Book 6: Chapter 4: Scouting Mission
Victor didn’t sleep much the night before his “scouting mission,” as Valla had been describing it. The two of them sat together at his big dining table, drinking the last of their cold, bitter ale from Fainhallow. It was a relaxing time, with hardly any conversation, but it was comfortable and pleasant, and he hadn’t wanted it to end. It seemed Valla felt the same way, and it was well past midnight before they’d gone to sleep. The lack of rest didn’t seem to bother him much. Now, he stood south of the encampment watching the soldiers muster, and his body, as always these days, felt strong, rested, and ready.
He'd been surprised that Valla hadn’t joined him for breakfast, and when he’d gotten ready to leave, he’d been tempted to knock on the door to her room but decided that if she wanted to join the scouting foray, she would; he’d never known her to oversleep. Meanwhile, the ninth cohort, or “the Glorious Ninth,” as Victor, Sarl, his veterans, and pretty much everyone else called them, was forming up. They were arraying themselves in thirty rows of twenty soldiers, their armor and weapons glinting in the dawn light.
The sun was just turning the sky gray, with brighter shades of orange and yellow to the east, pushing back some of the green glow leaching out of the dense foggy clouds near the horizon. Victor was eager to get out there, to see what that sickly fog was like, to find out what the green light in the sky was, and to test the mettle of the mysterious “invaders.” With that in mind, he wondered if bringing an entire cohort of foot soldiers was wise. He wondered if he should instead use a smaller group of mounted troops. “Need more mounts in this army.”
“It would be helpful, indeed,” a smooth tenor voice said from behind him. Victor whirled, always annoyed when someone surprised him, a scowl darkening his expression.
“Kethelket.” He tried to keep the word from sounding like an expletive, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.
“Good morning, Legate. I see you’re planning an excursion.”
“Yeah. Gonna see the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“If it’s a scouting report you’re after, you might have asked me. I’d be pleased to pick a squadron of Naghelli to take a look into things. You know we’re a great deal more mobile and stealthier than those soldiers, no slight intended.”
“None taken. I’m still sort of formulating my plan. I’m also a lot faster than those soldiers, but if we’re supposed to conquer these lands, I’d like to have a decent force along with me in case we run into an enemy outpost or something.” Victor paused, considering. The truth was, Kethelket was right; his people could do this job far more easily. It all came down to trust, and Victor knew the issue was probably transparent to the Naghelli prince.
“Of course . . .”
“It’s not that I don’t think you all could do this on your own, but I want to ease into working with you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’d like these soldiers to get experience not only with the territory and the enemy but with your people. Why don’t you pick fifty Naghelli to join this expedition? We can have you do the forward scouting, and then you’ll have this cohort to fall back to.”
“I think that’s wise. I’ll be happy to select a squadron of Naghelli to join. I will lead them.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Like you, I’d enjoy learning to work with the rest of the army. In particular, I’d like to learn to work with you. How long do you anticipate this scouting expedition to last?” Kethelket reached up and pulled some loose strands of long, white hair back, refastening his hair tie to keep them at the back of his head. It gave Victor the impression of someone getting ready to get down to work, to get his hands dirty.
“Depends on what we run into. No more than a week, but maybe as short as a day.”
“Well, if we do spend some time out there, camping, as it were, I’d enjoy a chance to spar with you. I’ve watched you with that burly Vodkin, Polo Vosh, and I think we could learn something from one another.”
“Oh yeah?” Victor grinned. “I’d love that! I feel like I’m stuck on a plateau—been feeling like I’m close to advancing for a while now but never quite get the breakthrough I need.”
“Excellent! I’m sure I can help.” He looked over the assembled soldiers, listening for a moment while Sarl called out orders. “Feel free to start them marching. My scouts and I will catch up. If you don’t mind, I’ll start getting the unit together.”
