Stone and Blood: Act 2, Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Eh? Is that how it’s going to go?
It wasn’t as if she was tied up or anything. And what sort of hostage would smile like her? How would a Noblewoman get out here if they didn’t want to be here, anyway? Was Demihumans kidnapping noblewomen just a thing that regularly happened in Roble?
“Worry not, my fair lady!” The young man in plate armour continued, “We’ll…we’ll…”
The man’s voice trailed off and he raised the visor of his helm. His long lance rose into the air as he cast a longing look at her, and his entire squadron followed suit. Florine suddenly felt tired behind her pleasant smile.
“Wh-what are your demands?” The man turned a glare at the Demihumans.
Florine’s companions exchanged glances.
“I’m getting a bit hungry,” Tik’okl said. “Some meat would be–ugh!”
The reptilian Demihuman crumpled forward as Florine’s elbow found him.
“…meat, you say?” The man in plate said, “In that case…”
He looked around, eventually turning to find his company of infantry panting heavily as they jogged to catch up to his cavalry squadron.
“You there,” the man pointed a gauntlet to a brown-haired man in the front. “Go over to the Demihumans!”
“Eh?”
“You heard me! A noblewoman’s life is at stake!”
Why am I not correcting them?
Did she pick up Ludmila’s bad habits? She felt compelled to see how far the silly affair would take them.
“But–”
“That’s an order, soldier! If any harm comes to her…”
The soldier sent a helpless look around at his comrades, but no assistance appeared to be forthcoming. He let out a long sigh before looking across the water at Florine. A hand went to his belt as he dropped his spear to the ground and removed his sidearm. Two daggers joined the other weapons. Florine wondered what the penalty for disobeying insane orders in Roble was, though she had already developed a sense of what was going on and she didn’t like it one bit.
Mud squished under the soldier’s boots as he hesitated on the opposite shore. Florine held out her gloved hand and made a beckoning gesture to coax the man forward. Though he was clean-shaven, she could still tell that he was of middle age, making him a good deal older than the rest of his company. It was also probably why he was the first to catch up to the cavalry – he had survived his duties for long enough to gain a significant enough level advantage to run longer and faster than the others. From a mundane perspective, it would simply be perceived as having superior physical conditioning.
He survived that war and much more. Now, they’re throwing him away for a pretty face.
Now that she knew about levels, Florine understood that the culture that came hand in hand with the Faith of the Six turned out to be right about a few things. While the young possessed potential, the older, wiser, and more experienced held more immediate practical value. This was because they tended to have higher levels and could thus do more. In the predominant culture of the north, youth was equated with strength and virility so the young were favoured over the old. The old were seen as disposable unless they possessed freakish strength or incomparable talent.
The man blushed as she took his hands in hers and offered him a warm smile.
“Thank you for coming to retrieve me, brave sir,” she said. “Might I have the honour of knowing your name?”
“It’s…Vidal, m’lady. Just Vidal.”
“Then, Vidal,” Florine said as she gently turned him around and took his elbow. “Could you guide me back to your company?”
“Er…”
“Please?”
Florine looked down at the stream, pulling in her shoulders to make herself look small and vulnerable. Vidal straightened and cleared his throat.
“Of course, m’lady,” he said. “It’d be my pleasure.”
Vidal led her across the stream under the envious gazes of the men on the other side. The man in plate almost seemed angry that he had returned undevoured.
“…you’re dismissed, Vidal.”
The man performed an awkward salute and took a step forward, but Florine refused to let go of his arm.
“Please let him stay a while,” she breathed as she pressed herself against his arm. “I’m still so very frightened.”
A strange sound that Florine couldn’t figure out how to describe came out from the knight – or whatever he was. Behind him, the expressions of the mounted men turned ugly.
“This wasn’t the agreement!” The man in plate said, “You were supposed to stay with the Demihumans, Vidal!”
“Yeah!” One of the mounted men said.
