Midnight on April 10th, in the Year 3650 of the Tolosi Calendar
Myranda was more than a little annoyed.
She'd been in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Pajaan and a hungry white lion when a hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly shook her awake. Gasping and looking around blearily, Myra was surprised to find Troopers Pyral, Mogdan, and Tahrez standing in a semi-circle around the chair she'd fallen asleep in. Immediately, the thunderous cacophony of drums in the back of her head banished the last vestiges of exhaustion and confusion from the elf's mind. What the fuck was going on? Were these three here to kill her? And who or what was that shadowy figure hiding behind Trooper Tahrez?
Baring her teeth in a pleasant smile, Myra subtly clenched her fists as Larius grinned back at her and pointed towards Trooper Anden Tahrez. The young mercenary blushed, his pale, soft face turning an interesting shade of crimson, and moved aside to allow the stranger behind him to step forward. Clearly, the boy had found someone skulking around the Four Sisters during his patrol. And he'd brought the interloper to Myranda for judgement. Excellent. The boy had done well, but this also meant the elf wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Running a hand over her scarred face, Myra took a deep breath and peered curiously at her prisoner.
Despite the irritating lack of torches on the watchtower's second floor, Myra knew the man standing before her was a halfbreed. His ears didn't have earlobes and were noticeably pointed, though there was a hint of roundness where his ears met his head. He also had that unique look only a mixture of human and elven blood could create. And Myra was something of an authority on such matters. Her first lover, Zenobia "The Blade" Quithas, had been a beautiful half-elven woman after all. Sucking on her teeth and frowning, Myranda listened as the halfbreed told his story, though her eyes never left the interloper's face. He'd been through quite an ordeal if even half of what he was saying was true. After what felt like hours, the intruder, whose name was apparently Aksel Dehli, stopped talking and a brittle silence settled over the circular chamber.
Leaning forward in her chair, Myranda let her large hands rest on her knees and licked her lips like a lioness trying to decide if she should devour her prey now or later.
"Well, I must admit, Aksel," Myranda eventually said, "ye tell a fine story. Ye should talk ter the whinin' arsehole of a captain who brought us here about formin' a mummer's troupe or sommat. Ye'd make a bloody fortune. Yer tale had a little bit o' everythin'. Escapin' from prison with the help o' some mysterious benfe...benefac...helpers, findin' a magic ring wot glows an' all, a helpful peasant an' even a fuckin' bandit chase. Very interestin', indeed. But, afore I decide what ter do with ye, first things first as me father used ter say. Trooper Mogdan?" The dwarf saluted crisply and waited for his commanding officer's orders. "Let’s get that glowin' ring off o' Master Dehli's finger, shall we? Ye can jest set it on the table fer now an' I'll take a look at it later. Be gentle, though. Ye can never be too careful with magic."
Vladimir grunted his accord and slowly pulled the ring off the halfbreed's finger. Thankfully, the dwarf didn't burst into flames or start howling as unimaginable agony ripped through his body. Letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, Myranda watched the sellsword waddle over and place the stone ring on the table beside her. The hulking elf cracked her knuckles and tried to ignore how drained she felt. She needed to deal with this quickly so she, and the Gray Winds awaiting her decision, could rest up for tomorrow's ride. Yawning, the elf decided to do what any self-respecting mercenary faced with a situation like this usually did. Pass it on to someone above her in the chain of command. And she hadn't seen Captain Elias since the army's departure from Taranidorn so that only left one other option.
General Astra would be delighted to meet this far too knowledgeable halfbreed.
Smiling, Myra scratched at her missing ear and said, "Ye know, Aksel, all jokin' aside, yer damned lucky I'm not the one leadin' this army. If I was general, I'd probably kill ye. Yer friends, J and T, somehow knew ter send ye ter the Four Sisters on the same day they were taken from the Etruscans. That's not bein' well-informed. That's havin' eyes and ears in the God-King's army, which I'm sure Oromis won't appreciate. An' I'm sure General Astra will appreciate it even less. I'd jest as soon kill ye so ye can't give away our location an' whatnot ter the enemy. Still, let it never be said that Myranda Tavellan kills when she doesn't have to."
Unfortunately, people had been saying exactly that for years. And they would probably continue to do so until long after Red Myra was dead and buried.
Shrugging her broad shoulders and focusing her attention on the youngest Gray Wind in the room, the elf said, "Trooper Tahrez, I want ye ter take Aksel ter the smuggler's beach since yer the one who found him. Yer gonna present him ter the general an' have him repeat his little story. His fate is in her hands. Now, get yer horse an' move out. Ye should be able ter make it ter the general jest after sunrise if ye leave right away. And I want ye ter stay with her unless she orders ye ter return to us. Ye got all that, boy?"
Trooper Tahrez, who'd been smoothing down his dark bangs, jumped to attention and said, "As you say, mate! I mean, erhem, as you say, Lieutenant Tavellan. Come on, Aksel, we need to find out where they tied up my horse." Myra shook her head as Trooper Mogdan winked at her and escorted Trooper Tahrez and Aksel Dehli down the stairs. Settling back in her chair and allowing her eyelids to droop, Myranda forced herself back into wakefulness when she saw Trooper Pyral staring at her, his eyes glimmering nervously in the silvery moonlight streaming through the hole in the watchtower.
"Is there somethin' else, Trooper Pyral? 'Cause if not I'd like ter get a little sleep afore the sun rises. We got a long day tomorrow," Myra asked as she slowly reached out and picked up the stone ring from its spot on the table. Could it really grant the person wearing it the ability to take a blow and turn it back on their attackers with twice the power? It sounded ridiculous and terrifying all at once, and the elven warrior wasn't too keen on handling potent mystical artifacts. They had a nasty habit of ducking their wielders in the ass. Of course, this didn't stop her from putting the ring inside her orange-dyed belt pouch. Claes would definitely want to see this. More than likely, the general would try to incorporate ringn into her plans for the upcoming siege once Myra told her what it could do.
"Forgive me, lieutenant, but I'm not certain sending this Aksel fellow with Trooper Tahrez was wise. Anden is one of the newer members of the Forlorn Hope and he's far too friendly for..." Larius said, though he stuttered to a halt when Myra raised her hand wearily.
"Trooper Pyral, we all have ter be back in the saddle soon. Let's not make this more o' an issue than it already is. Trooper Tahrez might be young, but I'm sure that means he'll be eager ter prove himself ter the rest o' the platoon. He won't fuck this up. Besides, I got the halfbreed's ring, don't I? Truth be told, this ring is probably goin' ter be more useful than the man himself. The general will be glad ter have somethin' this powerful when we attack the Sun Gates the day after tomorrow. Now, I'd suggest ye get yerself downstairs an' go ter sleep while ye still can," Myra said, and the mustachioed hired blade saluted before jogging down the wooden steps. Letting loose another jaw-cracking yawn and slumping in her chair, Myranda finally closed her eyes once more. In moments, she was snoring contentedly and wondering how loudly Pajaan would scream if a lion was actually eating his ugly brown face.