“Sounds good.” Before he could help himself, Victor held out a fist, and he was surprised when Kethelket reached up to knock his knuckles into his. He grinned madly, looking into the Naghelli’s dark, black eyes. Kethelket grinned back at him, baring white teeth with sharp canines, exposing another difference between his people and their cousins, the Ghelli. The fallen prince nodded, then turned adroitly on his heel and glided over the gravel-strewn rock roadway with unnatural grace and silence. Victor turned and tromped down the slope toward Sarl and his troops.
When he walked past the assembled soldiers, they struggled to ignore him, maintaining their attention as Sarl and his officers walked up and down their lines, inspecting their uniforms, weapons, and posture. Victor did his best not to make eye contact with them; he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble by distracting them. When he reached the front of the column, Sarl approached and held out a hand. Even though Victor was currently reducing his size, the man’s hand still felt small and fragile. He knew better than to judge his strength by his size, however. “Are we ready?”The debut release of this chapter happened at Ñøv€l-B1n.
“Aye, sir.” Sarl knew some soldiers could hear him, so Victor understood the formality. It was good to maintain order and discipline in front of the troops.
“We can move out, but I wanted to tell you that I asked Kethelket to join us with fifty Naghelli. We’ll use them as forward scouts.”
“Excellent.” Sarl nodded, and Victor stared into his pale eyes, wondering if he was being sincere. He didn’t seem at all bothered.
He nodded firmly. “Good. I’ll be riding ahead as well. Once we get down the slope and into the foothills, we’ll select landmarks for rendezvous.”
“Will you be alone, sir?”
Victor looked over the heads of the soldiers, suddenly a lot less cool about Valla not being there. Wouldn’t she have said something if she weren’t coming? What about Edeya? Shouldn’t he have asked her to come along? She’d been with him a lot during the march, managing his Farscribe book. “No, I won’t be alone. I wanted to let you know you can start the soldiers marching, and I’ll catch up. I’ve got a couple of others coming with me, mounted, so it won’t be a problem.”
“Very good, sir.” Sarl turned to his six lieutenants and nodded, his voice suddenly much harsher and louder, “Begin the march!”
Victor moved to the side of the roadway as the order was passed down the column. He summoned Guapo and rode along the side, against the flow of troops, back toward the encampment, feeling rather foolish about his sudden change of mind. Many more people were stirring now that the sun was up. It was hard to ignore the start of the day when the troops were making so much noise down the road. Victor didn’t have any trouble finding a sergeant, one from the Second Cohort, to holler at, “Find me Lieutenant Edeya!”
With that quest initiated, Victor hurried Guapo back to his travel home and, in the process, slapped himself in the head—wouldn’t he want his travel home along with him on this scouting mission? Had he really left it sitting there just because he’d thought Valla might be sleeping in? What was he trying to prove? He hopped off Guapo and stepped inside, and he’d only taken two steps before he was hollering, “Valla! Are you up?”
“Victor?” she called almost immediately from straight ahead. He stomped up the hallway into the central living space, and there she was, leaning over a cup of steaming liquid, probably tea.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Hmm?”
“On my scouting mission!”
“Are you serious?” Valla cried.
Victor laughed and whistled, and Guapo launched down the road in a clatter of sparking hooves, leaving the two outraged women behind. He could see the soldiers down the road, just now reaching the end of the stone highway. It was still strange to Victor how the Empire had come this far, exploring through the Granite Gates, creating the wide pass and solid road, only to stop at the edge of the Marches. Had they gotten a similar conquest directive from the System and lost or backed down? He doubted he’d ever know the real story unless he went to Tharcray and beat it out of someone.
He easily caught up to the column and rode around them toward the front where Sarl marched. Victor looked over the soldiers’ heads and saw that Edeya and Valla were halfway to the cohort, trotting or loping, in Uvu’s case, down the road. Then he saw shadows leap into the sky behind them, orange and red patterns flickering in the air. “The Naghelli are almost here.”
“Perfect timing, sir.”
“You think the road’s end is the start of the Marches or up in the pass where we received the System quest?”
