I don't know how you order stuff in the REAL army, but hey whateva goes in MAH story goes, k'? At least for the duration of this fic…
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9/10/101
"Scared?"
Connac looked up from his gloomy contemplations to see the dark visage of Mikael Kretz standing before him. He made a face. "No."
"That's my lad," Mikael said, patting him on the back. "The cries of battle draw near, but the sons of Fate yet stand stalwart…"
"Reading poetry again?" Connac murmured, toying with a shard of wood.
"Of course," Mikael said cheerfully. "Nothing like a good spout of Pierce to get you revved up for battle."
"Uh-huh." Connac sighed, setting down the wood with unnecessary force. "What is it, Mikael?"
"Oh, nothing," Mikael said lazily. "It's just that you've managed to miss the battle assignments meeting that General Kimiko insisted all the captains attend, all four hundred of us." He grinned, seeing the sudden look of slow shock spread over Connac's face. "Yes, you forgot, didn't you? Well, we managed to plow on without you. I'm to give you this." He shoved a roll of paper across the table.
Connac didn't move to take it, staring at Mikael. "The meeting?" he echoed, his voice slightly high-pitched. "Kimiko?"
Mikael laughed. "Don't worry! You weren't the only one, actually—I think Rosterham and Draymore missed it, too, at least as far as I can tell. Kimiko just shook his head in a sad, pathetic way and handed out the rosters. You, my friend, will be in the very forefront of battle, whenever that may be." He unrolled the paper, shaking his head at Connac's confusion. "I think Kimiko must harbor some sort of grudge against you, because that is one shitty posting."
Connac blinked. "I—I've never talked to Kimiko, not up close."
Mikael eyed him with interest. "Oh. Wait, did you grow up on tales of his mighty raid exploits, too?"
Connac nodded. When he had first joined the army, Kimiko was a rising star, lieutenant major already at the young age of twenty-nine. He was quick, clever, and debonair, the stuff of hero legends. When Connac (and a passel of other young men) had joined the army, the name of Jeran Kimiko had been whispered with something nearing worship. And now—now Connac had passed up the chance to talk to the man, gotten one of the most terrible possible postings, and even worse, the general had a bad mark about him already.
Great. Connac grimaced, rubbing his forehead slowly. Mikael shook his head in pity for his friend. "Ach, don't worry about it. Believe me, Kimiko's not all he's cocked up to be. I did a little jaunt under his command a little while back, and that assignment was hell and a half. Bastard doesn't know the meaning of caution. Anyway, I'm getting off topic." He stopped at this point, eyeing Connac with some concern. "You look like you're going to faint. Come on."
Tugging at Connac's shirt, Mikael urged his fellow captain up and out of the tent.
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The air outside was no better, reeking with sulphurous fumes. "The envoy?" Connac said, panting to overcome the gag reflex. "What's the Varden's response?"
"No idea," Mikael said absently, staring out over the Burning Plains. "You'd think it wouldn't take that long to come to a decision. I mean, why don't they just say we're not surrendering and get it over with? They're not going to just lie down and beg for us to take them."
"Maybe Rory got lost," Connac guessed. "Or got eaten by fire."
Mikael snorted dryly. "He would. If that's the case, then we'll go and sack them anyway, surrender or not."
Connac grimaced, then stiffened as a figure approached them out of the corner of his eye. He turned partially to meet the newcomer.
It was one of the many nameless new conscripts, looking very young and frightened in his issued gear. "Captains..." he trailed off, darting fearful glances at them as he tried to figure out what their last names were. Evidently giving up, he added, "Sirs, you're wanted in the…the general, he's over there…" With a shaking finger, he pointed at a crowd that was already gathering.
He stammered into silence, staring at them with huge eyes. Connac and Mikael exchanged wry glances, and then Connac asked quietly, "What's your name, soldier?"
The man—really, a boy—bit his lip. "Derek Smithers, sir," he muttered.
"Derek Smithers." Connac repeated the name and sighed. Four syllables that only scratched the surface of a person. By the time this battle ended, those sounds would most likely be gone, fragmented, the person who defined them dead.
"Copper for your thoughts?" Mikael prodded lightly, pushing him forward.
Connac jerked out of his reverie, smiling wearily at his friend. "My thoughts are a crown apiece, sorry. But I was just thinking…" He waved a hand around. "How many people will die between now and battle's end?"
"Quite a lot," Mikael said, shaking his head. "You agonize about the future too much, Connac. Take things step by step, all right? For now, we're all alive. We might not be alive two days from now, but why worry about that? After all, a man's fate is to die and there's nothing you can do about it." There was a crowd of men gathering ahead, and Mikael pulled Connac forward to their assigned places. "And yes, I'm a pessimist," he added.
