Snippet #2270698

Siv rose from her post and lingered behind to put a little distance between herself and Kefir before slinging her broadsword across her back and heading toward camp. The only woman among an established, unspoken hierarchy, she knew she had already made an impression as one of the Captain's new favorites, and the mercenaries' equal distrust for barbaric tribes showed in the way they stared at her, their voices dropping to whispers when she walked by. And Kefir thinks I should jump at the chance to lead this lot into battle. Bunch o' bairns, they won't last a week. She passed a row of tethered horses, the sweet smells of hay and manure intermingling in the air, to where a white mare stood patiently at the end of the block, tail swishing at a persistent fly.

"Good girl, Athdara," she murmured, stroking her stiff mane as she produced a dull green apple from her purse.

Athdara snorted softly and nosed her hand, exposing large brown teeth as she pulled back her lips to ensnare the treat. With her free hand, Siv pulled a bristle brush from her bag and calmly began brushing out the horse's hair. The resounding, intermittent whack of an ax striking wood reached her ears, and every now and then she glanced over her shoulder at a black cloaked figure with its back to her splitting logs into firewood.

In the dim light, the act itself would seem no more than an early morning chore but for the dozen piles of cuts scattered around the chopping block. She had not seen anyone else at the block the night before, save a couple men who gathered leftover bark and twigs to use for kindling. What kind of fighter spends his morning at the ax instead of readying for battle?

The loner appeared disinclined toward ceasing the tiresome task, however. Siv had returned her attention to Athdara when she heard the sound of tramping boots, and three burly men pushing a rickety cart between them passed her. One of them nodded in the woodcutter's direction as they approached, stopping at one of the piles a fair distance away from him.

"Oy, were taking this early," the shortest of the trio called out.

He momentarily looked up from his work, and Siv caught a glimpse of the steel slotted heaume concealing the man's face. The cutter merely acknowledged the other men with a broad shrug and drew back for another swing.

"See, I told you it would be the same guy," muttered one of the two taller men as he bent to grab an armful of wood. "He was here yesterday, too, an' he's still wearing that helmet. Ain't no one else been at that block since Rev dropped off that wood we got two days ago."

"Eh, Rev, didn't Kefir tell ya to cut this yourself?" asked the third man, sounding doubtful.

"You don't get paid to ask questions, Dekard," Rev retorted, Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few long green leaves, stuck them between his teeth and set to chewing while the other two men loaded the fresh cuts onto the cart.

As they finished clearing their pile, Siv spotted the Blades Captain emerging from one of the larger brown flap tents on the opposite side of the encampment.

"Stiff up, here comes the captain," Rev mumbled, hastily biting off half his chew and stuffing the rest into his pocket.

Upon his arrival, Kefir met the shorter man with a raised brow. "There a problem here?"

"No, no problem, no problem. Just getting the last of this here firewood. " Rev gestured with his thumb toward the full cart.

"That so?" the captain asked, his fierce gaze passing between all three men and their load.

"Yep, we'll just get this over to the main camp." Rev started to walk away, and motioned for the others to follow.

"Hold up." Kefir stopped him, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You sure you gave me back all the extra coin you had from that unwanted wood you picked up the other day?"

Rev waved him away and laughed nervously. "Oh yeah, of course. That was all they had, ya know. Bastard gouged the shit outta me."

Kefir looked unconvinced, but after a second or two, he relented. "All right, just get that where it belongs. We'll be moving out soon, and nobody wants to be out playing Fetch after a fight. Unless, you'd like to volunteer?"

"Gotcha, Captain," Rev answered, and hurried past, his comrades with their cart in tow. Once he was out of Kefir's line of sight, he hocked a sloppy brown mess onto the ground near the horses.

Siv met the Blades Captain's eyes from across the footpath as he strode away, exasperation tensing his tanned features. Not my problem, she thought, certain Kefir would see the words in her steely expression. She finished brushing her mare and treated her to the last apple from her purse. Only as she turned to leave did she notice the stranger at the chopping block had not once looked up from his task.

By the time she reached the center of camp, several men had already gathered near the barricade. Splintered boards cobbled with thick nails, iron posts and logs of varying lengths lined the walls erected outside the caves, and, Siv noticed, the sole entrance, a makeshift gate of rusted bars, lay much too close to their encampment. And, just what does the captain think to do, lose the orcs inside that maze?

The men, oblivious of their proximity, seemed restless and eager to fight. Already, a brawl had broken out between two of a dozen mercenaries, and most were either jeering them on, though a few tried to break up the fisticuffs, until one of the brawlers, a wiry man, dodged his larger opponent's blow and ended the exchange with a swift knee to the groin. The Drakryvon just shook her head and searched for Kefir among the uneven rows of dusty crimson uniforms dividing the Legion's lackeys from the hired mercenaries. Only the Blades looked at ease in muted conversations or sharpening their weapons, silent but for the sound of whetstone scraping steel.

Siv sighted the captain near the front, engaged discussion with a late arrival. Kefir seemed generally familiar with yet another darkly clad, hooded man, even appearing to go so far as to point out his mismatched attire, a set of scratched and dented black armor. The Blades' brightly colored uniforms were typically easy to pick out in small, tight skirmishes, and If he belonged to their guild, she could not readily tell, for she saw no color or designation aside from a red linen wrap at the top of a simple halberd strapped to his back. Regardless, the captain dismissed the man toward his own hirelings and cleared his throat, summoning attention from the entire camp.

"Alright, listen up!" Kefir barked, silencing those still yammering in the crowd as several stragglers took their seats on top of felled logs.

When the only noise Siv could hear was the occasional whinny of a horse from across camp, the captain spoke, pacing side to side wih his hands clasped behind his back.

"For those of you who don't know, we've been at a six-month standoff with the local force some of you ass-kissers like to call the 'Orc Army'. But, today, we're making our final push at the north passage, and with a little luck, the tunnels beyond will lead us straight to their stronghold where we rip those scumbags right out of their cradles.

"Once we reach the passage," he continued, "you'll divide into two strike teams. Victor," he gestured toward the hooded newcomer, "You and I will lead the Blades."

Kefir halted and stared directly across the group at her. Siv turned to spit on the ground, and matched his stare with equal contempt. Ye needed to know what I thought of your barefaced attempt at convincing me to lead these idiots into battle? There, ye have it, she wanted to say, but held her tongue.

Each man looked to one another, murmurs of confusion and indecision cropping up among them, but only Siv dared shun the captain's smolder, crossing her arms and looking away in defiance. Her gaze fell opposite on two narrow black slots regarding her at length before the figure canted his massive helm toward their group. Glancing sidelong, she noticed all eyes had settled on them, being the only two people standing at the rear. Her expression soured, and she tilted her head forward to glare upward at the Blades Captain.

Kefir's angry look turned smug as a man's who had just broken his champion war steed.

"Ych," she muttered, but the captain neither noticed nor cared.

"You, and you," he announced, motioning first toward the helmeted figure, and then Siv. "You're both in charge of the mercs. First group to bring me the orc leader's head will receive a bonus when this mission is over.

"Drakryvon," he said, pointing directly at her. "Come see me for your stipend after we break camp. The rest of you get paid when every last one of those brutes is dead."