Late Afternoon on April 11th, in the Year 3650 of the Tolosi Calendar
"What in the name of the gods above an' below is that?" Myra asked as she guided her restless horse, whom she'd named Blackheart, towards a large, triangular pillar jutting out of the forest floor. The imperial grayhoof tossed his proud head and tried to rejoin the cluster of mounted Forlorn Hope members trotting southwards through Lyvresse. Myranda hissed angrily and yanked Blackheart's reins in the direction of the bone-colored spire. Typhus Rommath had claimed the imperial grayhoof was one of the finest warhorse in Tverios, though Myranda was starting to have serious doubts. Blackheart was an obstinate, disobedient, and smelly pain in the ass.
Still, Myranda wasn't about to let her horse's reluctance keep her from getting a closer look at this pillar, which seemed out of place amidst Lyvresse's flourishing, vibrant plantlife. Towering goldleaf trees, their honey-colored foliage shining like a Nerwainish milkmaid's hair, towered over brecilia trees covered in violet leaves while small, gnarled bushes with bright orange berries grew in clumps around their bases.
In spite of the grim task ahead, Myra found herself smiling, and she made Blackheart stop in the pillar's shadow. As she peered intently at the ivy-shrouded construct, the elven warrior realized it had been too long since she'd enjoyed the simple pleasures of traveling through unfamiliar territory with nothing to guide her but her whims. While she still wasn't free to do as she pleased, Myranda wondered if she could convince Claes to let her spend a little time in Lyvresse after the Siege of Tolos ended. This place was breathtaking, and the elf wanted to see everything it had to offer. Of course, Myra would need to survive the upcoming battle first.
Pushing that dark thought to the back of her mind, the scarred elf looked closely at the pillar and quickly noticed it wasn't a single piece of white marble. Instead, it was composed of several white marble blocks, though the seams between the blocks fit together so perfectly they were almost invisible.
Unless you possessed an elf's superior senses.
Smirking and turning Blackheart around to rejoin her platoon, Myranda saw one of her soldiers detach from the group. The hired blade skillfully pulled his black-and-white spotted gelding to a stop beside Myra's larger horse. Whistling and tucking a sweaty strand of blonde hair under his cavalier's hat, Trooper Viator Tabex said, "Well, smack my ass and call me a Quaylu, Lieutenant Tavellan, I don't believe this! I think you've found an old Imperial marker stone. Some people call them waystones. The Empire built them to show travelers and merchants they were only a mile away from the City of Kings. They were supposed to be reassuring since this area used to be quite dangerous. Wendigos, bandits, and worse made their homes here in ages past. This is incredible! We've made excellent time, I must say. I suppose it does make sense, though. We've been following the northern route of the old Imperial Road since we left the Four Sisters."
The elf glanced at the human with one eyebrow arched. There was no way the Forlorn Hope, which was moving slower than it usually did so the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Penal Battalions could keep up, was so close to Tolos. True, Myra had set a hard pace and only allowed the group to stop when the horses needed rest or water, though she'd made numerous exceptions along the way. A mercenary with a full bladder was an unhappy mercenary, especially if they were mounted. Therefore, it seemed unlikely that a journey General Astra believed would last the entire day was almost over.
Overhead, a flock of crested sparrows, their red plumage and yellow crests flashing in the afternoon sun, chirruped happily as they darted in and out of the forest's canopy. Perhaps it was just Myra's imagination, but their warbling seemed to hold a note of victory as they flew into another part of Lyvresse.
Tilting her head to one side, Myra asked, "An' how do ye know all this, Trooper Tabex? More ter the point, I'm pretty sure the Imperial Road is long gone. After the Battle o' Havendall, the Tolosi nobles didn't want ter waste men an' resources keepin' the road free o' debris an' whatnot. I'm thinkin' they probably wanted ter put as many bodies between them an' the League as possible."
Viator pointed wordlessly at the ground beneath their horse's hooves. What appeared to be a cluster of white bricks made from the same stone as the pillar were barely visible through the carpet of fallen leaves. Each brick was marked with the dragon rampant, one of the oldest and most well-known symbols of the Empire of Tolos. Gaping in shock, Myra glanced up at Trooper Tabex before looking back at what could only be part of the Imperial Road. First Emperor's hairy cock, it still existed after all! The road that wound through the Empire like some immense, white serpent was leading the Forlorn Hope platoon to Tolos.
"That's definitely the Imperial Road, lieutenant," Trooper Tabex said, a grin that showed off the gap where his two front teeth used to be lighting up his face. "All those white marble bricks were shaped and fired across the Etrusceia River before being carried over by slaves. This was back when the Empire was still whole, of course. Now, I doubt the margraves would agree to work together on anything that didn't immediately benefit them. Greedy bastards. But, back before the Battle of Havendall, these bricks were used to form the northern, western, and southern routes of the Imperial Road. Quite a feat, eh?"
"I should say so," Myranda said as she struggled to keep Blackheart from bumping against Viator's horse. Maybe she should have named him 'Asshole' instead of Blackheart. The former seemed more appropriate. "But ye never said how ye knew all this, Trooper Tabex," the elf said once the warhorse finally calmed down.
"Well, lieutenant, my father was a Tolosi mercenary working for Belloc's Bleeders, but he fell in love with a camp follower after spending a year with the company. They ran away together and ended up living in the slums of Tolos. I grew up in and around the City of Kings so being back in Lyvresse is almost like coming home. I remember playing 'Find the Wendigo' here with my friends when I was younger, though we never found any," Trooper Tabex said as he and Myranda started to urge their mounts towards the retreating mass of the Forlorn Hope. "Anyways, that old saying about it being easier to pick up a sword than to lay it down turned out to be true. My father left when I was twelve years old. He wanted to recapture the glory days of his youth or some nonsense. I followed him when I was fifteen, left my mother in Tolos, and learned that he'd joined the Gray Winds after the Battle of Scipillar. By the time I found the company, however, the old fool had gotten himself killed in battle. I ended up getting recruited a few days later. Funny how life works, isn't it?"
After a moment of silence to contemplate the many mysteries of life, however, Trooper Tabex coughed pointedly and said, "You know, speaking of funny things, Lieutenant Tavellan, I'm sure the men would be just tickled if we could rest for a bit. Considering how close we are to the city and everything..."
Rolling her eyes and nodding, Myranda said, "Alright, alright, Trooper Tabex. If'n we're so close ter Tolos then we can afford ter make camp here an' wait fer further orders. Do me a favor an' tell the others, will ye? I need ter go an' let the penal battalions know we're stoppin'. Oh, an' if anyone asks, tell the lads they can make a fire. I know Trooper Pyral brought down some pheasants earlier, an' I heard Vladimir talkin' about makin' somethin' called torscha stew out o' 'em. Jest make sure ter keep the fire small and have a bowl ready fer me when I get back, aye?"
"I hear and obey, Lieutenant Tavellan!" Trooper Tabex said and, after sitting up in his saddle and saluting, he dug his heels into his gelding's side, which sent the beast cantering after the other Forlorn Hope members.
