The next morning, the army rose again, eagerness rippling through them at the prospect of reaching their destination.
Only, this morning, something was different.
“Up and at it, you slack-livered louts!” A familiar voice boomed across the collection of tents.” I want all men present and accounted for in 15, or by Yoru, you’ll find my foot so far up your rear, you’ll be tasting boot-black!”
Philius grinned in spite of himself as he hurriedly dressed.
The General was back!
Fortunately, the General didn’t have to make good on his threats. In just under the allotted quarter-hour, all combatants were lined up and ready, if a bit bleary-eyes and out of formation. These hiccups were quickly corrected under the combined efforts of the General and the Sarge, and before thirty minutes had passed, the amassed collection of warriors almost resembled and army.
At this point, Chrysalism delivered her orders for the day, which mysteriously echoed the General’s earlier plans; As many men as there were available horses would harass the rear of the Toscavs, roughly 1,320 men split into six battalions of 220 each; 2,500 men would march to Jortnan headed by Mauzt, with the intention of amplifying their defenses; 16 men on horses, not factored into the above cavalry were designated scouts; 40 men were given the dubious honour of being poisoners and saboteurs; 1,000 men and Sergeant Smigg would be dispatched ahead to Xarando’s Spine to set up catapults and boulder traps to harass the Toscavs; the remaining roughly 3,000 men would be led by General Brogan himself, and would be tasked with various guerrilla attacks against the Toscavs as they marched past. However, one unspoken need lay at the first order of business; How to get more horses?
For this, the General had a daring plan.
“We’ll wait until after the poisoners and saboteurs have performed their work, but before it has an opportunity to be discovered.” The General explained. “The night after this, I think.”
“You’re completely daft.” Chrysalism summer up.
“I think it’s a fine idea.” Swimfa'alafr defended. “But is it really alright for me to play such an important part?”
“Well, its not as if anyone else had your particular abilities.” Philius grinned, knocking his hand against her wooden body.
“It is most certainly not alright!” Chrysalism objected heatedly. “Have you all forgotten Swimfa'alafr's vow of pacifism?”
“Not in the least.” Brogan assured her. “That’s why I specifically avoided giving her a more, ah, confrontational role. She won’t be directly harming anybody.”
“That’s pedanticism, and you know it.” Chrysalism scowled.
“I’m sure Vaeafortanoe keeps and open mind to technicalities.” Swimfa’alafr piously assured her.
“You’re incorrigible.” Chrysalism sighed. “Just…be careful out there, big sister.”
The World Gardener only bowed deeply in response, her face beaming like a child.
*******
Orscozz was a practical man by nature. When his king declared they had to take Bryke to get to Jortnan, Orscozz had devoted his full attention to the first press of the army, hitting Bryke’s three North-most cities simultaneously. From there, once they had breached the walls and torched their town halls and barracks, he held his men back from their usual sacking and looting just long enough to allow the majority of the citizens to escape, spreading their tales Southward. If any stuck around for a little too long afterwards, well…
He did have his men’s morale to think of, after all.
From there, he made sure every push to the next town allowed enough time for refugees to tell their tales of terror as they went. Thus, as Orscozz led his army South, he found it already emptied, saving him and his men much of the trouble.
And now at last, Bryke was behind them, and Jortnan only a couple days’ march away. All in all, he had done splendidly.
It was too good to be true.
While not a superstitious man, someone in Orscozz’s position didn’t get as far as he had without a good measure of healthy paranoia. Thus, when the men reported that one of their head cooks was suffering from a severe case of the ‘flu, he was almost relieved.
“Keep him isolated, along with any he might have come in contact with.” Orscozz ordered. “Check to see if any of the other mess staff are feeling ill. Further, the division he fed should camp separately, at least for the next couple days as a precaution.”
“Sir!” The soldier saluted, slamming his fist against his breastplate before running off to carry out his orders.
Yes, better to get the trouble out of the way before the next campaign, thought Orscozz as he looked out across the sea of trees next to their camp.
He paused. Was there supposed to be a forest on this side of the river? Sometimes, you just couldn’t trust cartographers.
*******
Shouts of alarm and indignation shot Orscozz awake. Jumping into his military boots and throwing on his jacket, he tore his tent flaps wide, determined to find the source of the disturbance. In the inky blackness, shapes of men running to and fro rose from the dusk, like eddies in a pool of deep, black oil, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
Somewhere to his right, he heard the sound of countless hooves, and he immediately set off in pursuit, nearly clotheslining himself on a tent line.
Ahead of him, he glimpsed a man running perpendicular to him, away from the hooves. Reaching out, Orscozz collard the man as he passed, pulling him up short.
“Report, man!” The Commander rasped, his mouth still dry from sleep.
“Sir!” The man slammed a fist against his chest in salute. “An unknown force is stampeding our horses, presumably intending to make off with them! Myself and a number of other guards were just about to mount the wagon horses and give chase.”
Orscozz sighed wearily and relaxed his grip. “Catch them when they try to break for the forest. Unless they plan on riding through a now fully-alerted army, that’s the only path open to them.”