"I didn't say anything," Connac protested, stepping into his place into the ranks.
"You were thinking it. Like it or not, you've got quite an open face." Mikael looked up and sighed, falling silent as Kimiko stepped forward.
Of the hundred thousand or so men that the Empire had mustered, only about two-forths of these men were professionally trained. The others were mostly conscripts, farm or city boys dragged up and pressed into service. The majority of them had most likely never held a sword in their lives, but there was little they could do about that now.
In the forty-thousand professionals, every hundred men were placed into a company under the command of a captain. A lieutenant major headed five captains, a major two lieutenant majors. A commander handled five majors, and General Kimiko headed the eight commanders.
In this chain of command, a full-captain meeting would be very rare, considering that there were about four hundred of them here. Kimiko seemed to notice this, his lined forehead creasing into a frown. "Captains, attention!" he roared, his voice rising over the masses.
They waited in expectant silence, every eye following the old general's every move. Kimiko shot a baleful glare over the ranks before grating out, "We have the Varden's reply!"
Silence. Steam was almost rising out of Kimiko's ears as he turned, barking something indistinguishable at two men behind him. They stepped forward smoothly, carrying a third man between them. The man's hands were bound behind him, a gag shoved between his teeth. He thrashed in his captors' hands, yelling muffled words that nobody could make out. Kimiko, his face red with fury, belted the man across the face.
The general turned back to the captains, his voice carrying clearly over them. "They refuse to surrender."
With a sudden violence, he whirled around and slashed the man with a knife, hacking viciously across his throat. There was a horrible silence, punctuated only by the envoy's dying gurgles. He fell to the ground, dead.
"And this is how we treat traitors!" Kimiko roared. "Every one of them will die for daring to defy the Empire!"
Pause. Then—
A single cheer rose, and then suddenly the men were cheering, roaring their exhilaration and triumph of even this small victory. Hidden within the blanket of sound, Connac glimpsed the messenger's body being dragged away. Kimiko muttered something to the men carrying him before turning back to the ground. His ice blue eyes blazed with a rigid fervor, and he raised a hand for silence.
It fell, an eager hush as they waited for him to speak. Kimiko said nothing for a while, eyes raking the assembled captains. When he finally spoke, it was in a calm voice, carrying nothing of the furious passion that had lit it up only moments before.
"The Varden have made their answer clear," he said, pacing up and down the ranks. "So now it is our turn to reply. We will destroy them. We will teach them to obey, teach them to submit to the empire! And you, all of you, captains of the Emperor's men, will do your duty." He stopped, a slightly manic smile playing about his lips. "Tomorrow. We will kill them."
Kimiko's fingers clenched into fists. Still carrying that strange smile, he stepped away from the captains. "At ease!" he cried. "Disperse!"
The ranks loosened, then separated. Through the movement of shifting bodies, Connac could see the glitter of a sword as they beheaded the messenger, tossing his head into a bag for the Varden.
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He retreated to the tent he shared with Mikael, a little shaken. Mikael joined him there, dark eyes glinting as he shook out their bedrolls. "You okay, Blackfire?" he asked, shaking his head.
Connac shrugged, standing to help him. As he aired out their blankets, Connac said in a low voice, "I didn't expect that."
Mikael gave him a pitying glance. "Listen. Kimiko—he's very loyal, very passionate, all right? Our emperor wouldn't put just anybody in charge of his entire army. Everything with the general has to be perfect, more perfect than perfect, and all in the emperor's name. I half-expected him to kill the envoy from the start; he's just that kind of man."
Laying out a blanket, Connac said quietly, "It's disturbing."
Mikael patted him sympathetically on the back. "Don't fuss over it. Kimiko's a regular saint compared to the two nutheads they have in charge of the magickers. Look, start a fire, I'll go nip some food off the quartermasters for us. Which would you prefer—stale bread, stale jerky, watery gruel, or hardtack?"
On that cheery note, Kretz strolled out of the tent. Connac watched him go, shaking his head as he groped for the packet of matches in his bag.
He had managed to get a good blaze going (which was saying something, considering his abysmal skills with fire) when Mikael finally returned, a slight sheen of sweat on his dark skin. Connac looked up at him, shaking his head. "What in gods' name took you so long?" he demanded.