“No idea, I’m afraid.” Sarl ran his gaze up toward the high mountains and then out over the hilly plains below. Victor admired that the captain marched on foot with his cohort. He knew not all of the captains did so—he’d seen Rellia’s uncle, Ordus, riding a vidanii almost as fancy as hers.
“How far away do you think that greenish mist is?” Victor could see the haze hanging on the ground toward the horizon and, beyond that, the high bank of dark fog that everyone agreed had to be the doing of the invaders.
“We can see that fog wall because it’s so tall—likely fifty miles or so. The mist is much closer, maybe three miles. I can barely see it from the ground here, but I imagine it’s clearer to you up on that beast of yours.”
“Yeah.” Victor turned as Edeya and Valla caught up, Thistle pounding the ground as he slowed. “We’ll ride up and see what the story is with the mist. I don’t want anyone but me going into it—at first, anyway.”
“A little slower, please, Legate.” Valla gave him a funny look—half grin, half narrowed eye.
“Right. Sarl, when the Naghelli get here, have Kethelket catch up to us.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Come on, you two.” Victor clicked his tongue, Guapo started trotting, and the two women hurried after him.
“What do we do,” he said to Valla as she brought Uvu up on his right, “if that mist is toxic?”
“We’ll have the alchemists study it and create an elixir of resistance.”
“Ahh, yeah.” Victor nodded. “Magic helps everything. Still, that would be a pain in the ass.”
“True. Depending on what sort of duration the resistance has and how many troops we’ll need to push through to battle, it could pose quite a delay.”
Victor didn’t answer, contemplating the idea of having to craft thousands of vials of magical resistance potions and imagining what it would be like for the effects to wear off mid-battle. He hoped the mist wasn’t like that. As they continued into the brush and hardy grass of the low hills, leaving the Empire’s roadway behind, he noted how dark the soil was as their mounts kicked up the loose sod. It seemed rich and fertile. The air was temperate, not very humid, but not dry. “Nice countryside if that shit wasn’t up there.” He nodded forward toward the gray-green mist.
“Reminds me of the farmland south of Persi Gables,” Edeya said, urging Thistle to come up on Victor’s left.
Victor nodded to her, then looked over at Valla. “I was serious, by the way. I’ll be the first to ride into that haze. If I feel okay, you guys can test it. First Valla, then you, Edeya. It’ll give us a good gauge of its toxicity. You’re still tier-two, yeah?”
“I am, though tier three is calling me close after the battle with the Imperials.”
“Awesome.” He held his hand down, palm up, and when Edeya looked up at him with raised eyebrows, he said, “Slap my palm with yours. It’s called ‘giving five.’”
She grinned and did as he said, slapping her small hand into his meaty palm. “Why five?”
“How many fingers do you have?”
“Ahh!” She laughed, delighted by the stupid ritual, and Victor turned to see Valla’s expression. She was shaking her head, clearly struggling not to grin.
“What?”
“What’s wrong with a good handshake or a firm grasp of the wrist? What’s your obsession with all these hand and knuckle-slapping rituals?”
“The troops love ‘em. It’s a lot faster than a handshake. I’m not saying you shouldn’t shake hands, but sometimes you just want a quick fist bump, you know?”
“It’s better than a slap on the ass,” Edeya added.
“Who’s slapping your ass?” Victor’s voice rose with outrage.
“The delvers used to do it all the time—clap me on the shoulder, squeeze me in a stinky hug, or slap my ass! They all did it to each other! You never noticed?”
“Nah. Maybe I was too ugly.”
“More likely too smelly.” Valla couldn’t contain her laugh as she fled, Uvu loping up the next hill. Victor and Edeya urged their mounts after her, her laugh trilling as she followed hot on Victor’s heels. They’d barely crested the hill, though, when Valla pulled Uvu to a halt, holding up a hand and pointing ahead. Victor followed her gesture and saw what had brought her to a stop—some dark figures were moving through the mists ahead, and one of them was very large with baleful red eyes that glowed through the obscuring haze.
