Zornhut: Chapter 13
Author's note: Zornhut, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.
The outcome of battle at the Shrine of Seals was not exactly what Raven would call a victory. True, while the lordlings had managed to convince Bramimond to remove the seals on the weapons they needed and the company had no fatalities when they fought against Linus' army earlier, a great number of the troops suffered rather considerable wounds. The company's forces were now reduced to less than half of its usual strength due to the injuries sustained. The final surprise however, came when they exited the shrine.
Nergal had decided to pay them all a quick visit.
The man had laughed when he revealed that his power was back at full strength, and forced Ninian to come with him. Then Raven remembered that someone had yelled for all of them to take cover, before the bright flash of light blinded him. The next thing he knew was that Nergal had gone and with him, Ninian. Apparently Eliwood and Nils had tried to stop him, but Nergal's blast of magic had rendered them unconscious--and if Athos had not shielded them with his magic, they would have perished.
Raven's somewhat bitter mood had improved since then, partly due to the company's current respite from travelling. Mark had ordered for a much-needed rest, so the company decided to camp near a small town for the past few weeks so the troops have time to recover from their injuries and restock on provisions. However, the mercenary's improving mood was largely due to one reason: the absence of Hector.
The Ostian lordling had departed for an archipelago west of Elibe called the Western Isles in search of a magical axe, now that the magical seals on all the legendary weapons have been removed. Hector's absence allowed Raven to think more clearly on the case of his parents; the lordling's mere presence, Raven privately admitted, had the unfortunate effect of annoying him. While Raven was now willing to give House Ostia the benefit of the doubt and that Ostia had no hand in the death of his parents, Mark's story had not much effect on his personal opinion of the Ostian lordling.
He still did not like the man very much.
He had spent the past few days servicing his equipment; he repaired the broken links in his mail armour and replaced the buckle and leather ties on his swordbelt. Once that was done, he then turned his attention to Priscilla's gear. His sister was too engrossed in helping out with the injured and studying magic to settle small errands like replacing her horse's tack and since he had not much else to do, why not do it for her?
As he worked, he contemplated all the possible explanations for the death of his parents. One by one, he studied each scenario as thoroughly as he could before he dismissed them all as unlikely. He simply could not come up with anything that fit in with what he knew, unless--
No, that is not possible, he thought sharply, and promptly dismissed that unpleasant explanation from his mind. He tried to, at least. It still pestered him the whole morning and finally he decided that another talk with Mark might be of some help in clearing his doubts, and headed for Mark's tent.
He moved the tent flap aside to find that the tactician had company; Merlinus and Wil were with him. The merchant and the archer were sitting near Mark, who was the very picture of gloom with his elbows resting on the makeshift desk, his head cradled in his hands and his face the most dejected of expressions as he stared at some books laid before him. Curious, Raven stepped inside the tent.
Mark did not even bother to see who had entered when he snapped, "If you're here for some money, forget it!"
Raven blinked.
"Uh, Mark," Wil said, tapping the tactician lightly on one shoulder, "I don't think Raven is here for that."
The tactician looked at the new arrival and promptly cringed. "Oh! Sorry, Raven. I thought you were--oh, never mind." He sighed and went back to staring at the books in front of him; accounts, Raven observed, as the mercenary approached the seated trio.
"Don't mind him," Wil said, grinning, "he's just a little depressed over how little money the troops have right now." A groan from Mark confirmed Wil's statement. The archer's grin grew wider before he continued, "Of course, Bartre barging in here earlier demanding for higher pay didn't improve his mood one bit."
Raven frowned. "I thought Lord Eliwood told him to forget the idea."
"He did, but I suppose Bartre is not giving up just yet."
Mark gave another sigh before he slammed his account books shut with a loud thump, startling Merlinus. "Oh, he won't bother me with it anymore. I told him that if Lord Eliwood said no, then it's the end of it." He paused before he added with a slightly embarrassed look on his face, "Well, actually I had Oswin tell him."
Wil snickered. "Oswin? Why?"
"Because Bartre's bigger than me, but Oswin's much bigger than he is."
Both Wil and Merlinus broke into laughter. "You had Oswin do that? I never thought you were this timid," Wil said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Whose side are you on, exactly?"