Grinning, Myranda paused to watch one of her favorite parts of leading sellswords into battle. The moment the captain gave the order to stop and make camp. It was like a wave of happiness and relief washed over the saddle-sore mercenaries as Trooper Tabex spread the news of Myra's command. With laughter and crass jokes filling the air, the Forlorn Hope dismounted quickly and tied their horses to any low-hanging branches they could find. Those who'd dismounted fastest were either stretching or emptying their saddle bags so they could begin working on the countless tasks essential to constructing a proper encampment. Trooper Tlaloc Maladar, aided by his sister, was propping up two canvas tents in the shade of a fallen goldleaf tree. Meanwhile, Vladimir was laying out his cooking supplies and asking Trooper Folant to gather brecilia tree leaves to add to the torscha stew. The massive Tolosi whispered something in the dwarf's ear, and the two hired blades burst into raucous laughter. Myranda chuckled to herself as she wheeled Blackheart around and rode off in the direction of the penal battalions.
Unlike the Myranda's platoon, the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Penal Battalions didn't have horses. Instead, they had a rickety wagon pulled by two ill-tempered marsh donkeys, which contained all their supplies and weaponry. This meant everyone, with the exception of the captain holding the donkeys' reins, was on foot. Myra had ridden back several times to ensure the battalions didn't fall too far behind, because she knew the convicts weren't capable of maintaining the same pace as her soldiers. No matter how slow the Forlorn Hope rode. In truth, the scarred elf was a little surprised to see at least a dozen exhausted red sashes plodding into the thicket where the Forlorn Hope was setting up camp. Clearly, the leaders of the penal battalions had no trouble getting their men to move with a sense of urgency. Not bad for three humans in charge of nearly sixty convicts. The leather collars around the criminals' necks, which were linked to one another by iron chains, made their speed all the more impressive.
After barely managing to avoid trampling a limping criminal, Myranda pulled Blackheart up beside the penal battalions' wagon and waved to Captain Gilliam Kraven, the barrel-chested Mardochian in charge of the Fifth Penal Battalion. Scratching at his poorly dyed leather armor, the human asked, "What's the game then, lieutenant? Are we finally stopping? Not that the lads are giving me any trouble, but if we have to go much further their little hearts are going to burst." He didn't seem too upset by the prospect.
When Myranda nodded curtly, the Mardochian pulled violently on the donkeys' reins, forcing them to stop, and bellowed, "Listen up, Fifth Battalion, you gutless bastards! Sit down and shut your damned mouths! We're stopping for now, but nobody is getting so much as a mouthful of food or water until the Sixth and the Seventh Battalions join us. Once they do, the other captains and my good self will start handing out rations. Until then, just keep quiet and nobody has to get a taste of my whip."
Captain Kraven waited until the wagon was stable before hopping down from his perch and pulling two carrots from the satchel hanging at his side. After taking a huge, slobbering bite of one carrot, the Mardochian tossed the other one to the marsh donkeys, and the two greenish-brown beasts began braying and snapping at each other hungrily. Fingering the leather whip clutched in his right hand, the Mardochian sneered as he watched the marsh donkeys fight. Myranda shook her head and urged Blackheart to move along, stopping him in the shade of a nearby brecilia tree. Cursing and treating animals poorly weren't ideal traits in a soldier, but a captain, any captain, should treat his men with a little respect. Even if his men were criminals. Captain Kraven seemed like an asshole. While Myra hadn't spoken to the penal battalion captains much before the attack on the Four Sisters, she knew Captain Kraven wasn't the worst of the lot either.
That dubious honor went to Captain Shen Longfoot of the Sixth Penal Battalion.
Captain Longfoot was quiet and subtle where Captain Kraven was loud and irritating. The Quaylu moved with the smooth, consummate grace of a warrior who'd seen more than his fair share of battle, his pale hand never far away from the gilded hilt of his takana. Myranda had never seen such a fine-looking blade in her entire life. And she was over two hundred years old.
His gorgeous sword notwithstanding, the first thing Myra had noticed about Captain Longfoot was the undeniable aura of danger surrounding him. He wasn't like those idiotic nobles who tried to look menacing for the benefit of their companions. From his tiny, pointed black beard to his hobnailed boots, the Quaylu captain gave the impression of being ready to kill someone at the drop of a hat. He just needed an excuse. Maybe the reason Myra disliked Captain Longfoot so much was because they shared this unfortunate characteristic. Grimacing and watching the Quaylu stroll over to the wagon with his battalion in tow, the elf was about to flick Blackheart's reins and move on when she noticed something unusual. All of the convicts in the Fifth and Sixth Battalions smelled like a camp latrine. They stank of shit, piss, and vomit. Obviously, they'd been walking for most of the day so they weren't going to smell like wildflowers, but this was far worse than anything Myra had experienced.
Unless you counted how Sweet Thond smelled when he came to see her the previous night.
Narrowing her eyes and dismounting carefully, Myranda started to walk towards the closest group of red sashes only to have Captain Longfoot intercept her. Up close, the man reeked of some kind of flowery, overpowering perfume. It was almost as bad as the stink coming from the convicts.
"No need to dismount, lieutenant," the Quaylu said, his weaselly smile widening as he pointed back towards Myra's horse. "I'm sure your own men need you more than we do. I heard Captain Kraven's shouting so I know we're stopping for the night. I am certain my men will enjoy the rest." As if to punctuate his statement, one of the red sashes in Captain Longfoot's battalion suddenly doubled over and vomited. Myranda looked over the frowning Quaylu's head and sucked on her teeth, her eyes darting from the puking criminal to Captain Longfoot and back. Something was definitely wrong here. First off, this man looked just as bad as Sweet Thond had, and there was enough sweat dripping off him to drown a wendigo. Myra also remembered seeing this man, a bear of a Mardochian with a ridiculously big nose, sitting with the Sixth Penal Battalion on the smuggler's beach two days ago.
If none of the convicts or members of the Forlorn Hope had been injured during the fall of the Four Sisters, what had happened to this man's right hand? It was gone. A bandaged stump was all that remained.
"Huh, that's odd, Captain Longfoot," Myra said and the Quaylu's gray eyes skittered away from the sick criminal and settled on the elf's face. "Yer men...are they sick or sommat? 'Cause they all smell foul an' that one is throwin' up. An', unless I'm rememberin' wrong, I was told none o' our troops were injured when we took the Four Sisters. Why is that pukin' convict missin' a hand? Did somethin' in the forest take it? Or are ye doin' shit with that fancy blade that ye shouldn't be?"
Patting the air as if calming a child, Captain Longfoot chuckled and said, "Your concern for the convicts is touching, lieutenant, but unnecessary. I'm sure Berwyn just ate something he found in the forest, that's all. He's a bit of an idiot, I'm afraid. As for his missing hand, well...erhem, you know, I-I think Captain Tressida m-mi-might be able to help you. She's very kn-kno-knowledgeable, especially when it comes to caring for men such as these. I think I see her and the Seventh Battalion walking into the clearing now. Allow me to fetch her for you, Lieutenant Tavellan." Before Myranda could stop him, Captain Longfoot sprinted towards the final group of criminals making their way through the trees. The elf frowned as she watched the Quaylu whisper into Captain Tressida's ear for a few moments and then walk off to tend to his own sickly flock.