“Yes, sir!” The man slammed his chest again and took off, leaving the Commander alone with his thoughts. Last year after their successful conquest of Norynne, the country just North of Bryke, the Toscav emperor Dravus decreed one of his commanders would wed their princess, as was his tradition of assimilating other nations into theirs.
By lot, Orscozz had been chosen, and he had found his future wife to be a slender woman with golden skin, ebony hair, and a fiercely sharp wit and tongue. To say their arranged marriage was frigid would be to put it mildly. She hated the Toscavs with an icy passion, and he had little interest in marriage, being a particular man with well-defined likes and dislikes.
However, after the twentieth time of gently but firmly disarming her after an attempted murder of him during their week-long honeymoon, things had begun to change. Both discovered, quite inadvertently, that not only did they have many of the same practices, including rising with the sun, reading in the garden, and avoiding pointless conversation, but they both loved Murakamian traditional poetry, something which Orscozz had a more or less comprehensive collection of.
This unlikely similarity saved their marriage. Before long, it became a common sight to see the two sharing a shaded spot beneath a tree, reading elegant calligraphy in silence, surrounded by the serenity of nature.
Orscozz had been well acquainted with her razor wit, but as they grew to discuss poetry, driven to each other by a lack of any others with the same interest, he began to glimpse the dizzying intellect that lay behind her almond eyes. It seemed to Orscozz that while he saw the world as it seemed, she saw the world as it was.
Before long, poetry was no longer their chief subject of discussion as they sallied into the realm of philosophy, he as an accepting mind, hers as a questioning one. Eventually, it got to the point where she only tried to kill him one every deccen1, just to keep in practice.
A stream of expletives from the forest brought Orscozz back to reality. He silently chided himself for his moment of introspection. It seemed that these days, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Whenever he went to bed, he dreamt of her beside him, and her cool touch against him, belying her quiet, burning inquisitiveness.
A loud crash rang out from the forest, followed by another string of curses. Orscozz sighed and hurried towards the noise.
“Yvierra, wait for me.” He prayed of his beloved.
*******
“I warned you this was madness!” Chrysalism shouted to Philius, as they both rode full-tilt towards the comparative safety of the trees, herding a swarm of horses in front of them.
“Killjoy.” Philius grinned back. “Anyway, it could be worse. Just hang on, we’re nearly…”
A sound like a ripe melon being split suddenly rang out next to him, causing him to turn back to his friend. Chrysalism’s conjured head was now sprouting a Toscav arrow, which protruded from her forehead plain as day.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Philius found himself rippling with mirth at the sight of his friend glaring cross-eyes at the offending shot.
“Oh yes, laugh it up, go on.” Chrysalism muttered. “Just wait until you get hit, and we’ll see who’s laughing then.”
“Oh come on, they couldn’t hit a barn in this lighting.” Philius waved the idea away. “That was a fluke shot.”
*Thunk!*
A second arrow found Philius in the lower back.
“Oh hell, they aren’t messing around!” Philius commented, snapping off the tip and gingerly removing the shaft.
“We’re almost there!” Chrysalism called back, as the forest rose out of the gloom. “Head down, Phil.”
“Got it!” He answered, as another arrow found his left shoulder.
“We’ve got them!” A Toscav soldier grinned grimly, raising another arrow to his bow. “If they think they can gallop through a forest that dense, they’re fools. If they don’t unhorse themselves on a branch, they’ll break their steeds’ legs on the roots.”
However, the grin slid off the soldier’s face as their quarry slipped effortlessly through the wall of trees like water through a sieve, splashes confirming they were already at the river on the other side.
“Damn their fortune!” The soldier swore. “Well, if they can do it, so can we.” He let loose another arrow and flicked his reins, quickly reaching back for a second arrow. However, before he found one, a thick branch found his face.
Spitting out sod and teeth, the unfortunate soldier pulled himself from the dirt with a tirade of choice words about the family lineage of the horse thieves. “Gotta get my horse…” He muttered finally, stumbling to his feet.
Right below a solid oak branch.
This time he didn’t get back up.
By the time Orscozz made it to the fringes of the forest, the chase was over. Hobbled and riderless horses limped or galloped back out of the forest, followed by cursing soldiers with dented armour and helmets, dragging and carrying their unconscious comrades with them. There was no point in asking for a report, the commander could tell at a glance how the pursuit had gone.
Sighing, he went and examined the forest. It was still dark, but what tracks Orscozz could see were in complete disarray. Hoof prints ended suddenly at the base of trees, and carried on at the opposite side as if they’d glided right through.
Or the trees had moved.
Were they dealing with magicians of some kind, then? Orscozz turned back to interview a soldier, nearly walking right into a blood-stained branch inconveniently at face level, tooth fragments still freckling it with white. Cursing at the scare he gave himself, Orscozz ducked the branch and continued on his way.
Around him, the trees shook in the night, rustling and quavering. The commander scowled. It almost sounded like…
…like the forest was laughing.
“/A windless forest
/Quivers in its silent mirth
/Laughing at mankind?”
Orscozz recited to himself. Not bad, he thought. He’d have to tell it to Yvierra when he returned home.
1 Ten days, the equivalent to a week in Alveus.
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