That sent Wil into another fit of laughter while Mark gave him a look that was slightly tinged with irritation. Apparently there were limits to the tactician's patience after all, Raven thought.
Mark sighed and turned his attention to Raven. "So what can I do for you?"
Raven had intended to discuss his parents' death privately with the tactician, but since they had company at the moment he settled for asking another question that was on his mind. "When are we leaving camp?"
Mark looked at Merlinus. "When did you say those supplies will come in?" he asked.
"Four days," Merlinus answered. "Trying to find enough to feed a whole company is tricky--the nearest town barely had enough for a third of us."
"We leave in five days, then. Eli--I mean, Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis could use the rest." Mark looked back at Raven. "Anything else?"
"Later, perhaps. I--"
Raven never got to finish what he wanted to say, for he was interrupted by the sudden commotion outside. Someone--probably Harken, Raven thought--announced that a message rider was heading for the camp before he heard the sound of footsteps and excited voices as some of the troops scrambled out of their tents to meet the incoming courier.
"More bad news." Mark's expression turned even gloomier.
Wil gave him a puzzled look. "How would you know? You haven't even read the message the courier's bringing in."
"No rider has brought me good news so far. I doubt that will change."
"Maybe it is not even a message. The courier might be someone who is bringing the company some funds from Ostia or Pherae," Merlinus suggested.
Mark immediately brightened. "Why, you could be right. Let's go and find out, shall we?" The tactician left his seat and stepped outside, while the other three men followed close behind, all of them somewhat amused with the tactician's sudden change in temperament.
About a third of the company--those who did not sustain any major injury during their previous battle at the Shrine of Seals--were already out of their tents and were looking curiously at the courier, whom had just rode into the camp. The tired-looking man dismounted and gave the reins of his exhausted horse to Dorcas, who led it away for a much-needed rubbing down and a good drink of water.
"Over here!" Marcus called to the courier; the knight was standing at the entrance of Eliwood's tent and holding the tent flap open, indicating with a nod that the courier should enter.
"Hmm. No sign of purses filled with much-needed gold," Mark observed, somewhat crestfallen. "Well now, let's see what word did our messenger bring." The tactician walked towards the tent and followed the courier inside. Marcus then stood guard at the tent's entrance with a firm look on his face that expressed his opinion that everyone else should just mind their own business--at least for now.
"You know, Raven," Wil said, gazing in the direction of the tent, "I would really like to know what's going on in there."
Raven nodded. "As do I."
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Mark stepped inside to find that Eliwood and Lyndis were already seated; the former looked slightly pale in his blue shirt, while the latter was dressed in a simple sleeveless robe. Her right shoulder was no longer swathed in bandages, but it was quite obvious she was still favouring the injured limb."Please, take a seat, both of you," Eliwood said, gesturing towards two stools nearby.
"Thank you, milord," said the courier in his gruff voice, "but my orders were strictly to deliver this missive and then leave." He opened his leather bag, took out a sealed parchment and handed it to Eliwood. "I am not required to wait and return with a reply."
"I see. Well then, ask someone in the camp to get you a warm meal. And please, you should stay the night at least--you need the rest, and so does your horse. I'm sure you can find a place by the fire, if there is no more room in one of the tents."
"As you wish, milord." The courier moved one step back and nodded in respect before he turned and left the tent.
Mark sat down and eyed the unopened missive; the seal on the parchment had the mark of Hector's signet ring. Eliwood broke the seal open and read the message in silence for a few moments before he spoke. "It's from Hector," he said, "and he needs our assistance."
"Is he in trouble?" Lyndis asked, concerned.
Eliwood frowned. "Not exactly. It says here that he wants us to send two of our strongest to assist him in some sort of trial. He needs to pass this trial and negotiation of strength in order to obtain Armads--that legendary weapon Athos mentioned to us." He then handed the parchment to Mark.
"Well, it's settled then. Tomorrow morning we will--"
"Excuse me, milady, but 'we'?" Mark interrupted.
Lyndis looked at him in surprise. "Why, I shall be the one to go, and Eliwood too, of course."
Eliwood nodded. "I agree."