After ensuring the Seventh Battalion was seated, Captain Patrice Tressida, a gray-haired Mardochian woman with a sizable gut straining the front of her hauberk, lumbered over to Myranda and stared up at her with eyes the color of filthy river water.
A thought suddenly occurred to Myranda. There were at least sixty red sashes and only three captains. Why hadn't any of these convicts tried to escape or cause trouble? She hadn't heard about any disciplinary issues during the assault on the Four Sisters or the trek through Lyvresse. She was glad this was the case, obviously, but it seemed odd. The elf placed her hand on the pommel of her black iron longsword as she waited to hear what Captain Tressida had to say. Something about the penal battalions just didn't add up. And this woman was at the heart of it. She was also the one leading Sweet Thond's battalion, and Myranda wanted to make sure the Jadisi was feeling better. Considering the state of the other battalions, she sincerely doubted it.
"Lieutenant Tavellan, I heard you had some questions about the convicts," the Mardochian woman said, a strained and condescending smile on her jowly face. "It warms my heart to know you have such...compassion for these poor souls. Now, as far as their unkempt and sickly appearance is concerned, well, consider the situation they're in. They face death tomorrow during the siege, and most of them know it. I am certain anyone would feel a little queasy and look a little pale under such circumstances. As for poor Berwyn, I believe he lost his hand at a very young age. He accidentally cut himself on some thorns while gathering firewood yesterday. Thus, the fresh bandages. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, lieutenant?"
Myranda frowned and then shook her head slowly. This woman was lying through her teeth, and the elf knew it. She'd have an easier time wringing blood out of a stone than getting Captain Tressida to answer her questions. The Mardochian's sneer widened and she said, "You know, I used to be the warden of Blackwall Prison on the isle of Foghaven, Lieutenant Tavellan. I treat the men in my battalion the same way I treated the prisoners imprisoned in Blackwall. I've encouraged Captains Kraven and Longfoot to do the same. I've always believed it's my duty to not simply contain or lead sinful men but to prepare them for what comes next. Whether they die in battle, or in their cells, I want Oromis, may His light guide us all, to embrace their wayward souls. All men and women deserve a chance to see Paradise. However, the iniquities of the sinner must be purged for this to happen. Perhaps you'd like to join us for the evening prayer tonight, hm? I think the petitioner's lament fits this occasion nicely, don't you?" The overweight Mardochian's smile turned sharp as her eyes flicked down to the red sash Myra still wore over her armor.
Smirking and adjusting her criminal's sash to spite the overweight captain, Myranda folded her arms across her chest and said, "I appreciate the kind offer, Captain Tressida, but I think I'm gonna pass. Ye have enough purgin' an' whatnot ter do without me addin' me own sins ter the pile. Jest don't ferget what General Astra said in those orders she gave ye, eh? Yer ter listen ter my commands as if they were her own. So, I'm orderin' ye ter make sure yer men, and all the convicts in the other battalions, are ready ter fight tomorrow. I'd like ter keep them alive until we begin our attack on Tolos. Unnerstand?"
"I understand," Captain Tressida said calmly, though her eyes glittered with barely contained anger and disapproval. "I shall continue my work then and try to save these men from the horrors of the Abyss. The battle of the flesh is a terrifying one, lieutenant, but the battle of the soul is far worse. Regardless, I shall obey your commands to the letter. May I go now? My men are waiting for me."
Myra gestured for the Mardochian to leave, though she made no move to remount Blackheart. Almost as soon as she was back among the red sashes, Captain Tressida was accosted by Captain Longfoot, who'd been watching the entire conversation like a serpent watching a mouse. The rustling and muttering of convicts trying to get comfortable, along with the moaning of those who seemed especially sick, would have made it impossible for a human to hear what Captain Tressida said to her Quaylu companion. Luckily, Myranda wasn't human. The hefty Mardochian muttered something to the man about "running out of damned athnac berries. We need to keep these fools under our control. I want you to take three convicts into the woods and find more. Gather as many as you can, and remember the brighter the berry's flesh the more potent it is. Move quickly."
Wondering what 'athnac berries' had to do with keeping the red sashes under control, Myranda climbed into Blackheart's saddle and flicked his reins, eliciting a displeased snort from the beast and spurring him towards the Gray Winds' encampment. She hadn't seen Sweet Thond among the red sashes waiting for food and water, though the Seventh Battaltion was still staggering into the clearing. Part of her wanted to ride back and demand that the Jadisi be released into her care. She could probably do it, too. Unfortunately, all it would take was one missive from Captain Tressida to General Astra and Myra would have to explain herself. Myra needed to find evidence showing Claes something was happening to the red sashes, and the three captains were responsible. She'd save Thond and earn some goodwill from the general, which could only benefit her in the long run.
But the only clue she had was 'athnac berries.' "Athnac berries. What the fuck would berries have ter do with anythin'?" Myra mumbled to herself as she drew closer to the center of the glade where her men were handing out steaming bowls of torscha stew. The delicious smell of Vladimir's cooking was everywhere, and the elf's stomach groaned loudly. When was the last time she's eaten?
"Athnac ass!" Trooper Tabex's voice said from somewhere near her right elbow, and Myranda glanced down to see the man shaking with subdued laughter as he finished setting up his tent.
"What did ye say, Trooper Tabex?" Myra demanded and the Tolosi mercenary blushed.
"Sorry, lieutenant. I just heard you say 'athnac berries,' and it reminded me of a prank I used to play as a boy. You see, athnac berries, those orange berries we've been seeing all over the forest, are poisonous in small amounts. They make you shit. If you keep eating them, though, you start to sweat, shake, and vomit. And you crap constantly. I would slip a berry or two into my friends' porridge and laugh when they went running for the nearest chamber pot. I called it 'athnac ass.' Ummm, why were you mumbling about athnac berries? Did someone eat a few by accident? I swear I had nothing to do with it!" Viator said, though Myranda simply shook her head and dismounted from Blackheart, tying him to a nearby goldleaf tree and walking to the edge of camp.
So, these athnac berries were poisonous? Could Captain Tressida and the other penal battalion leaders be feeding the convicts these berries in order to "purge them of their iniquities" before the battle? It sounded insane, but why else would they need athnac berries? And what else could explain why the red sashes looked so sick yet their captains remained healthy? It would also be much easier to control a large group of dangerous men if they were too busy shitting themselves to cause trouble.
As she pushed aside a few branches, however, Myranda realized this issue would have to be dealt with later.
Tolos, the legendary City of Kings, was laid out before her in all its glory and splendor. Trooper Tabex had been right. The Forlorn Hope platoon and their allies were less than a mile away from one of the most powerful cities in the known world. Myra shaded her eyes with one hand and tried to find the impregnable Sun Gates. Unfortunately, the sun was shining right in her face, and the elf couldn't even tell if she was looking at the back of Tolos or the front. All she could see was the Camerenae. It looked...ominous.
"Gods above an' below help us all," Myra muttered, a grin brimming with both dread and excitement dancing across her face.
Stranger in the night.
A most well-informed halfbreed.
Too tired to fight.
