving as a constant reminder that the world was a perpetual battleground and that he was fortunate to still be alive. After picking his way nearly all the way across the battleground, he could see Maven standing next to Areth at the drawbridge, both Majors of 3rd and 1st Divisions of his Field Army, respectively. The city of Aljusur. In Aurum, everyone would say, “What beautiful bridges and buildings in Aljusar”. What bullshit. The walls surrounding the city were in ruin even before the Zlatos Mercs set siege and from the looks of it, the buildings inside were no less worse for wear.
As he approached, he noticed Maven had her cowl up tight around her face, but some of her dark hair spilled out in the breeze, in such contrast to her ivory skin. Even with the cowl pulled up tight and the wisp of hair fluttering in her face, he could tell she was worried. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be deep in thought. She wore the traditional armor of the Zlatos Mercenaries but always resorted to wearing a cowl in lieu of the traditional helm, unless in a formal setting.
Areth was a Mauinsen, a feline shifter race. When in his feline form, his black fur and cat-like eyes always matched the standard golden armor and black under garb so well that during battle, most enemies did not realize he was a Mauinsen unless they saw his exposed paws. He rested his helm under his arm and twirled one side of his mustache, staring perceptively up at the battlements of the city wall. Vlad reminisced of when they joined the mercenary group years ago, following Vlad’s infamous win in the Pits. Good and bad in that vein of thought. Better not cloud the mind with those memories.
There were a handful of bestial races still around, but they were nearly extinct, and no one knew where they were from or how they had been created, though most religions tied them back to the creation of magic.
“Maven. Areth.” Vlad said with a nod to each of them, though neither looked in his direction.
“By the sound of your boot dragging sand, your leg is injured. Is it bad?” Maven questioned, still not looking at Vlad.
“I’ve had worse, but I do need the arrow removed. I snapped it off too close to the barb in my haste. How’d you two fair?”
“Well, since I am a much better fighter than you, I am unscathed.” Areth smiled as he turned to embrace Vlad.
“Yeah, ok.” Vlad said sarcastically while punching Areth in the arm playfully. “Maven?”
“Fine. There is a mage nearby but not close enough for me to pinpoint.”
That explained her consternation. But why would a mage be in a forlorn city like Aljusur, on the very outskirts of the Desert plains? And why would they not have joined the battle to protect the city? The desert people were disorganized and nomadic, especially the further you got into the desert, but a mage was unusual.
“Do you need something to help pinpoint the mage?”
“No, but I would like to talk to Jenn to see if she can sense it as well. It seems like the Source is somehow blocking their aura.”
“Jenn is out in the field filling phylacteries. I will send for her.” Vlad looked around for a banner where his runners would be. “Oye, runner!” He yelled cupping his hands and a younger man, clad in white linens dashed in their direction. Battlefield customs ensured that those who dressed in white, like runners and battlefield healers, remained unharmed. This runner looked like he had been in the reserve battalion considering all of the muck and blood on the battlefield, and not a drop sullying his garb.
“Lord Marshal, how may I assist?”
“Ah, Gareth, please fetch us Captain Jenn Anak’su and let her know it is urgent. She was over there when I last saw her.” Gareth was off in the direction of Vlad’s hand signal without a second’s hesitation.
“We need to meet with the Mayor or Governor or whatever this one calls himself. Let’s get on with it. I want none of this ceremony crap we had at our capture of Fynalon.”
“Awe, Fynalon was not so bad Vlad. You wrestled control of the city away from the upper class without even losing a soldier.” Areth and only few others called him Vlad since most troops were referred to by last name. And his recent promotion to Field Marshal came with additional titles and respect.
“We did not lose a soldier, but many a slave lost their life in the uprising we encouraged.”
“Alas, take it from a former slave, a chance to be free is worth your life as a slave. You should know that as well as any. The weight of chains and the weight of death on a scale will never be as balanced as the scale weighing hope in opposition of freedom.”
“Let our demons rest today, dear old friend. OWW!” Vlad let loose with a slew of curses as he clasped his hands over his thigh wound.