Mikael shook his head, sitting down heavily by the fire. "Thought I saw somebody pinching supplies off the back wagons," the captain explained, wiping away his sweat impatiently. "Went to investigate, but all I found was a weedy blond conscript skulking around looking hungry. I could've sworn it was a dark-haired boy, though, but the fumes here might just be giving me hallucinations." Mikael grimaced good-naturedly. "And then that old toad of a quartermaster started giving me hell and a half for going into his sacred territory without his express permission. You will not believe what crap I had to go through to get the rest of our fodder."
"Wait, was the quatermaster Aberon?" Connac said, shaking his head in amusement.
"Yeah. What's that old man doing on the battlefield, anyway? He wouldn't last two seconds in any battle."
"Neither would the conscripts, you have to admit. But they add bulk and make us look more impressive. Hand me that, will you?" Connac gestured, prying the wrapped package from Mikael's hands. Unrolling the packet, he pulled a face at its contents. "Dried jerky, stale bread…is this water?" He uncorked in gingerly, taking a whiff and pulling back. "Barracks ale. At least a week old, I'd think."
"Well, that's what the men are getting, so I figured we might as well suffer with them," Mikael said with disconcerting cheerfulness. "I would walk over to the officer supply wagons and get the better provisions the captains have, but I decided that we shall make no distinction between our fare and the conscripts'." He grinned at Connac's wry expression. "Oh, all right, I'm lazy, too. But it's too far."
Connac shook his head in mock despair. Mikael laughed in reply.
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Night descended, bringing a soft hush of nippy chill with it. The two men edged closer to the fire, one of many upon the Burning Plains. The food was as bad as expected, with a faintly acrid smell of old metal, but it was filling.
"Mikael?"
"Hrm?" Mikael didn't look up from the fire; he was busy feeding more wood to the flames. "What is it?"
Connac watched him, feeling a dull pit of melancholy blossom in his stomach as he thought of the battle ahead. Idly, he said, "Do you have any…friends? Relatives? Family?"
Mikael tipped his head back, staring up at the stars as he considered. "My folks are still alive, as are my three sisters. I've got the army and a few drinking-bar friends outside, but most of them are here on the Plains, too. Why do you ask?"
Connac sighed, leaning forward to stir the fire. "What'll happen to them after you're gone?" he said quietly. "When all of us are gone?"
Mikael gave him a sidelong glance. "You're too bleak, Connac. We might not die. Granted, it's a slim chance, but we may just survive."
"But what if?" Connac persisted.
Mikael shrugged. "I suppose they'll cry a bit. Dedicate whatever's left of me to Arkita and her baying hounds of war. Who knows? Look, Connac, you shouldn't think about this kind of stuff right before a battle; you'll only drive yourself insane."
"I just…" Connac paused, then sighed. Aside from Beltane, the only other member of his family left was Salem. Who knew where she was? Was she happy, or sad, or dead?
Mikael patted his shoulder lightly and stood up. "I'm going to catch some sleep, Connac," he said. "You should do the same."
Opening the flap of the tent, he disappeared inside. Connac stayed outside for a little while longer, watching as fires all around him were smothered as the men prepared for bed. The only lights left were the dim lanterns of the sentries as they patrolled the army's border.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of depressing thoughts. Kicking dirt over the fire, he headed inside.
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The carrion crows drifted, calling out their harsh cries. Connac could taste blood and sweat in his mouth as he stood on the Plains, sword in hand.
"Captain!" a voice cried out. Connac turned partially, waiting for the soldier's report. "Sir," the sergeant panted out, "the dragon—the Rider, he's cutting through the eastern edge—"
He gasped slightly and fell, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Connac bent over him, knowing that it was useless already. It had happened so many times—inexplicably, without any sign or notice, companies of men died within seconds.
Connac sighed and turned away, staring at the streak of red on his sword. How many had died now? How many would yet die?
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Dark blood streaked down the figure before him, the eyes haunted, the skin corpse-white. Connac jerked back in surprise and revulsion, seeing this ghost before him. "What do you want?" he snapped, more angry than scared.
The figure took a halting step forward, moaning softly, a sound filled with lost pain. Connac backed up, eyes fixed on the corpse, warily keeping his sword out. "Who are you?" he asked again, uncertainty in his voice.
And then—
Pain struck, sharp and debilitating. Connac gasped, his head snapping up as violent fire streaked through his stomach. From behind, a cold hand encircled his neck, harsh breath in his ear. Looking down, Connac could faintly see the edges of a bloodied sword.
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Connac jerked upright, scattering his blankets everywhere. Inhaling too quickly, he choked, then gasped for breath as he fought to stifle a half-formed scream. Gods, he breathed, shock flooding his veins. What kind of—
He doubled over with a sharp cry, clutching the fabric of his blanket. A vicious jolt slammed through his stomach, spreading upwards in a sheet of white flame. Gasping, fighting for control, Connac retched onto the ground.