“Go to hell!” Said another.
“Get eaten, you old bastard!”
Florine sighed inwardly as the imagined bonds of brotherhood between fighting men that she always imagined to exist crumbled under the cruel weight of reality. She hated that her mother was right about so many terrible things. Beauty was a weapon that could bring about the downfall of castle and country where all else failed.
She looked up at the leader of the company, who in turn was looking down at her with a somewhat disgruntled look. Despite having an Endure Elements enchantment, the Abelion Hills looked so stupidly hot that she felt obliged to dress the part. She was fine with that since there weren’t any other Humans around, but, now, she was using Vidal’s arm to conceal her cleavage.
“I don’t believe I had your name, Captain…”
The man removed his plumed helmet, his long blonde locks tossing in the wind as he turned up his head proudly.
“Lord Reynaldo de Silva. The Baron Vera once my peasants finish clearing the land.”
Uwah, so proud that he sabotages his own attempts at seeming important.
Since he claimed that he would be the Baron Vera, Reynaldo de Silva bore ‘Lord’ as a courtesy title from his house. Somewhere in the Holy Kingdom of Roble, there was a Count de Silva and Reynaldo was one of his spares. He should have referred to himself as ‘Lord Reynaldo’, but he included his house to make himself seem more ‘lordly’. That might have gotten his introduction a pass by some, but, by adding the latter part about becoming a Baron and treating what were probably borrowed labourers as property, he revealed himself to be an insufferably pretentious child.
With that bit of information brought to light, Florine supposed that the ‘cavalry squadron’ was made up of his personal lackeys and the infantry company was considered battle fodder. She wondered how much respect Reynaldo de Silva commanded, and how much he had bought.
No longer interested in seeing how things would play out, Florine altered her bearing. She released Vidal’s arm, shedding her timid posture and inclining her head slightly in response to Lord Reynaldo’s greeting.
“Florine Kadia Dale Gagnier, a Baroness of the Sorcerous Kingdom and Viceroy of the Abelion Special Administrative Area.”
The tip of the lordling’s lance jerked suddenly as he nearly dropped it. His dumbfounded expression shattered his fa?ade of fabricated importance. The leering looks of the riders behind him turned fearful and their eyes swiftly left the open neck of Florine’s dress. In the back, the infantry company turned attentive, as if they expected something interesting to happen.
That’s right, Lord Reynaldo. Those who so desperately attempt to leverage authority are terribly weak to it…and it looks like everyone here knows it.
He was hopelessly outmatched with a mere exchange of introductions. With this turn, she could probably tell him to go and eat mud directly from the stream and he would jump in face-first with a gleeful smile. Not that she had any right to, but he probably didn’t care about that even if he knew.
“T-to what might we owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Gagnier?” Lord Reynaldo asked.
Florine considered her response. As slimy as the man was, it was probably better to turn the situation into a favour to use as currency in future dealings with the Holy Kingdom. That favour wouldn’t be collected from Lord Reynaldo, of course. It would be from whomever he answered to. The challenge would be turning what was currently a problem rooted in differing worldviews into an opportunity.
“A number of our citizens came forward with petitions concerning the ongoing developments along our shared border,” she said.
“Developments…” Lord Reynaldo brought a hand up to his chin as he tasted her lead, “Developments…ah, you must mean that.”
Well, that was predictable.
An individual of his ‘calibre’ would always have one or ten ‘problems’ beyond his power to address. Working through them with him would offer valuable insight into what it would be like to have a neighbour like him on the border.
“I’m sorry that things have grown to the point that they have been brought to your attention, my lady,” Lord Reynaldo said. “Those vagrants and deserters are causing all sorts of problems on our end.”
“How bad have things become?” Florine asked, “If your issues spill across the border, it may lead to undesirable consequences.”
The young lordling visibly swallowed, going as pale as the tall sails billowing in the distance.
