One Shot Request - Orders

A/N: A few people have requested stories set in the Scanran War of the fighting that took place, and the way that people perceive Daine and Numair when they don't know them very well. I think I'll write a few of these - thank you to Guest for the prompt!

Also, thanks for your honest critiques of the last chapter. Very helpful!

Keep the requests coming!

888

The famed wildmage, Mistress Veralidaine Sarrasri, was very good at sulking. That was the first clear thought in Pumpkin's mind, after the nervous fog had cleared. He looked at her, taking in her childlike size and terrifying sharp grey glare, and thought: she's sulking.

It made her seem human, somehow, although of course she wasn't. Not quite. She looked like a woman in her twenties, with sunburned skin and an archer's muscular build, but it was all an illusion. Pumpkin knew he was not the only man in the archer troupe to be thinking that. They all stared at her with open curiosity. In the barracks Captain Flint had given them orders to accompany her on this mission, and for a few hours all you could hear were the stories. They wanted her to have cat ears or a tail, and many of them were obviously disappointed that she looked perfectly normal.

Well, normal enough to sulk.

"I don't need you to come along," she told them, tersely checking the tension of her strung bow. As one the troupe bristled, but she didn't seem to notice their offense. Not making eye contact, she shouldered the weapon and added, "But orders are orders, and I wouldn't dare contradict one of my wise and noble superiors... however idiotic I know they're being."

Sarcasm was thick in her voice, and any of the men who hadn't already felt slighted by this... this girl... scowled at her. Pumpkin scratched his eyebrow and started walking, following the wild mage's light steps. Unlike her, they were dressed in light armour which clanked softly in the misty morning. The damp weather absorbed the sound and threw it back, making ten men sound like fifty. Mistress Sarrasri had made no noise at all, and they had to hurry after her before they lost her in the dim light.

Pumpkin was a short man, and although he was not as round as his nickname suggested his face had a lunar plumpness and an unfortunate habit of flushing red when he exercised. He did not mind his nickname, but he was rather vain about his looks. When he joined the Conte Archers he had grown and trimmed a beard into a point under his dumpy chin. He thought it would thin his face and make him dashing. His fellow recruits had christened it the 'leaf'. He wasn't quick enough to return their teasing, and so he had sulked until they grew bored. The name, and his skill at pouting, had lingered. Now, two years later, he recognised a master sulker when he saw one.

The wild mage stalked ahead, managing to leave no prints in the damp ground even though her chin was stubbornly high. She did not look back for miles, assuming that the trained soldiers would keep up with her. As a guide she was both brilliant and terrible. Her trail led them around the Scanran camps easily, and they never saw a single hostile immortal. However, she did not bother to direct the men, and sometimes chose routes where they had to ford streams or clamber across rockfalls - easy enough for her in her huntress garb, but wearying for the armoured soldiers. When she finally held up her hand for them to stop the men were all sheened with sweat. She looked at them rather narrowly.

"I'm sorry," she said, unexpectedly. The men recoiled in surprise and she shrugged. "I forgot you're new to this territory. I've been scouting it for weeks."

Flint cleared his throat. "We've been posted here for a month, miss."

"Really?" She gaped at him, and then blushed at her own rudeness and looked away. The men rolled their eyes and sat down, taking out trail rations and packs of cards. They had a few hours to wait, now that Mistress Sarrasri had led them to their remote position. Pumpkin sat in a loud group who were arguing over the aces in Brag, and lost himself in his disappointment.

The legendary wildmage, he thought, was nothing like the stories. She was a girl who seemed utterly out of place among soldiers. She spoke like a civilian and dressed like a poacher. He had expected nobility, or pride. He had seen the Lioness once, roaring at her troops until they burned with the fire of battle. Her red hair had caught the sunlight, and her violet eyes had screamed from her face like the wrath of the gods. She was a legend, and she did not disappoint. The wildmage, he told himself bitterly, was just a story to tell children.

The girl sat apart from the men, kicking her hanging legs idly from a shelf of limestone. Pumpkin felt suddenly awkward. He wondered if he should join her, or at least say a single word to draw her into the company. If she had met his eyes he would have tried, but she didn't. She gazed out across the valley they had climbed, hands cupped around one knee, face slack and distant. It didn't seem to register with her that she was alone.

