Born a Monster - Chapter 537: Friend or Foe

537 Friend or Fot was the third day, as we were swinging west of Hattan (for reasons I’ve already said, though I didn’t know them at that time), when everything went wrong. Or right, I suppose.

I’d thrown up a lean-to within a wrinkle in the earth, and was busy trying to get to sleep.

There were horns. Two short blasts, two long. Some manner of inspiring blatting. Two short blasts, then two long.

I sighed, then rose enough to stick my head over the edge.

There was another force of soldiers marching toward the company I was shadowing.

Some three hundred soldiers, gauging by the banners. Banners which were white with a red axe upon them. Beneath that, a black hawk-head on red.

What were troops from Rakkal’s Glory doing HERE?

I grew suspicious, but curiosity had the greater hold on me. The battle had been joined by the time I came into view of the rear guards.

Yes, the enemy posted guards with horns and bows to the sides and rear. It’s almost like someone had infiltrated their camp and stolen critical supplies.

…..

For their part, those guards nearest me dutifully blew their horns, and then began releasing arrows at me. Arrows which fell short. And then less short, and then that same distance.

I scratched a spot on my right jaw, and pondered whether unlocking the Archer class included abilities to let me track arrows in mid-air.

It did, but those abilities were also unlocked by second level Hunter. At costs that I won’t dignify by recording them here.

I did, just by looking around, notice an Uruk matron on a hillside nearby, sharing snacks with her children while they also watched from beyond bow range.

I don’t know why; there wasn’t much to watch. Our imperial forces pulled up to bow range of theirs, and just let loose with three volleys, and a few other arrows seeking out survivors. Then, they just ordered themselves into neat columns, marched into the camp, and made certain there were no survivors.

I rubbed my eyes, consigned myself to the loss of a day’s sleep, and hobbled my way into camp. I wasn’t quite limping, and I could stand on my own… let’s just say that some injuries take longer than others to heal.

The first guard to address me said pretty much what I was thinking. “What in the seven hells are YOU doing HERE?”

“Probably the same as you.” I said. “You ARE here hunting the supply caravan, yes?”

“I… I’m just a corporal.” he admitted. “Nobody tells me anything.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. And then repeated the process. It wasn’t my Truthspeaker oath, I literally changed my mind about what words to speak.

“Who is in charge of this force?” I finally asked.

The guard drew himself to attention. “Why, none less than the Voice of Rakkal himself, sir.”

Sir? Had someone given me military rank and not told me?

“What.” I asked, “is Hortiluk doing this far from the city he’s supposed to be in charge of?”

He spread his hands. “Corporal, sir. That’s a discussion I choose to be away from.”

“I suppose I should proceed into the camp, then.” And I did so.

I’m not sure who had told them what, but when I passed, conversations stopped. Not one of those soldiers, hobgoblin nor human nor uruk, not one stared at me. I glanced back; there was a reason corporals were on guard. There wasn’t a lower ranking soldier in the bunch.

I was livid when I came to the command tent.

He was standing outside; I almost didn’t recognize him, armored with a metal breastplate, greaves, and gauntlets over chainmail. And, a quick incantation showed, warded in addition.

His inlays were not silver or gold, but rather some mixture containing both jade and peridot. Green on red always looks out of place to me, but whatever I thought of the aesthetics, the craftsmanship, both physical and mystic, was unquestionable.

“I don’t even need your powers to feel your rage from here.” he said, not even turning to face me.

“This is not where I expected to meet you.” I said.

He let out a single chuckle and turned his head. There were more wrinkles around his eye, but it was undoubtedly him. His unusual red skin, which I now had grown familiar with as the bloodline of the invaders.

He sounded amused. “It is good for me, then, that I do not answer to you. Oh, wait, does anyone here answer to you?”

“It is well known I have no followers.” I waved my arms to indicate his men around us.

“My personal guard.” he said.

I clenched my jaw to help keep my temper under check. “You have three hundred personal guards?”

“Some of us,” he said, “are more important than others. And you should be thanking me.”

I drew my shield from inventory, strapped it to my arm. “For not ordering me killed? Or perhaps tortured?”

It’s amazing; when he tried to look shocked, I remember him being a better actor. Or maybe he just didn’t feel the need, surrounded as we were by his “personal guards”.

“For doing your job, of course.” he said. “Without supplies, the enemy army doesn’t even have the food to survive, let alone to siege the capitol. We are here not to flee the war, but to win it.”

I rubbed my eyes; talking to him was giving me a headache.

No, wait. Looking into his eyes, his yellow eyes with little flecks of gold moving out from pupil to the edge of his iris, THAT was giving me a headache.

“Psychic Turtle Shell.” I whispered.

“What the FUCK was that?” he asked, blinking.

“That,” I said, “was me defending myself. I may not command you, but your position doesn’t give you command of me, either.”

“I beg to differ. If you…”

“Truthspeaker!” I spat at him. “As you know!”

The amusement left his eyes, but not the rest of his face.

“Whatever political powers you hold, whatever military rank, Rakkal has NEVER ordered me to obey you as I would him. I may work with you, I may be ordered to work under you, but I am under no such orders at this moment. Live with it, or die.”

I hadn’t been intending those five words, but please understand. From the time before I met him in person, I knew that Hortiluk and Rakkal were at odds. Not quite enemies, but not friends either. Much of the blame for the invasion can be laid at my feet; the rest should have rested squarely on the man before me. Having been denied crucial information that I then suspected he had simply not told me…

“Oh my.” he said. “So confrontational.” He then smacked his lips. “Let me explain the current situation to you, and I have a high level of confidence that you will, in fact, work with me on this.”

“It doesn’t seem you need my help.” I said.

“Need?” he forced a chuckle. “What I need, and what you will offer of your own free will, are two different things entirely.”

THIS is where the Truthspeaker oath shut down my voicebox. I closed my mouth, and started again. “I will listen to your words.”

Damned if I was going to trust them, though.

“Delightful.” Hortiluk said, the mirth returning to his eyes.

I thought, then, to use my reticule to reveal his social classes. I found such information obscured, which I had been a fool not to expect.

“Where to begin?” he asked the air, his own eyes also unfocused.

“Perhaps the convoy?” I asked.

“Oh, no.” he said. “There’s two days before they get here. Let us speak of ghouls, and graveyards.” He pointed almost due west. “The Graveyard, in point of fact.”

I let my toes scratch at the earth in impatience. I think my breathing was under control, but I can’t swear to it. “What about it?” I asked.

This was where he explained the condition of the fencing around Hattan, of events I’ve already shared with you.

“How do you know all of this?” I asked.

“The same way I know anything.” he said. “A network of favors, and when that fails, a network of spies and informants.”

He scratched at the collar of his armor. “But the point is, that while we think they replaced the physical fencing, we don’t know that the wards are intact. I have an accomplished arcanist…” He nodded at one of his men. “But, until recently, we had despaired where to get enough Life mana to replace the ward, should it be, as we suspect, in need of repair.”

“You came out here, you had the resources of an entire town. You expect me to believe you don’t have that mana with you?”

“Oh, I did.” he said. “But my guardsmen decided my life was more important.”

“Ugh!” I said.

“Precisely.” he said. “We are, slightly, better than the caravan guards we expect to meet. But we cannot fight them and an angry mob that should be contained by iron and magic.”

“Neither ward nor fence will contain the morlocks.” I said. “Those are natural beings.”

“Ah,” he said. “If only there were a diplomat.” he said. “Perhaps one sworn to do ALL HE COULD to see the caravans disrupted.”

And he smiled at me, a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.