“I-it hasn’t come to blows, yet,” he said. “But these pests are being difficult. None of the men assigned to the problem can locate their base of operations and they can pop up all along the wilderness to stir up trouble.”
“Then we’ll look into it,” Florine told him.
“You needn’t trouble yourself with our matters, my lady…”
“I have been charged with the administration of the Abelion Hills, Lord Reynaldo. If your matters pose a risk to the Sorcerous Kingdom’s citizens, then I am obliged to address them. By the sound of it, the efforts of these individuals are distracting you from more important matters, so you only stand to gain from our intervention.”
A sense of disappointment rose within Florine as a calculating expression fell over Lord Reynaldo. He was so poorly trained that he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. If the man’s observed behaviour so far was any indication of his overall quality, she sensed countless headaches dealing with him in the future.
“You’re right, my lady,” he said after a few moments. “We should work together on this. The sooner this issue is resolved, the better it will be for the both of us.”
“I appreciate your cooperation, Lord Reynaldo,” Florine said with a slight smile, “but can you and your escort keep up with mine?”
Several of Lord Reynaldo’s men let out startled cries as her infantry squads emerged from the vegetation across the stream. The lordling’s mount shied away, nearly dumping him into the dirt.
“I, erm…a-at least allow me to send someone along. There are some good men here that can…”
The would-be Baron of Vera turned to find his lackeys visibly quaking in their saddles. If their mounts weren’t frozen in fear, Florine was sure they would have bolted. Each of the men shook his head vehemently as the Baron met their gazes.
“Wh-what’s wrong with you all?” A disjointed strain of nervous laughter escaped Lord Reynaldo’s mouth, “In that case, the infantry–”
How greedy are you, exactly?
Desperate for power, desperate for authority, and desperate for credit. His very existence was compromising. She could easily earn another favour by warning Lord Reynaldo’s liege of the impending catastrophe that he represented.
“Mister Vidal here will suffice,” Florine told him.
“Vidal?” Lord Reynaldo turned back to face her with an incredulous look, “Surely you desire someone younger and stronger…”
“He appears to be the most experienced out of all of your men,” Florine said. “Don’t worry, he’ll return to you healthy and well-rested. We’ll contact you if we find anything. Have a pleasant day, Lord Reynaldo.”
With that, she turned away, taking Vidal’s elbow again and guiding him back across the stream. Faced with the Undead and Demihumans on the other side, the man started to quake partway across.
“Don’t worry,” Florine gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”
They entered the shadows of the bush to join her companions. Falagrim stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“I hadn’t considered it before,” he said, “but you hadn’t yet added a Human to that travelling menagerie of yours. Picked a sturdy-lookin’ one, too – you’ll be able to get a good bit of work out of him.”
Vidal’s gaze shifted nervously between each member of Florine’s party. She disliked how Falagrim phrased it, but she was indeed growing a diverse following.
“Wh-what is he talking about?” Vidal asked, “What is he?”
“Master Falagrim and Agni here are Dark Dwarves,” Florine said. “I’m surprised you’re not familiar with them.”
“There were always rumours of Dwarves out in the wild,” Vidal said, “but I ain’t seen any before.”
“The hell you think all that equipment the tribes use comes from?” Falagrim scowled, “Trees?”
Florine released Vidal’s arm, clearing her throat.
“Tik’okl; Zztztl. Can you and your companions track down the individuals that Lord Reynaldo mentioned?”
“His description suggests that they are hunters themselves,” Zztztl replied. “It may take some time to locate them if we can at all.”
“Since they’re using manual labour to clear the land,” Florine said, “only a small percentage of the area should be cleared. These hunters should be close enough to actively impede Lord Reynaldo’s efforts.”
“I agree,” Tik’okl said. “But it may still take a day or two to track them down.”
“That’s fine,” Florine replied. “We should be stopping to rest soon, anyway. Could you find us a suitable location for a base camp?”