"Would you like a sandwich?" Pumpkin asked her, finally raising the courage to walk over. She blinked a few times, and her empty eyes filled with bright focus as she looked at him.

"Sorry?"

He held the food out mutely. She smiled her thanks and unwrapped it, taking a hungry bite.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you." She mumbled with her mouth full, "I was talking to Inva. Hearing two voices at once is... it's strange."

"Who's Inva? Miss." He added, belatedly remembering that she was his superior officer's superior officer. The girl flashed him a genuine smile and pointed far into the distance.

"She's a kestrel - see her? She's keeping me updated on who's doing what down there. There's no point launching a surprise attack if they've moved to another valley, after all."

Pumpkin squinted. If he shielded his eyes he could see a small speck in the misty sky, but it might have been a cloud for all he could tell. Even if he raised his voice and yelled out he doubted the speck would have been able to hear him. He looked at the girl, half incredulous, half respectful. As if she knew his thoughts she avoided his gaze and took another bite out of her sandwich.

They moved again at sunset, using the setting sun to find the western side of the Scanran camp. This time the girl moved more slowly, checking back from time to time to see if her companions were following in the dark. Many of the men cried out in alarm when, with a shriek, a great black shadow swooped down on them. The wild mage snapped out her first order: don't fire!

Pumpkin watched as she held out her arm and the shadow thudded into her shoulder. It was a bird. For the first time, he noticed that the girl had a hardy leather guard on her left arm and shoulder, where the bird's sharp claws might dig into tender flesh. It seemed gentle enough, though. It only stayed for a moment, briefly nestling against the girl's shoulder, and she smiled and touched its head before it flew away.

"Inva?" Pumpkin heard himself asking while he withered under the stares of the men. The girl nodded and spoke to Flint as well when she explained about the bird's scouting.

"But it's dark now, and she's not a night flyer." She finished. After that comment, it didn't horrify the men as much when an enormous barn owl thudded silently onto her shoulder. Mistress Sarrasri greeted it with quiet delight and then sent it on its way. "We're close. The others are waiting for us to make the first move." She said in a suddenly serious voice. "We'll get as close as we can and use our ambush to take out as many as possible before they realise something's wrong. Don't let them scream."

Pumpkin hid a shiver, and saw that several of the men saluted the girl with newfound respect as she led them onwards. Her carelessness that morning paled in their minds as they understood that she had been using the animals to intricately map out the area. The ruthlessness in her words - and the unflinching deadly command in the last four words - made them grin and start checking their bows.

They climbed to the side of a ridge and then helped each other to scale the sheer rock wall. The wild mage started using hand signs instead of words, gesturing for them to crawl across the top of the rocks and ready their arrows. With the grim focus of imminent death, every man obeyed her.

The first twenty men fell silently, or as silently as death would allow. Certainly the people gathered on the rock face could not hear the sounds of choking as the arrows cut off their air, nor the rattle as blood poured from their convulsing flesh. They shot cleanly and notched a second round of arrows neatly, if a little hastily. Their second volley made a few heads turn suspiciously, and the third raised the alarm. As their cries echoed in the still night air the southern ridge lit up with flares of magic and the reflection of their fire on bright steel armour. In a roaring wave, like the remorseless tide, the infantry surged into the camp.

"Follow me!" The wildmage scrambled to her feet and they started slithering down the rocks, knowing their vantage point could easily turn into a target. They ran into the woods and caught their breath.

"You all shoot so well," Mistress Sarrasri gasped. "Is that why you were assigned to me?"

"No, we..." Flint started, and then flushed and doubled over, pretending to catch his breath. It was too late - the girl had noticed, and when he straightened up he knew by her folded arms that he must answer. "We were told to guard you while you scouted, and follow your orders... of course."

"I don't need a guard." She said icily, and a haughty stiffness crept into her posture. "I got orders that since I was scouting anyway, it would be easy enough to lead you to a good vantage point. I didn't ask for a guard. I wouldn't bother. Someone's sticking their nose in where it's not wanted." She shouldered her bow and stared back around the base of the ridge, towards a second vantage point. Seeing her furious expression and thunderous footsteps Pumpkin pitied the first Scanran she met.

