Untitled
"I don't want any surprises." you say. "We will send out a team of scouts come dawn and decide upon a further course of action based on their report."You pause before adding. "You may all go back to your duties now."
The sergeants nod and drift back to their work. You collapse on a chair, weary both in body and mind. The past two months in this hellhole have been tough on you and your band. When you had first been hired, you had been glad. For money had been short and you were at the brink of being forced to disband. Your orders had been to hold the pass, prevent enemy troops from crossing the mountains till reinforcements arrived. But the reinforcements never came. And after the first month, neither did supplies.
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At dawn, the scouts depart. Their orders are to spy on the Uriguiar camps and return before sunset. The scouts are the only men among your band to have horses. The rest of your company comprises of infantrymen.
You are sitting in your tent, trying to get some repsite from the blistering afternoon sun when you hear a large commotion. You rush out of the tent, sword in hand, to see many soldiers crowding on the ramparts. "What's going on?" you ask a passing soldier. "Cavalry, sir. There is a column of the King's Lancers coming from the north."
You rush to the ramparts, forcing men aside as you climb up. You can see a column of riders coming towards the pass, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them, their scarlet capes billowing behind them in the wind. You count them to be approximately a thousand strong. An entire column.
Once the riders near the pass, you order the gates open and the King's Lancers gallop into the fortress. The riders halt some metres from the gate and the leader removes his eagle crested helm to reveal a handsome young face with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. You climb down to greet the man and your men follow you, forming up in ranks behind you, directly facing the riders. "Greetings, sir. I am Captain Cortius, commander of this fortress. Welcome to Murok Pass." You say to him.
"I am Sir Guylis of the King's Lancers." he says. He surveys your men with undisguised contempt. "You call yourselves soldiers? Look at yourselves, bloody Footers. Look like beggars."
"Try being stranded in this shithole for two months and see if you can come out prettier." one of your men in the rear snarls.
"Who said that?" The young aristocrat demands. "Step up now or I'll have your Captain whipped in your stead."
After some tense moments the speaker walks to the front to stand beside you. He is an average sized man with cropped grey hair and a rough salt and pepper beard. You recognise the man, his name is Trock. He was one of your trainers during your early days as a cadet.
"Captain Cortius, see to it that this disrespectful cur is given fifty lashes. I will not tolerate this impudence." Sir Guylis orders. "Remember, further offences will be dealt with more harshness."
"Yes sir." you fight to keep your anger down. Noblemen! Bloody arrogant noblemen! "Yoshnic, see to it." you order.
"Immediately, sir." the sergeant mumbles, before instructiong two of his men to tie the man to the whipping post.
"You must be tired after your ride. Join me in my tent for some refreshments, Sir Guylis." you say to the man. "Wester, tend to the horses and the riders' needs."
Sir Guylis dismounts and shakes his head lightly. "Refreshments are not needed. However I must talk to you in private."
"A regiment of the lancers attacked the Uriguian camp yesterday. The Uriguians in the region have been routed." Sir Guylis says in the privacy of your tent, swirling his glass of wine idly.
"So there is no need to hold this pass any longer?"
"Yes."
"Finally, some good news. May I ask why we received neither supplies nor reinforcements?"
"I suppose you do not know, but civil war broke out in Hagna. The King was forced to divert his attention from the Ocasian wars to bring his own lands under control. The rebel army has been routed and things are peaceful now though."
You are not very surprised. You had been hearing rumours of the rebel Lord Proctley declaring himself the rightful king. Proctley was one of the northern dukes, a nephew of the King. You did not give much though to the civil war though, they were commonplace in Hagna's bloody history. Besides, the King was still a powerful force and no northern Lord could quite match it.
"And why has there been no news from our headquarters in Calast?"
"The mercenary companies have been disbanded. Following the rebellion, his Majesty, the King ordered all military factions except the King's Army to be disbanded. Which brings me to the issue at hand. As you must have realised, you are no longer employed. You may put away your weapons and return home or you may join the King's army and be assured of a regular salary and a hefty pension."
Your mind reels at the sudden wave of changes. So many developments and in such little time. "I must discuss it with my men."
"That is understandable Captain, or should I say, Master Cortius. I have to depart now, but I shall leave a hundred of my men under Captain Yurtag here. They will be camped a few miles south of here and he shall be carrying further instructions, depending upon your choice that is." The your lancer empties his glass and rises. "Farewell." he says before marching out of the tent and leaping onto the saddle of his mount.