A most well-informed halfbreed.
Too tired to fight.
Myranda was more than a little annoyed.
She'd been in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Pajaan and a hungry white lion when a hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly shook her awake. Gasping and looking around blearily, Myra was surprised to find Troopers Pyral, Mogdan, and Tahrez standing in a semi-circle around the chair she'd fallen asleep in. Immediately, the thunderous cacophony of drums in the back of her head banished the last vestiges of exhaustion and confusion from the elf's mind. What the fuck was going on? Were these three here to kill her? And who or what was that shadowy figure hiding behind Trooper Tahrez?
Baring her teeth in a pleasant smile, Myra subtly clenched her fists as Larius grinned back at her and pointed towards Trooper Anden Tahrez. The young mercenary blushed, his pale, soft face turning an interesting shade of crimson, and moved aside to allow the stranger behind him to step forward. Clearly, the boy had found someone skulking around the Four Sisters during his patrol. And he'd brought the interloper to Myranda for judgement. Excellent. The boy had done well, but this also meant the elf wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Running a hand over her scarred face, Myra took a deep breath and peered curiously at her prisoner.
Despite the irritating lack of torches on the watchtower's second floor, Myra knew the man standing before her was a halfbreed. His ears didn't have earlobes and were noticeably pointed, though there was a hint of roundness where his ears met his head. He also had that unique look only a mixture of human and elven blood could create. And Myra was something of an authority on such matters. Her first lover, Zenobia "The Blade" Quithas, had been a beautiful half-elven woman after all. Sucking on her teeth and frowning, Myranda listened as the halfbreed told his story, though her eyes never left the interloper's face. He'd been through quite an ordeal if even half of what he was saying was true. After what felt like hours, the intruder, whose name was apparently Aksel Dehli, stopped talking and a brittle silence settled over the circular chamber.
Leaning forward in her chair, Myranda let her large hands rest on her knees and licked her lips like a lioness trying to decide if she should devour her prey now or later.
"Well, I must admit, Aksel," Myranda eventually said, "ye tell a fine story. Ye should talk ter the whinin' arsehole of a captain who brought us here about formin' a mummer's troupe or sommat. Ye'd make a bloody fortune. Yer tale had a little bit o' everythin'. Escapin' from prison with the help o' some mysterious benfe...benefac...helpers, findin' a magic ring wot glows an' all, a helpful peasant an' even a fuckin' bandit chase. Very interestin', indeed. But, afore I decide what ter do with ye, first things first as me father used ter say. Trooper Mogdan?" The dwarf saluted crisply and waited for his commanding officer's orders. "Let’s get that glowin' ring off o' Master Dehli's finger, shall we? Ye can jest set it on the table fer now an' I'll take a look at it later. Be gentle, though. Ye can never be too careful with magic."
Vladimir grunted his accord and slowly pulled the ring off the halfbreed's finger. Thankfully, the dwarf didn't burst into flames or start howling as unimaginable agony ripped through his body. Letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, Myranda watched the sellsword waddle over and place the stone ring on the table beside her. The hulking elf cracked her knuckles and tried to ignore how drained she felt. She needed to deal with this quickly so she, and the Gray Winds awaiting her decision, could rest up for tomorrow's ride. Yawning, the elf decided to do what any self-respecting mercenary faced with a situation like this usually did. Pass it on to someone above her in the chain of command. And she hadn't seen Captain Elias since the army's departure from Taranidorn so that only left one other option.
General Astra would be delighted to meet this far too knowledgeable halfbreed.
Smiling, Myra scratched at her missing ear and said, "Ye know, Aksel, all jokin' aside, yer damned lucky I'm not the one leadin' this army. If I was general, I'd probably kill ye. Yer friends, J and T, somehow knew ter send ye ter the Four Sisters on the same day they were taken from the Etruscans. That's not bein' well-informed. That's havin' eyes and ears in the God-King's army, which I'm sure Oromis won't appreciate. An' I'm sure General Astra will appreciate it even less. I'd jest as soon kill ye so ye can't give away our location an' whatnot ter the enemy. Still, let it never be said that Myranda Tavellan kills when she doesn't have to."
Unfortunately, people had been saying exactly that for years. And they would probably continue to do so until long after Red Myra was dead and buried.
Shrugging her broad shoulders and focusing her attention on the youngest Gray Wind in the room, the elf said, "Trooper Tahrez, I want ye ter take Aksel ter the smuggler's beach since yer the one who found him. Yer gonna present him ter the general an' have him repeat his little story. His fate is in her hands. Now, get yer horse an' move out. Ye should be able ter make it ter the general jest after sunrise if ye leave right away. And I want ye ter stay with her unless she orders ye ter return to us. Ye got all that, boy?"
Trooper Tahrez, who'd been smoothing down his dark bangs, jumped to attention and said, "As you say, mate! I mean, erhem, as you say, Lieutenant Tavellan. Come on, Aksel, we need to find out where they tied up my horse." Myra shook her head as Trooper Mogdan winked at her and escorted Trooper Tahrez and Aksel Dehli down the stairs. Settling back in her chair and allowing her eyelids to droop, Myranda forced herself back into wakefulness when she saw Trooper Pyral staring at her, his eyes glimmering nervously in the silvery moonlight streaming through the hole in the watchtower.
"Is there somethin' else, Trooper Pyral? 'Cause if not I'd like ter get a little sleep afore the sun rises. We got a long day tomorrow," Myra asked as she slowly reached out and picked up the stone ring from its spot on the table. Could it really grant the person wearing it the ability to take a blow and turn it back on their attackers with twice the power? It sounded ridiculous and terrifying all at once, and the elven warrior wasn't too keen on handling potent mystical artifacts. They had a nasty habit of ducking their wielders in the ass. Of course, this didn't stop her from putting the ring inside her orange-dyed belt pouch. Claes would definitely want to see this. More than likely, the general would try to incorporate ringn into her plans for the upcoming siege once Myra told her what it could do.
"Forgive me, lieutenant, but I'm not certain sending this Aksel fellow with Trooper Tahrez was wise. Anden is one of the newer members of the Forlorn Hope and he's far too friendly for..." Larius said, though he stuttered to a halt when Myra raised her hand wearily.
"Trooper Pyral, we all have ter be back in the saddle soon. Let's not make this more o' an issue than it already is. Trooper Tahrez might be young, but I'm sure that means he'll be eager ter prove himself ter the rest o' the platoon. He won't fuck this up. Besides, I got the halfbreed's ring, don't I? Truth be told, this ring is probably goin' ter be more useful than the man himself. The general will be glad ter have somethin' this powerful when we attack the Sun Gates the day after tomorrow. Now, I'd suggest ye get yerself downstairs an' go ter sleep while ye still can," Myra said, and the mustachioed hired blade saluted before jogging down the wooden steps. Letting loose another jaw-cracking yawn and slumping in her chair, Myranda finally closed her eyes once more. In moments, she was snoring contentedly and wondering how loudly Pajaan would scream if a lion was actually eating his ugly brown face.
Late Afternoon on April 11th, in the Year 3650 of the Tolosi Calendar
Riding through the woods.