They circled the encampment, taking up several positions and then slipping away before the Scanrans could work out where the arrows were coming from. It didn't help the Scanrans that their bowstrings, halters and even shoelaces were suddenly frayed to shreds, and the horses seemed too skittish for the cavalry to even saddle. Several men were tripped up by the camp's dogs and fell sprawling into the mud, to suffer bites, clawing or - as a final humiliation - a well-aimed cocked leg and a soaked helmet. Pumpkin found himself pitying them a little, but mostly he was relieved that the wildmage was on their side. Even her owl was cheerfully swooping down on unsuspecting men like a deadly phantom.

At their sixth posting the girl stumbled and caught herself against a tree. Pumpkin noticed that in the light of the burning tents she looked pale and tired, although she quickly collected herself. After they released a fresh volley of arrows she led them back down into the woods and then gasped, drawing herself back from the trail hurriedly.

"They've cut us off." She whispered to herself, and then beckoned Flint closer. "Captain, we're trapped. Ten men - and it's the only trail."

"Only ten?" Flint grinned and signalled to the men. "We can help out after all, then, Miss."

"I don't need protecting." She reminded him, looking mulish, "Normally I would just fly away."

Flint grinned again, wolfishly, and led half of his troop into the woods. There were the sounds of a brief scuffle, as the approaching Scanrans had not realised that the Tortallans knew where they were. Taken by surprise, they died quickly. Flint was about to rturn his men to the trail when he heard the rustle of disturbed branches, and signalled for Pumpkin and another man to scout a little ahead. When they returned, their faces were pale and they signalled that they should return to the clearing.

"We're surrounded, and there are a lot of them." Flint explained rapidly to the wild mage. "I think they're retreating towards us."

"If it's the retreat then the others will try to stop them," The girl said, but she looked grim as she checked her quiver. There weren't many arrows left. Most of the archers had nearly run out. They shrank back into the trees, finding defendable positions and checking their daggers were ready to be drawn. Flint and Pumpkin stayed near the girl, who for once didn't scowl at them.

"You could shapeshift," Pumpkin suggested in a low voice, thinking that if he was going to die then at least he would see that marvel first. Mistress Sarrasri shook her head.

"I'm too tired. I'd fall out of the sky. And besides..." She looked around at the men and bit her lip. "I would never run away and leave you all here."

Flint patted her shoulder in a soldierly way, and she smiled and gripped his arm briefly. Then they both crouched down, notched their bows, and focused on the trail. The sounds of the approaching army got louder, and the trees were silhouetted as torches lit up the trails. Listening to the hudreds of footsteps, they knew they would be ounumbered. Pumpkin gulped and wished his feet weren't so wet and muddy. He didn't want to have cold feet when he died.

A loud explosion tore through the air, lighting up the sky. The men cried out and covered their heads with their hands, but the wild mage leapt to her feet and stared anxiously into the distance. While the others waited with racing heartbeats for the next cataclysm to hit, she bit her lip and her hands clenched at her sides.

A second explosion rang out, and the misty air was shredded with a rainbow of flames and smoke and arrows and magic. The trees were ripped from the ground, and a large crack ran through the mud and snaked towards them. The girl cried out and stepped back, but as soon as it reached her feet the earthquake stopped. Seizing Flint's wrist, she pressed his hand to the ground before another crack and saw that the horrendous force stopped for him, too.

"It's alright!" She cried, raising the captain to his feet. Unbelievably she was beaming, and she looked almost manic in the war light. The archer stared at her and she tried to look more serious. "It's alright, it won't hurt you. Come on, it's time to go!"

"Towards the explosions?" Flint yelled back. She planted her hands on her hips.

"Of course towards the explosions!"

"We're supposed to protect you!" He returned, catching her elbow fiercely. "And it's insane to..."

"Ugh!" She went still for a second, and then something about her seemed to unfocus. Flint cried out, his fist closing around a suddenly empty sleeve, and then the wild mage stepped back and she had two arms again. Not waiting to see the captain's slack-mouthed horror, she turned on her heel and started to run towards the camp.

"Unbelievable." Flint muttered, staring at his fingers as if the fighting had stopped altogether. "She runs straight into the explosions. Of course she does."