The Demihuman hunters dispersed into the vegetation, but it wasn’t long until Tik’okl’s group returned. He led them north several kilometres to a small, dried-out floodplain between the stream and a low cliff. Several of his hunters were already stationed above as lookouts.
“Sergeant.”
The Elder Lich sergeants and Vidal looked at Florine. She turned to address one of the Elder Liches.
“Collaborate with our Rangers to come up with acceptable security arrangements for the camp. The second squad can help set up the base.”
“It will be done, Lady Gagnier.”
Her escort moved to carry out her instructions. Vidal goggled at her as she started pulling camp supplies out of her Infinite Haversack.
“Meaning no disrespect, m’lady,” he said, “but you didn’t seem very strong when we first saw you.”
“I don’t think I’m very strong,” Florine replied.
“Uh, that bundled-up tent must’ve been twenty or thirty kilos. You just handed it over like a feather quill.”
“Ah, if you put it that way, I suppose I do appear stronger than the average woman. I don’t really think about it anymore. What about you? I would’ve thought that the Holy Kingdom’s Royal Army would equip their veteran sergeants with something more than mundane kit.”
“The good stuff’s only for the best and brightest, m’lady. I’m just an old sergeant.”
Florine went over to where the Undead had placed some dry driftwood logs around a newly-dug fire pit, inviting Vidal to sit with her. She poured out a cup of water and offered it to him. Vidal stared at it for a moment before looking around tentatively.
“I’m curious, Sergeant Vidal,” she said. “Why did you become an ‘old sergeant’? If I’m not mistaken, mandatory military service in the Holy Kingdom of Roble only lasts a handful of years.”
“I’d be a vagrant otherwise, m’lady,” Vidal finally removed his leather gauntlets and took the proffered cup. “You heard the men back there. I’m a bastard. And an orphan, to boot.”
“Is it possible to be a bastard orphan?”
“Sure is. My mother didn’t know who my father was. Then, when I was around five, some Demihumans took a stroll over the wall and raided the port we lived in.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“No need to be,” he removed his cap and scratched his shaven head. “It’s a common enough story. Between all the sailors, soldiers, and what have you that took leave there…ahem, forgive me, m’lady. Shouldn’t be so crass in front of a noblewoman.”
“Yeah?” Falagrim looked up from the newly-started fire, “What happens if you do?”
Vidal sent a glance at the Undead around the camp.
“Depends on her mood, I guess,” he said carefully. “Or the mood of her escort. Worst I’ve seen is a drunk bumping into a lady’s carriage. Her footmen came over and turned him into a cripple.”
“Shouldn’t the footmen have turned the drunk away before he bumped into the carriage?” Florine frowned.
“Maybe that’s why they broke half the bones in his body. A lot of people get hella mad if someone makes ‘em look bad, rightly or no.”
She shook her head. Florine never imagined that the citizens of a place known as a bastion of good throughout the region would lash out as Vidal described.
Footmen were called footmen because they escorted carriages and mounted aristocrats on foot, screening for potential threats to their liege. Allowing any stranger, never mind some random drunk, to reach a carriage was a clear failure in their duties and normally grounds for immediate dismissal. His failure would also be made known to the establishment and its associates, ruining his career prospects for life.
“So, when do the beatings begin?” Falagrim asked, “You’re acting as a Viceroy, right?”
“A Vice…oh, shit!”
Vidal clapped a hand over his mouth. Falagrim looked at her expectantly. Florine rolled her eyes.
“My escort has been instructed to do nothing of the sort,” she said. “I can hardly learn about other people if they’ve been suppressed to the point that they can’t be themselves. We’d have slaughtered tribes all over the place if we held them to cultural standards that they’re entirely ignorant about. Anyway, I’d like to know more about your service to the Holy Kingdom; there’s no need to mind your tongue around me.”