What is wrong with the convicts?
Reaching the city.
What is wrong with the convicts?
Reaching the city.
"What in the name of the gods above an' below is that?" Myra asked as she guided her restless horse, whom she'd named Blackheart, towards a large, triangular pillar jutting out of the forest floor. The imperial grayhoof tossed his proud head and tried to rejoin the cluster of mounted Forlorn Hope members trotting southwards through Lyvresse. Myranda hissed angrily and yanked Blackheart's reins in the direction of the bone-colored spire. Typhus Rommath had claimed the imperial grayhoof was one of the finest warhorse in Tverios, though Myranda was starting to have serious doubts. Blackheart was an obstinate, disobedient, and smelly pain in the ass.
Still, Myranda wasn't about to let her horse's reluctance keep her from getting a closer look at this pillar, which seemed out of place amidst Lyvresse's flourishing, vibrant plantlife. Towering goldleaf trees, their honey-colored foliage shining like a Nerwainish milkmaid's hair, towered over brecilia trees covered in violet leaves while small, gnarled bushes with bright orange berries grew in clumps around their bases.
In spite of the grim task ahead, Myra found herself smiling, and she made Blackheart stop in the pillar's shadow. As she peered intently at the ivy-shrouded construct, the elven warrior realized it had been too long since she'd enjoyed the simple pleasures of traveling through unfamiliar territory with nothing to guide her but her whims. While she still wasn't free to do as she pleased, Myranda wondered if she could convince Claes to let her spend a little time in Lyvresse after the Siege of Tolos ended. This place was breathtaking, and the elf wanted to see everything it had to offer. Of course, Myra would need to survive the upcoming battle first.
Pushing that dark thought to the back of her mind, the scarred elf looked closely at the pillar and quickly noticed it wasn't a single piece of white marble. Instead, it was composed of several white marble blocks, though the seams between the blocks fit together so perfectly they were almost invisible.
Unless you possessed an elf's superior senses.
Smirking and turning Blackheart around to rejoin her platoon, Myranda saw one of her soldiers detach from the group. The hired blade skillfully pulled his black-and-white spotted gelding to a stop beside Myra's larger horse. Whistling and tucking a sweaty strand of blonde hair under his cavalier's hat, Trooper Viator Tabex said, "Well, smack my ass and call me a Quaylu, Lieutenant Tavellan, I don't believe this! I think you've found an old Imperial marker stone. Some people call them waystones. The Empire built them to show travelers and merchants they were only a mile away from the City of Kings. They were supposed to be reassuring since this area used to be quite dangerous. Wendigos, bandits, and worse made their homes here in ages past. This is incredible! We've made excellent time, I must say. I suppose it does make sense, though. We've been following the northern route of the old Imperial Road since we left the Four Sisters."
The elf glanced at the human with one eyebrow arched. There was no way the Forlorn Hope, which was moving slower than it usually did so the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Penal Battalions could keep up, was so close to Tolos. True, Myra had set a hard pace and only allowed the group to stop when the horses needed rest or water, though she'd made numerous exceptions along the way. A mercenary with a full bladder was an unhappy mercenary, especially if they were mounted. Therefore, it seemed unlikely that a journey General Astra believed would last the entire day was almost over.
Overhead, a flock of crested sparrows, their red plumage and yellow crests flashing in the afternoon sun, chirruped happily as they darted in and out of the forest's canopy. Perhaps it was just Myra's imagination, but their warbling seemed to hold a note of victory as they flew into another part of Lyvresse.
Tilting her head to one side, Myra asked, "An' how do ye know all this, Trooper Tabex? More ter the point, I'm pretty sure the Imperial Road is long gone. After the Battle o' Havendall, the Tolosi nobles didn't want ter waste men an' resources keepin' the road free o' debris an' whatnot. I'm thinkin' they probably wanted ter put as many bodies between them an' the League as possible."
Viator pointed wordlessly at the ground beneath their horse's hooves. What appeared to be a cluster of white bricks made from the same stone as the pillar were barely visible through the carpet of fallen leaves. Each brick was marked with the dragon rampant, one of the oldest and most well-known symbols of the Empire of Tolos. Gaping in shock, Myra glanced up at Trooper Tabex before looking back at what could only be part of the Imperial Road. First Emperor's hairy cock, it still existed after all! The road that wound through the Empire like some immense, white serpent was leading the Forlorn Hope platoon to Tolos.
"That's definitely the Imperial Road, lieutenant," Trooper Tabex said, a grin that showed off the gap where his two front teeth used to be lighting up his face. "All those white marble bricks were shaped and fired across the Etrusceia River before being carried over by slaves. This was back when the Empire was still whole, of course. Now, I doubt the margraves would agree to work together on anything that didn't immediately benefit them. Greedy bastards. But, back before the Battle of Havendall, these bricks were used to form the northern, western, and southern routes of the Imperial Road. Quite a feat, eh?"
"I should say so," Myranda said as she struggled to keep Blackheart from bumping against Viator's horse. Maybe she should have named him 'Asshole' instead of Blackheart. The former seemed more appropriate. "But ye never said how ye knew all this, Trooper Tabex," the elf said once the warhorse finally calmed down.
"Well, lieutenant, my father was a Tolosi mercenary working for Belloc's Bleeders, but he fell in love with a camp follower after spending a year with the company. They ran away together and ended up living in the slums of Tolos. I grew up in and around the City of Kings so being back in Lyvresse is almost like coming home. I remember playing 'Find the Wendigo' here with my friends when I was younger, though we never found any," Trooper Tabex said as he and Myranda started to urge their mounts towards the retreating mass of the Forlorn Hope. "Anyways, that old saying about it being easier to pick up a sword than to lay it down turned out to be true. My father left when I was twelve years old. He wanted to recapture the glory days of his youth or some nonsense. I followed him when I was fifteen, left my mother in Tolos, and learned that he'd joined the Gray Winds after the Battle of Scipillar. By the time I found the company, however, the old fool had gotten himself killed in battle. I ended up getting recruited a few days later. Funny how life works, isn't it?"
After a moment of silence to contemplate the many mysteries of life, however, Trooper Tabex coughed pointedly and said, "You know, speaking of funny things, Lieutenant Tavellan, I'm sure the men would be just tickled if we could rest for a bit. Considering how close we are to the city and everything..."
Rolling her eyes and nodding, Myranda said, "Alright, alright, Trooper Tabex. If'n we're so close ter Tolos then we can afford ter make camp here an' wait fer further orders. Do me a favor an' tell the others, will ye? I need ter go an' let the penal battalions know we're stoppin'. Oh, an' if anyone asks, tell the lads they can make a fire. I know Trooper Pyral brought down some pheasants earlier, an' I heard Vladimir talkin' about makin' somethin' called torscha stew out o' 'em. Jest make sure ter keep the fire small and have a bowl ready fer me when I get back, aye?"
"I hear and obey, Lieutenant Tavellan!" Trooper Tabex said and, after sitting up in his saddle and saluting, he dug his heels into his gelding's side, which sent the beast cantering after the other Forlorn Hope members.