They reached the camp when the fighting was nearly finished, and apart from a few skirmishes they made good time. Still, it took them precious minutes to find the girl. When they finally saw her she was being held tightly by a shadowed figure. It looked human in size, but in the dark night it moved and shifted so that it was almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Anyone - even an experienced scout - could easily be seized as they passed the shadows. Flint cried out an order, and the entire troop notched their bows.

"Don't fire!" The girl shouted, and covered her face with her free hand. Her shoulders shook, and the figure looming over her laughed. Flint hesitated, but did not let the men lower their bows.

"Unhand her," He ordered. "Or we will fire."

The figure stopped laughing with an effort."She told you not to."

"Hostages will say anything." Flint sounded like his teeth were gritted. The tall figure drew in a breath, sounding appalled as he looked down at the girl.

"Hostage?"

"You're still wearing a cloaking spell, love." She informed him. The figure muttered something under his breath, waved a hand, and then seemed to shimmer. The darkness that had cloaked him drained away into the ground, and revealed a thin human shape. Flint winced in recognition, much to the amusement of his men, and bowed respectfully.

"Master Salmalin,"

"Captain Flint," The mage returned the bow, and then noticed that the wildmage was watching him incredulously. "What?"

"You know who he is?"

"Of course!" The man said rather flippantly, and then turned to the troop of breathless, rather irritated archers. "Did you run away again, Daine? Captain, I do apologise. If it's any consolation, you've done a lot better than the last three groups. The first lot lost her in under an hour. It was after she got distracted by... what was it, magelet? A bear?"

"Fox." She looked dazed. "It told me there was an ambush, so I... Numair." She stamped her foot like an angry pony. "You've been keeping track of me?"

"I don't have your birds, so I resort to talking to humans." Pumpkin was impressed by how dry the man's acerbic retort sounded. The girl looked far less amused, folding her arms and scowling up at the mage as if he hadn't just flattened half a forest with two bursts of magic.

"Those ultra-important really-secret orders which these men have been following," she said with baited impatience, "Came from you, didn't they?"

"No." he replied far too quickly. The girl's eyes narrowed. Shouldering her bow, she stalked away from him and this time she didn't just leave footprints, she splatted through the mud violently enough to send it splashing onto Master Salmalin's breeches. He pulled a long-suffering face at her back, which she didn't see, but Pumpkin hid a smile.

"Captain Flint," she said, "We need to start a sweep of the surrounding woods. I'm sure there are some soldiers out there just itching for revenge. I'll call an owl or a bat for every... every two of your men, and we'll work out a system. It should only take a few hours, with your men's assistance."

"Yes, miss." He saluted, hiding a smile, and began sorting the men into pairs. The wildmage closed her eyes for a moment, and the sky was suddenly dark with night creatures. They perched on fallen tents and rickety weapon stands, hovering high above and gripping her sleeves and hair.

"Report to your bird or bat, and they'll bring messages back to me." She told the men. "If you need help I'll send the rest of the birds to you sharpish. They'll fight, but in return if any of them get hurt you must carry them back to camp so I can heal them. The captain and I will find the maps in their general's tent and copy down anything you find that's worth knowing." Looking around at Master Salmalin with a scathing challenge in her eye, she raised her voice and announced to the archers, "Since we've been thrown together, we might as well make the most of it."

Looking at her, facing down the black mage with barely restrained fury in her eyes, Pumpkin suddenly saw the wildmage from the legends. She was still small, and young, and dressed like a civilian, but she held herself with arch confidence that knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

The birds and bats surrounded her in a swarm of black eyes and sharp beaks, rustling and grumbling in the cold air and following her every move. With a single command she could have made them attack, and in a shriek of fury and feathers her command would be the final words her victim ever heard. She was strong, and fearless in her strength. Pumpkin understood that she was doing it on purpose, trying to prove something to the man who looked back at her with steady eyes. For a moment they all waited, almost holding their breath as if a single sneeze would send those birds screaming into flight.

Then, almost imperceptably, the man lowered his head and smiled. That was all he did - half a nod, and half a smile - but the girl instantly relaxed. A thousand words seemed to have been shouted between them, and yet there was nothing but silence.