“My service, huh…” Vidal settled back down again, “Well, life as a wharf rat is generally crap, so I tried getting into the army early. At least with them you stay fed, clothed, and get to sleep with a roof over your head. I kept getting turned away until I was about twelve, though. The recruiting officers thought I was just some kid with stupid dreams; not a kid with an empty belly.”
“You didn’t say as much?”
“Oh, I’m sure that they knew, m’lady,” Vidal replied. “It wasn’t as if there weren’t thousands of other kids trying to get in for the same reason. That’s just the way big, important groups of people are – they do things their own way. It wasn’t right to have kids fight, but it was fine to let them starve.”
Sending children to war was something that the Temple of the Four would loudly disapprove of, so, given their prominence in Roble, refusing early enlistees was probably something ingrained into their culture. Pretty much the only group of people that raised children for war in the northern Human kingdoms was the martial aristocracy. The notion would be abhorrent for anyone else who followed the Faith of the Four.
At the same time, the Temples wouldn’t even remotely suggest that it was alright for children to starve. It probably boiled down to what they could do something about. The Holy Kingdom could turn away would-be child soldiers, but they couldn’t end poverty. Turning early enlistees away was a small comfort to those in authority and a meaningless gesture to those that weren’t.
Ironically, by doing so, they denied themselves their strongest soldiers. As with any vocation, dedicated warriors who got an early start had an advantage over conscripts rotated in from the general population.
“Anyway,” Vidal continued, “once I got in, I think I did pretty well for myself. Sort of. Couldn’t hold a line very well, but boy could I put the hurt on someone if they weren’t paying attention. I figure getting rid of an enemy quickly is better than trying to slowly chip ‘em down while holding ‘em off.”
It sounded like he was a Rogue. Given his background, it wasn’t surprising.
“I take it that your superiors didn’t like the way that you fought,” Florine said.
“Depends on who I was fighting under, m’lady. If the company Captain was a commoner, they loved me to bits. Bought me drinks every time we got back from a patrol that saw an engagement. If the Captain was a Noble or we had to work under a Paladin, then life was hell.”
“Why was that?”
Vidal turned wary again. Florine looked at him expectantly until he visibly relented.
“They just saw things differently. Most people who hear that don’t think much of it, but it was a huge deal. You had Noble officers used to having things go their way and Paladins running around trying to keep people on the straight and narrow. Those types have their own idea of how the world works and there’s hell to pay if you don’t fit into their grand scheme of things.”
“Even if things are proven to not work out the way that they think?”
“If it don’t work, then everyone’s dead.”
What an unfortunate way to develop a bias.
If a company survived combat, success tended to be attributed to the commanding officer. If a company perished, there was no proof that it was the commanding officer’s fault. Given the way that things seemed to be from their discussion thus far, ‘anomalies’ were likely struck down by the elite elements of the military establishment as a part of their entrenched organisational culture.
“That sounds like a thoroughly miserable career,” Florine said.
“Better than starving,” Vidal shrugged. “And it isn’t as if it was terrible all the time. Made plenty of friends and did a lot of things along the way. Careerwise, you’re probably right. Took me thirty years to make provisional Sergeant.”
“Provisional?”
“A Sergeant’s got paperwork to do. People like me don’t get to learn how to read or write growin’ up. Was in the middle of doing that when the war started. It didn’t matter after that.”
“So, you fought during Jaldabaoth’s invasion?”
“Sure did. Most of the army got wiped out on the wall and the entire north was mobilised. They dropped a platoon of former conscripts with no officer on my lap and off we went. That’s probably a good thing since it’d probably have been some insufferable ass of a Noble. Got to skip out on paperwork, too.”
Florine smiled.
“It’s heartening that you can reflect on the past in good humour.”
“We were dumped into deep water from the start,” Vidal let out a helpless laugh. “That fucking Fiend knew exactly how to hit us. The strongest divisions were all on the wall and wiped out. We lost all of our Generals and Commanders at the same time. Our Queen – the gods bless her kind heart – went to fight with the elite forces of our country and never came back. Without any real officers to lead us, it was a hopeless struggle.”