Grinning, Myranda paused to watch one of her favorite parts of leading sellswords into battle. The moment the captain gave the order to stop and make camp. It was like a wave of happiness and relief washed over the saddle-sore mercenaries as Trooper Tabex spread the news of Myra's command. With laughter and crass jokes filling the air, the Forlorn Hope dismounted quickly and tied their horses to any low-hanging branches they could find. Those who'd dismounted fastest were either stretching or emptying their saddle bags so they could begin working on the countless tasks essential to constructing a proper encampment. Trooper Tlaloc Maladar, aided by his sister, was propping up two canvas tents in the shade of a fallen goldleaf tree. Meanwhile, Vladimir was laying out his cooking supplies and asking Trooper Folant to gather brecilia tree leaves to add to the torscha stew. The massive Tolosi whispered something in the dwarf's ear, and the two hired blades burst into raucous laughter. Myranda chuckled to herself as she wheeled Blackheart around and rode off in the direction of the penal battalions.
Unlike the Myranda's platoon, the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Penal Battalions didn't have horses. Instead, they had a rickety wagon pulled by two ill-tempered marsh donkeys, which contained all their supplies and weaponry. This meant everyone, with the exception of the captain holding the donkeys' reins, was on foot. Myra had ridden back several times to ensure the battalions didn't fall too far behind, because she knew the convicts weren't capable of maintaining the same pace as her soldiers. No matter how slow the Forlorn Hope rode. In truth, the scarred elf was a little surprised to see at least a dozen exhausted red sashes plodding into the thicket where the Forlorn Hope was setting up camp. Clearly, the leaders of the penal battalions had no trouble getting their men to move with a sense of urgency. Not bad for three humans in charge of nearly sixty convicts. The leather collars around the criminals' necks, which were linked to one another by iron chains, made their speed all the more impressive.
After barely managing to avoid trampling a limping criminal, Myranda pulled Blackheart up beside the penal battalions' wagon and waved to Captain Gilliam Kraven, the barrel-chested Mardochian in charge of the Fifth Penal Battalion. Scratching at his poorly dyed leather armor, the human asked, "What's the game then, lieutenant? Are we finally stopping? Not that the lads are giving me any trouble, but if we have to go much further their little hearts are going to burst." He didn't seem too upset by the prospect.
When Myranda nodded curtly, the Mardochian pulled violently on the donkeys' reins, forcing them to stop, and bellowed, "Listen up, Fifth Battalion, you gutless bastards! Sit down and shut your damned mouths! We're stopping for now, but nobody is getting so much as a mouthful of food or water until the Sixth and the Seventh Battalions join us. Once they do, the other captains and my good self will start handing out rations. Until then, just keep quiet and nobody has to get a taste of my whip."
Captain Kraven waited until the wagon was stable before hopping down from his perch and pulling two carrots from the satchel hanging at his side. After taking a huge, slobbering bite of one carrot, the Mardochian tossed the other one to the marsh donkeys, and the two greenish-brown beasts began braying and snapping at each other hungrily. Fingering the leather whip clutched in his right hand, the Mardochian sneered as he watched the marsh donkeys fight. Myranda shook her head and urged Blackheart to move along, stopping him in the shade of a nearby brecilia tree. Cursing and treating animals poorly weren't ideal traits in a soldier, but a captain, any captain, should treat his men with a little respect. Even if his men were criminals. Captain Kraven seemed like an asshole. While Myra hadn't spoken to the penal battalion captains much before the attack on the Four Sisters, she knew Captain Kraven wasn't the worst of the lot either.
That dubious honor went to Captain Shen Longfoot of the Sixth Penal Battalion.
Captain Longfoot was quiet and subtle where Captain Kraven was loud and irritating. The Quaylu moved with the smooth, consummate grace of a warrior who'd seen more than his fair share of battle, his pale hand never far away from the gilded hilt of his takana. Myranda had never seen such a fine-looking blade in her entire life. And she was over two hundred years old.
His gorgeous sword notwithstanding, the first thing Myra had noticed about Captain Longfoot was the undeniable aura of danger surrounding him. He wasn't like those idiotic nobles who tried to look menacing for the benefit of their companions. From his tiny, pointed black beard to his hobnailed boots, the Quaylu captain gave the impression of being ready to kill someone at the drop of a hat. He just needed an excuse. Maybe the reason Myra disliked Captain Longfoot so much was because they shared this unfortunate characteristic. Grimacing and watching the Quaylu stroll over to the wagon with his battalion in tow, the elf was about to flick Blackheart's reins and move on when she noticed something unusual. All of the convicts in the Fifth and Sixth Battalions smelled like a camp latrine. They stank of shit, piss, and vomit. Obviously, they'd been walking for most of the day so they weren't going to smell like wildflowers, but this was far worse than anything Myra had experienced.
Unless you counted how Sweet Thond smelled when he came to see her the previous night.
Narrowing her eyes and dismounting carefully, Myranda started to walk towards the closest group of red sashes only to have Captain Longfoot intercept her. Up close, the man reeked of some kind of flowery, overpowering perfume. It was almost as bad as the stink coming from the convicts.
"No need to dismount, lieutenant," the Quaylu said, his weaselly smile widening as he pointed back towards Myra's horse. "I'm sure your own men need you more than we do. I heard Captain Kraven's shouting so I know we're stopping for the night. I am certain my men will enjoy the rest." As if to punctuate his statement, one of the red sashes in Captain Longfoot's battalion suddenly doubled over and vomited. Myranda looked over the frowning Quaylu's head and sucked on her teeth, her eyes darting from the puking criminal to Captain Longfoot and back. Something was definitely wrong here. First off, this man looked just as bad as Sweet Thond had, and there was enough sweat dripping off him to drown a wendigo. Myra also remembered seeing this man, a bear of a Mardochian with a ridiculously big nose, sitting with the Sixth Penal Battalion on the smuggler's beach two days ago.
If none of the convicts or members of the Forlorn Hope had been injured during the fall of the Four Sisters, what had happened to this man's right hand? It was gone. A bandaged stump was all that remained.
"Huh, that's odd, Captain Longfoot," Myra said and the Quaylu's gray eyes skittered away from the sick criminal and settled on the elf's face. "Yer men...are they sick or sommat? 'Cause they all smell foul an' that one is throwin' up. An', unless I'm rememberin' wrong, I was told none o' our troops were injured when we took the Four Sisters. Why is that pukin' convict missin' a hand? Did somethin' in the forest take it? Or are ye doin' shit with that fancy blade that ye shouldn't be?"
Patting the air as if calming a child, Captain Longfoot chuckled and said, "Your concern for the convicts is touching, lieutenant, but unnecessary. I'm sure Berwyn just ate something he found in the forest, that's all. He's a bit of an idiot, I'm afraid. As for his missing hand, well...erhem, you know, I-I think Captain Tressida m-mi-might be able to help you. She's very kn-kno-knowledgeable, especially when it comes to caring for men such as these. I think I see her and the Seventh Battalion walking into the clearing now. Allow me to fetch her for you, Lieutenant Tavellan." Before Myranda could stop him, Captain Longfoot sprinted towards the final group of criminals making their way through the trees. The elf frowned as she watched the Quaylu whisper into Captain Tressida's ear for a few moments and then walk off to tend to his own sickly flock.