The sergeants nod and drift back to their work. You collapse on a chair, weary both in body and mind. The past two months in this hellhole have been tough on you and your band. When you had first been hired, you had been glad. For money had been short and you were at the brink of being forced to disband. Your orders had been to hold the pass, prevent enemy troops from crossing the mountains till reinforcements arrived. But the reinforcements never came. And after the first month, neither did supplies.
-------------------------------------------
At dawn, the scouts depart. Their orders are to spy on the Uriguiar camps and return before sunset. The scouts are the only men among your band to have horses. The rest of your company comprises of infantrymen.
You are sitting in your tent, trying to get some repsite from the blistering afternoon sun when you hear a large commotion. You rush out of the tent, sword in hand, to see many soldiers crowding on the ramparts. "What's going on?" you ask a passing soldier. "Cavalry, sir. There is a column of the King's Lancers coming from the north."
You rush to the ramparts, forcing men aside as you climb up. You can see a column of riders coming towards the pass, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them, their scarlet capes billowing behind them in the wind. You count them to be approximately a thousand strong. An entire column.
Once the riders near the pass, you order the gates open and the King's Lancers gallop into the fortress. The riders halt some metres from the gate and the leader removes his eagle crested helm to reveal a handsome young face with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. You climb down to greet the man and your men follow you, forming up in ranks behind you, directly facing the riders. "Greetings, sir. I am Captain Cortius, commander of this fortress. Welcome to Murok Pass." You say to him.
"I am Sir Guylis of the King's Lancers." he says. He surveys your men with undisguised contempt. "You call yourselves soldiers? Look at yourselves, bloody Footers. Look like beggars."
"Try being stranded in this shithole for two months and see if you can come out prettier." one of your men in the rear snarls.
"Who said that?" The young aristocrat demands. "Step up now or I'll have your Captain whipped in your stead."
After some tense moments the speaker walks to the front to stand beside you. He is an average sized man with cropped grey hair and a rough salt and pepper beard. You recognise the man, his name is Trock. He was one of your trainers during your early days as a cadet.
"Captain Cortius, see to it that this disrespectful cur is given fifty lashes. I will not tolerate this impudence." Sir Guylis orders. "Remember, further offences will be dealt with more harshness."
"Yes sir." you fight to keep your anger down. Noblemen! Bloody arrogant noblemen! "Yoshnic, see to it." you order.
"Immediately, sir." the sergeant mumbles, before instructiong two of his men to tie the man to the whipping post.
"You must be tired after your ride. Join me in my tent for some refreshments, Sir Guylis." you say to the man. "Wester, tend to the horses and the riders' needs."
Sir Guylis dismounts and shakes his head lightly. "Refreshments are not needed. However I must talk to you in private."
"A regiment of the lancers attacked the Uriguian camp yesterday. The Uriguians in the region have been routed." Sir Guylis says in the privacy of your tent, swirling his glass of wine idly.
"So there is no need to hold this pass any longer?"
"Yes."
"Finally, some good news. May I ask why we received neither supplies nor reinforcements?"
"I suppose you do not know, but civil war broke out in Hagna. The King was forced to divert his attention from the Ocasian wars to bring his own lands under control. The rebel army has been routed and things are peaceful now though."
You are not very surprised. You had been hearing rumours of the rebel Lord Proctley declaring himself the rightful king. Proctley was one of the northern dukes, a nephew of the King. You did not give much though to the civil war though, they were commonplace in Hagna's bloody history. Besides, the King was still a powerful force and no northern Lord could quite match it.
"And why has there been no news from our headquarters in Calast?"
"The mercenary companies have been disbanded. Following the rebellion, his Majesty, the King ordered all military factions except the King's Army to be disbanded. Which brings me to the issue at hand. As you must have realised, you are no longer employed. You may put away your weapons and return home or you may join the King's army and be assured of a regular salary and a hefty pension."
Your mind reels at the sudden wave of changes. So many developments and in such little time. "I must discuss it with my men."
"That is understandable Captain, or should I say, Master Cortius. I have to depart now, but I shall leave a hundred of my men under Captain Yurtag here. They will be camped a few miles south of here and he shall be carrying further instructions, depending upon your choice that is." The your lancer empties his glass and rises. "Farewell." he says before marching out of the tent and leaping onto the saddle of his mount.