“Surely you had the Commanders of city garrisons and such…”
Vidal snorted derisively.
“Those ‘men’ weren’t Commanders. The soldiers that they led weren’t soldiers, either. Our country has mandatory military service, but money and favours can ensure you a cushy place to ‘serve’. Pretty much anyone that wasn’t stationed on the wall or close to it bought places that kept them away from battle. Battle came to them anyway. And the women…”
The Sergeant’s voice trailed off and he shut his mouth with an awkward look.
“The women…?” Florine prompted.
“…a lot of them slept their way to safety,” Vidar didn’t quite look at her. “Those with good looks became mistresses of people who could shield them from conscription. The women who couldn’t do that and didn’t want to fight got themselves pregnant so naturally they needed to be protected and put on ships to safety.”
“So,” Falagrim said, “an army of Fiends and Demihumans was rampaging across the country, killing and eating everyone or vice versa. The first thing these women do is get pregnant to…what? Offer appetisers via catapult when their enemies finally caught up to them?”
Florine’s mouth fell open in mute horror at the Dark Dwarf’s implication. How could that thought even cross his mind? Agni sat calmly beside him, entirely unperturbed.
“Ask them, Master Falagrim,” Vidal replied with a tired shake of his head. “Makes no sense to me. Anyway, it was a giant mess. The chain of command was broken beyond repair and we ended up with the Grandmaster of the Order leading us.”
“Is that particularly bad?” Florine asked.
“A Paladin’s a Paladin,” Vidal answered. “And a Paladin definitely ain’t a Commander. Once the Order took charge, everything we did was one hundred per cent conviction and zero per cent strategy. We hit what we could hit and got nowhere for it. Things stayed like that until the Sorcerer King showed up.”
“I was wondering about that,” Florine said. “Since you said you fought in the north, you must have been with the resistance. What was it like fighting with His Majesty?”
All around them, the Undead suddenly turned their attention to the conversation. Vidal cringed slightly at the intensity of their crimson gazes.
“That’s, uh…what can I say? It was like watching a god fight. Anywhere he appeared on the front, the enemy was just obliterated. Some of the spells that he used could cover entire city quarters. Demihumans became pieces of Demihumans or just bits of char on the grass. Fiends were instantly banished to whatever hell they came from. The only one who put up a fight was Jaldabaoth himself. Witnessing those battles…I used to laugh whenever the Bards sang about the Eight Greed Kings and what they could supposedly do. Now, I’ve seen someone who can do the same sorts of things with my own two eyes.”
Florine looked up at the noonday sky, wondering what it might have been like. Some of the old legends surrounding the Eight Greed Kings had them perform some truly unbelievable feats. As she continued to ruminate, she suddenly realised how late – or was that early? – it was.
“Thank you for sharing your story with us, Vidal,” Florine said. “My companions and I usually operate at night, so we should retire for the day. You’re more than welcome to my tent if you so desire.”
She gestured to her tent, which had been set up long before Vidal finished his tale. Following Ludmila’s suggestion, she purchased one that was large enough to serve as a makeshift office or drawing room and bought several magic items to make it just as comfortable as a luxury suite of a merchant inn.
Vidal abruptly stood from his log, looking around while absently wiping his hands on his pants.
“I, uh…I should wash up first, eh?”
“Thank you for your consideration, Vidal,” Florine smiled.
“A-are you sure about this? We’re just so…you know…”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
Florine looked up at the man. She blinked slowly as his eyes constantly roamed up and down her figure.
This is my fault, isn’t it…
“What I meant was that you should use my tent to sleep in,” she wasn’t sure what sort of look she should put on. “I have a magic item that precludes the need for sleep, so I’ll be doing paperwork throughout the day.”
“Oh.”
Vidal visibly deflated. Across the fire, Falagrim let out a snort.
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