"I am sorry, milord, milady," Mark said, "but neither of you are going."
Both lordlings stared at him in disbelief. "Why? Hector needs us, Mark! We should be there--we are his friends!" Lyndis protested.
"I am sorry," Mark repeated, more firmly this time, "but as I said, neither of you are going." He added in a much gentler tone, "Both of you are still recovering from your wounds. I do not think you are fit enough for the ride to the Western Isles, not to mention this trial of strength Lord Hector mentioned."
"I'm sure Serra or Lucius can take care of that. All they need to do is use a healing staff on us--"
"Milady, we agreed that the healing staffs are to be used in combat only. The healing powers of the staffs we have right now are almost depleted, and we must conserve their use until we can obtain some more. I cannot risk having the healers using them on you--we might encounter enemy troops later and have no healing staffs left to use in battle. Our supplies of vulneraries are low."
"But Mark--" Eliwood tried to argue, but the tactician did not let him finish.
"Are you satisfied with my performance so far, milord?"
"Well yes, definitely, but--"
"In that case, milord, you will not question my decision on this matter. Right now it is in everyone's best interests that I do not allow you to go to assist Lord Hector in that trial of strength. Now if you will excuse me, I need to inform the company of this and make some arrangements." Mark stood up and bowed slightly before he left the tent, leaving two surprised lordlings behind him.
Now I know why all tacticians have to wear these silly robes. It's so other people can't see how badly your knees are shaking when you have to make decisions you know your employers won't be happy with.
He stepped out of the tent to find a crowd waiting for him, obviously anxious to know the news. "All right," Mark said, "Lord Hector needs two of you to join him in the Western Isles in a trial and negotiation of strength." He held his hand up, motioning for silence as assorted volunteers expressed their intention to go. "I've already made my decision as to who is going, so please, calm down."
He looked at the faces before him for a long moment before he finally announced, "Harken and Raven will go."
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Raven stiffened. Why him? Of all people, why him?"Both of you can fight in both long and close quarters," Mark continued, almost as if he was reading Raven's thoughts, "and both of you do not have any major injuries. Get your things ready and see me after supper. I'll have sorted out your travel arrangements by then. You leave first thing in the morning." Finished, the tactician nodded in dismissal and headed in the direction of his tent, presumably to start working on those travel plans he mentioned.
Wil clapped Raven's shoulder. "Why the long face?" the archer asked, grinning. "Me, I'd be thrilled to go!"
Raven glared at him. "Shut up."
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Marcus walked briskly towards Mark's tent. He had heard earlier from his position at the tent entrance how the tactician had disagreed with Eliwood and Lyndis, and did not allow them to go to Lord Hector's aid. The two lordlings tried to object, but the tactician stood firm on his decision--something Marcus agreed with. The cavalier knew that his lord was still not fit for any hard travel, much less battle, and although it was indeed something hard for Eliwood to accept, Mark's decision was, in Marcus' own opinion, the correct one."Yes, Sir Marcus?" the tactician asked when Marcus stepped inside the tent.
"I… I just wanted to thank you, Mark."
The tactician blinked. "What on earth for?"
"Your decision not to permit Lord Eliwood to go to the Western Isles. He still has not recovered completely from those wounds he took in our battle against that Linus Reed. He does not show it, but I know that even moving causes him some pain. The same for the Lady Lyndis."
"I wish I could accept your thanks, Sir Marcus," Mark said, "but that was not the main reason I did not let them go."
Marcus was surprised. "It wasn't?"
"No." The tactician sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it," he said, his voice somewhat rueful, "Harken and Raven are excellent fighters, but they are also expendable. Eliwood and Lyndis however, are not expendable. If both Eliwood and Lyndis go and something goes dreadfully wrong with Hector's trial of strength and none of them return, there won't be anyone left fit to wield one of those magical weapons we need in order to stop Nergal. And there where will we be?"
Marcus nodded in understanding. "I must say," he said, "I do not envy your position at the moment."
The tactician chuckled. "I know. And to think I took up this occupation because I wanted to get away from sheep."
"Sheep?"
Mark laughed. "It's a long story. Perhaps I'll tell it to you someday."
"Perhaps. Goodnight, Mark."
"Goodnight."
