South of Mortensholm, in the camp of the Army of Solland
“My Lord,” said Captain Joost, “I have someone here you must surely meet. He claims to be Graf Edric, of Mortensholm, and I am inclined to believe him.”
“The Graf is alive?” asked the Baron de Crux, his face showing more than a touch of incredulity.
“It seems he is, despite the fact that his army was apparently butchered and beheaded to a man."
“Then of course, I must see him.”
The captain turned towards the tent’s exit, but stopped when the Baron suddenly spoke again.
“Wait, Joost. Tell me first, how is he?”
The captain should have known that the baron would quickly realise there might be something odd about the Graf suddenly appearing.
“I never knew the man, of course, but I have to admit I doubt he is the man he was. I thought him a vagabond when we first encountered him, mad with fever or drink. If I had to guess, I would say he has been in the wilds since the battle.”
“I see, yes. Well then, Joost, have him given his own tent, and assign some servants to him. Give him food and clothes, and the chance to regain something of his wits. I will speak to him this evening – unless, of course, he insists.”
“Aye my Lord, it will be done.”
“Good,” said the Baron. “Now, before you go, what news from the riders and scouts?”
“The Black Company are still backing off, but as they know the land somewhat better, they have been able to maintain a posture of defiance and readiness as they do so. They move most quickly only when the land slows us down, and then as we think to catch them they are once again in a position to harry us. Our scouts have encountered their scouts upon several occasions, and even they fight hard. So far we have no prisoners – they refuse quarter. Nor do they give it.”
“The heads, what of them?”
Captain Joost put his hand to his forehead and rubbed, as if he was in pain. He answered,
“It has had an effect on our men, which is surely what they intended. There have been a few grumblings, some reluctance to march as fast as they might. And the sight of Agrabog’s brutes eating them even as flies buzz around them has not exactly reassured the men. The Black Company’s reputation is not undeserved.”
“Yet we have the upper hand in numbers,” said the baron. “It occurs to me that the enemy may well be playing a waiting game. Perhaps they expect reinforcements, a relief force or allies? I think we can ill afford to tarry any longer. We’ve done all we can for Mortensholm, and now we may well have found their Lord. We must go about the business of defeating the Black Company, and soon. I will order that the army array itself before dawn and we march to meet them. Now that the foe have moved from the forest we can meet them in battle. Besides, I know that Agrabog has been growing tetchy, and I don’t want to see what new trouble his annoyance might bring. If we strike now then we kill several birds with one stone.”
“But my Lord, we have not got the entire force with us, what with the rearguard in Mortensholm, and the flanking forces, and could not possibly muster all together in so little time. Even Agrabog has sent several companies of Ogres upon scavenging errands.”
“Yes,” said the baron, “and the enemy knows that, which makes them complacent. They think they can fall back slowly, confident that we are too dispersed to deliver a blow against them. They think we have delayed because we are afraid. But we are neither afraid nor too few, we have enough courage and sufficient force. We shall attack in the morrow at first light, Empire and Ogre, and they shall know our wrath.”
(PS: Battle arranged for this Saturday with Uryens being the Sollanders and Ogres, and I shall command the Black Company. Of course, as with any game, I intend to win!!)