After ensuring the Seventh Battalion was seated, Captain Patrice Tressida, a gray-haired Mardochian woman with a sizable gut straining the front of her hauberk, lumbered over to Myranda and stared up at her with eyes the color of filthy river water.
A thought suddenly occurred to Myranda. There were at least sixty red sashes and only three captains. Why hadn't any of these convicts tried to escape or cause trouble? She hadn't heard about any disciplinary issues during the assault on the Four Sisters or the trek through Lyvresse. She was glad this was the case, obviously, but it seemed odd. The elf placed her hand on the pommel of her black iron longsword as she waited to hear what Captain Tressida had to say. Something about the penal battalions just didn't add up. And this woman was at the heart of it. She was also the one leading Sweet Thond's battalion, and Myranda wanted to make sure the Jadisi was feeling better. Considering the state of the other battalions, she sincerely doubted it.
"Lieutenant Tavellan, I heard you had some questions about the convicts," the Mardochian woman said, a strained and condescending smile on her jowly face. "It warms my heart to know you have such...compassion for these poor souls. Now, as far as their unkempt and sickly appearance is concerned, well, consider the situation they're in. They face death tomorrow during the siege, and most of them know it. I am certain anyone would feel a little queasy and look a little pale under such circumstances. As for poor Berwyn, I believe he lost his hand at a very young age. He accidentally cut himself on some thorns while gathering firewood yesterday. Thus, the fresh bandages. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, lieutenant?"
Myranda frowned and then shook her head slowly. This woman was lying through her teeth, and the elf knew it. She'd have an easier time wringing blood out of a stone than getting Captain Tressida to answer her questions. The Mardochian's sneer widened and she said, "You know, I used to be the warden of Blackwall Prison on the isle of Foghaven, Lieutenant Tavellan. I treat the men in my battalion the same way I treated the prisoners imprisoned in Blackwall. I've encouraged Captains Kraven and Longfoot to do the same. I've always believed it's my duty to not simply contain or lead sinful men but to prepare them for what comes next. Whether they die in battle, or in their cells, I want Oromis, may His light guide us all, to embrace their wayward souls. All men and women deserve a chance to see Paradise. However, the iniquities of the sinner must be purged for this to happen. Perhaps you'd like to join us for the evening prayer tonight, hm? I think the petitioner's lament fits this occasion nicely, don't you?" The overweight Mardochian's smile turned sharp as her eyes flicked down to the red sash Myra still wore over her armor.
Smirking and adjusting her criminal's sash to spite the overweight captain, Myranda folded her arms across her chest and said, "I appreciate the kind offer, Captain Tressida, but I think I'm gonna pass. Ye have enough purgin' an' whatnot ter do without me addin' me own sins ter the pile. Jest don't ferget what General Astra said in those orders she gave ye, eh? Yer ter listen ter my commands as if they were her own. So, I'm orderin' ye ter make sure yer men, and all the convicts in the other battalions, are ready ter fight tomorrow. I'd like ter keep them alive until we begin our attack on Tolos. Unnerstand?"
"I understand," Captain Tressida said calmly, though her eyes glittered with barely contained anger and disapproval. "I shall continue my work then and try to save these men from the horrors of the Abyss. The battle of the flesh is a terrifying one, lieutenant, but the battle of the soul is far worse. Regardless, I shall obey your commands to the letter. May I go now? My men are waiting for me."
Myra gestured for the Mardochian to leave, though she made no move to remount Blackheart. Almost as soon as she was back among the red sashes, Captain Tressida was accosted by Captain Longfoot, who'd been watching the entire conversation like a serpent watching a mouse. The rustling and muttering of convicts trying to get comfortable, along with the moaning of those who seemed especially sick, would have made it impossible for a human to hear what Captain Tressida said to her Quaylu companion. Luckily, Myranda wasn't human. The hefty Mardochian muttered something to the man about "running out of damned athnac berries. We need to keep these fools under our control. I want you to take three convicts into the woods and find more. Gather as many as you can, and remember the brighter the berry's flesh the more potent it is. Move quickly."
Wondering what 'athnac berries' had to do with keeping the red sashes under control, Myranda climbed into Blackheart's saddle and flicked his reins, eliciting a displeased snort from the beast and spurring him towards the Gray Winds' encampment. She hadn't seen Sweet Thond among the red sashes waiting for food and water, though the Seventh Battaltion was still staggering into the clearing. Part of her wanted to ride back and demand that the Jadisi be released into her care. She could probably do it, too. Unfortunately, all it would take was one missive from Captain Tressida to General Astra and Myra would have to explain herself. Myra needed to find evidence showing Claes something was happening to the red sashes, and the three captains were responsible. She'd save Thond and earn some goodwill from the general, which could only benefit her in the long run.
But the only clue she had was 'athnac berries.' "Athnac berries. What the fuck would berries have ter do with anythin'?" Myra mumbled to herself as she drew closer to the center of the glade where her men were handing out steaming bowls of torscha stew. The delicious smell of Vladimir's cooking was everywhere, and the elf's stomach groaned loudly. When was the last time she's eaten?
"Athnac ass!" Trooper Tabex's voice said from somewhere near her right elbow, and Myranda glanced down to see the man shaking with subdued laughter as he finished setting up his tent.
"What did ye say, Trooper Tabex?" Myra demanded and the Tolosi mercenary blushed.
"Sorry, lieutenant. I just heard you say 'athnac berries,' and it reminded me of a prank I used to play as a boy. You see, athnac berries, those orange berries we've been seeing all over the forest, are poisonous in small amounts. They make you shit. If you keep eating them, though, you start to sweat, shake, and vomit. And you crap constantly. I would slip a berry or two into my friends' porridge and laugh when they went running for the nearest chamber pot. I called it 'athnac ass.' Ummm, why were you mumbling about athnac berries? Did someone eat a few by accident? I swear I had nothing to do with it!" Viator said, though Myranda simply shook her head and dismounted from Blackheart, tying him to a nearby goldleaf tree and walking to the edge of camp.
So, these athnac berries were poisonous? Could Captain Tressida and the other penal battalion leaders be feeding the convicts these berries in order to "purge them of their iniquities" before the battle? It sounded insane, but why else would they need athnac berries? And what else could explain why the red sashes looked so sick yet their captains remained healthy? It would also be much easier to control a large group of dangerous men if they were too busy shitting themselves to cause trouble.
As she pushed aside a few branches, however, Myranda realized this issue would have to be dealt with later.
Tolos, the legendary City of Kings, was laid out before her in all its glory and splendor. Trooper Tabex had been right. The Forlorn Hope platoon and their allies were less than a mile away from one of the most powerful cities in the known world. Myra shaded her eyes with one hand and tried to find the impregnable Sun Gates. Unfortunately, the sun was shining right in her face, and the elf couldn't even tell if she was looking at the back of Tolos or the front. All she could see was the Camerenae. It looked...ominous.
"Gods above an' below help us all," Myra muttered, a grin brimming with both dread and excitement dancing across her face.