"Connac!"
He could see Mikael's face before him, wavering disorientedly in a gray haze. The mouth was moving; Mikael was saying something, but whatever he said was lost in the roaring in Connac's ears. His fingers tightened, and he screamed as another wave of pain struck.
Hands were carrying him, bringing him outside where the scent of sulfur and phosphorus was overpowering, a foul mist hovering in the air. Voices. There was screaming, shouting, wailing—all of it adding to an overwhelming cry that spoke of panic and frenzy.
And through all of it, Connac could only hear one word, repeated endlessly again and again. It drilled into his mind, scattering every last inch of resolve he had.
Poison…
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End of Chapter Forty
It's like 11:15 at night here and I'm seeing double images. –yawns and sighs- I should really leave review responses till tomorrow…jeez, I'm talking to myself…
But I do have cause to celebrate! Yay, the BP chapter is next! Finally! –cheers- After that, I can finally get some sleep on the weekends instead of slaving to write up new chapters…
Review responses, no?
NoEqual: Thank you. I feel quite flattered now.
Ariel32: Yay! You still reviewed despite technological problems. Kudos!
Yes, I'm a pessimist. Is it THAT obvious? –cackles evilly- Did you like Connac's demise? BWAHAHHAAA!
Alsdssg: Ooh, the BP chapter will be fun. I mean, I'll take the dialogue and crap directly from Eldest, but it'll be a great opportunity to show what I REALLY think was dancing through Murtagh's head on the Plains.
K.A.T. Hiwatari: Yeah, I figured that SOMEBODY had to die because of Angela's poisoning and all. At first, (meaning the first draft of this chapter) it was Mikael, but then the chapter started winding on and ON, much longer than it needed to. So here's the final result, and I'm happy.
Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Me too! –sobs- It'll be a day of both weeping and relief when I finally post that last chapter. I mean, okay, this fic really has taken up too much of my worthless life, but I'M GONNA MISS THEM! The ones that aren't dead, anyway…
Wait, they're all dead. What am I talking about?
Tallacus: Wow, a sex change before you're even born? That's gotta be nasty. Don't think Galbatorix will try it, though, because what would happen then? Galbatorix will hatch the third egg, Thorn and green dragon will have tons of babies, and EVIL DICTATORISM WILL RULE THE WORLD!
And then Paolini would have nothing to do. And we wouldn't want that, would we? So, no.
Aurora: A concert by Jolin! Ooh, I would DEFINITELY go with you! Only, I don't live in Sydney or anything like that…damn. Good luck finding someone to go with you. I'm so jealous!
Connac join the Varden? Crap no! He's loyal to Galby, strangely enough…
Silver sliver: LOTS OF TEACHERS GIVE HOMEWORK ON THE FIRST DAY. My teachers are EVIL! EVIL EVIL EVIL! –screams- Especially my goddamn math teacher. I HATE HIS GUTS! GAH!
Happy endings? Well, they're okay most of the time, but purely happy endings do tend to make me sick. There should be some ambivalence in an ending—mostly happiness, but half-cliffies are a must.
Mistress-of-Misery: Well, the barbed wire appears to have worked. No more plot bunnydom! Yay! –stabs bunny and giggles-
Nah, I attribute my tragedy-writing to WAY TOO MANY HOURS of reading stories where there's way too much death and gore for your own good. That and CSI. Wh00t! Go CSI!
Lyokolady: I guess we'll have to wait when the third book comes out, no? Do you suppose CP reads fanfiction? I know most famous authors don't...or they say they don't, anyway. –shifty eyes-
Emerald Tiara: Haven't you found that hating is rather energy-draining? I mean, it takes time and energy to hold up a grudge, even if you're spectacularly evil like me…Thorn's gotten resigned, I suppose. And never forget that even if they ARE pissed at each other, they still are Rider and dragon. Deepest bond and all that.
Palace ale is made up of a top secret combination of top secret ingredients. Shh!
Coffee Grounds: I know! I mean, I do like Eragon and Eldest, but there are just these holes in the books that I really hate. I keep on reading them and thinking, wow, you seriously need a rewrite! Maybe CP had writer's block when he wrote those sections, because they're horrible!
…or maybe he was being chased by killer French Roasts at the time…
Fallonaiya Sedai: Noo! How dare you call Connac greedy? –sniffles- Waahaaah! Anyway, THIS CHAPTER IS MY LAST DELAY! BP CHAPPIE, COMIN' RIGHT UP!
'Right up' here being a week or so, of course…
Amantine: -sobs- Once a week! ONCE A WEEK! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME?