Roger and the Leopards move closer to friendly lines and Edmund. The Chevauchee draws closer, which they see first hand, Roger is given some more background on the mysterious Eldars culture and ways, and tries to finally complete his mission...
They came in the early morning to the town of Rimya, a week after the first refugees from some far off towns arrived, warning the citizens of Red Neds troops. They burned the crops,it was said in the tavern, burned the towns, and committed unspeakable horrors on the people. But the townsfolk did not heed these warnings. The great Sal-Hadin had protected these lands after all. The warriors of Yalat and their allies had come this far before, but the emir had halted and defeated them. What were a few thousand foreigners? So life went on, the wheat harvested, the grox and cattle cared for, the water well checked everyday for any imperfections. The sharif of the town, a content and heavyset man, told his people to not worry, the town's guards would protect them. They practiced their swordplay, practiced their bows, even did horseback archery.
The early dawn light was leaving a dim, almost golden look in the air. The woman, newly married to one of the guards, had left her home early in the morning to get water from the community well. While pulling the full bucket up, she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming from down the street. She dropped the bucket as the two came into view. They were not the local guards, that was certain. One was wearing a set of armor, in a similar style to the princes from Al-Madin, metal plate and chainmail, but on the man's back were two circle like pods sticking out. The other man was decorated in a coat that was the most colorful thing she had ever seen in her life. As the pair got closer, she saw it was something similar to what the sipahis put on their shields, a symbol with a blue lion on top of a red stripe, three black flowers across the red. The two stopped next to her, the man in the decorative coat smiling politely, the man in armor's face hidden by his helmet.
"Pardon me, madame. Is this the town of Rimya?" he said in a strange accent, but understandable, it was Low Gothic afterall.
She nodded nervously, her eyes darting from the man and the soldier.
"Is the rest of the town awake? I need to speak to the man in charge here, and I was hoping most of the town would hear my announcement as well."
"I… can wake the almda and the sharif. They are in charge here."
"Marvelous. Me and Sir Adam will wait here. Do you need any help with the water?"
"I'll be fine," she hurriedly said, running off to get almda Fahd, the elder and long time leader of Rimya and the sharif.
XXXXXX
Half an hour later, most of the town were in a circle around the pair, Fahd and the sharif approaching them. Fahd cleared his throat and spoke, silencing the murmuring of the crowd around him.
"I am Fahd, almda of Rimya, servant of Sal-Hadin, and leader of the people in these parts."
The decorated man bowed in respect from the saddle.
"I am Mark Hawkswill, standard bearer and herald to the noble knight Sir Thomas Mordale, commander of the seventh company of the Third Anglerre Regiment of the Imperial Guard, commanded by Baron Nicholas de Boham. I, along with Sir Adam de Shank, my escort here, have come to inform you that my lord Sir Thomas approaches. He wishes to inform you that he is willing to spare your lives and wealth."
The last statement brought gasps and angry curses from the crowd, which Fahd quickly silenced with his hands.
"You threaten us?"
"The army of Prince Edmund threatens you, almda. Your town and crops will have to burn to prevent our enemies from continuing their ridiculous rebellion against the forces of the Imperium and the Emperor."
Now Fahd got angry.
"You will destroy everything we have, and you have the nerve to come and tell us this?"
"Prince Edmund has ordered us to inform the citizens of any settlement that his troops come to that they will be given the choice to rejoin the forces of mankind and evacuate behind our lines, or they will be determined as enemies and dealt. As. Such."
The venom in Mark's voice at the last few words was intentionally dramatized. He had done this before, at least three times already. Fahd shuddered and spoke after a few moments.
"What is your purpose here then?"
"Until proven otherwise, you are loyal Imperial citizens. As commander of Imperial Guardsmen, Prince Edmund swore an oath to protect the citizens and innocents of the Imperium. He regrets having to damage your livelihood and homes, but he has done his utmost to spare your lives, and when victory is achieved, you will return here and have your lands and homes rebuilt by the Imperium at their own cost. But you now have a choice: leave this place and come behind the safety of the Princes lines, or stay and be considered traitors."
Fahd and the crowd turned silent, but the feeling of growing fury and outrage was easily noticed.
"Almda, I have made that same speech three times before I arrived here, and every time I received acquiescence. I understand your anger, but this is war."
"Tyrants!" one man shouted in the crowd, but the herald and his knightly guard ignored it.
"If you need time to decide, please let us know. We can give you-"
"Go to hell Angle-man. We would rather die than leave our homes and let you destroy everything we have built," Fahd snarled.
Mark's face sank and he nodded.
"Very well. I will inform-"
He was interrupted as one of the town guards, hidden on a nearby rooftop, shot an arrow that barely missed the herald's head. Like a statue suddenly brought to life, Sir Adam snapped his laspistol from his holster, and shot a perfect red line into the bowman's head, boring a hole in his skull. The crowd closed in on the pair, but between the fact they were on horses and had now drawn melee weapons, the smarter ones ran from the two, the braver, or stupider, depending on ones way of seeing things, were cut down by Adams sword or beaten by the heralds mace as they rode off, arrows soaring past them.
As the two vanished from sight, Fahd and the sharif quickly tried to help the wounded, while town guards rushed to their sides. The sharif looked at Fahd nervously.
"What do we do?"
"We prepare defenses. That colorful man was not wrong, they're going to come for us. We need to get our people to Al-Madin. If we can-"
Everyone in the square stopped and turned to the noise. To their combined horror, there were twenty or more men on horses now. And even more infantrymen. The leading horseman looked at Fahd and smiled, teeth missing and a massive scar on his face.
"Ya shoulda fucked off, mate."
XXXXXX
An hour or two after his herald was attacked, and the people of Rimya lost their protection guaranteed by Edmund, Sir Thomas Mordale, in his heraldry covered surcoat and powered armor, sat atop his horse as he watched his company tear the town apart. The farms around the village were the first to burn, followed by the storehouses, then the town itself. The cries and shouts of his men tearing through Rimya echoed off the wall, over the sound of roaring flames. The shrieks and sobs of women also could be heard, but did not get a reaction from Thomas.
"Any casualties?" he asked his centenar, his highest ranked non-commissioned officer.
"None sir. One man wounded trying to take a man's wife and daughter. Stabbed with a fire-poker."
"Not too much damage?"
"Nasty gash in his leg. Other man came out worse though. Actually no, as bad as he was, wife and daughter got even worse. Really got it from what I saw."
"Pleasant. I'm more concerned about the fires catching our men. I noticed they took more than a few liberties with the drink they found here. I don't want a soldier burned to death because he was too drunk to get out in time.
"Aye, my lord."
The centenar jogged off to some of his men, barking orders and telling them to stay out of burning buildings, or light them up when there was nothing left to take. Thomas turned to his herald and Sir Adam.
"You tried to talk sense into them?"
"Yes, my lord."
"At least you took out that bowman Adam. Better still he didn't have half the aim you did."
"Yes, my lord."
"Er, my lord, I tried talking sense to them. But that mayor, the alm something, he wouldn't listen. I don't think that the bowman was planning from the start to fire at us. Emperor bless us that it ended like it did."
"I don't think they would agree with you," Thomas jerked his head to the dangling bodies of Fahd, the sharif and a few guards, hung from a hastily made gallows in the first moments of the burning of Rimya. He looked at the old man, his tongue sticking out and shock on his face as he twisted in the wind. He sneered and looked away when he noticed the man had shat himself after death.
"What a mess."
Suddenly, stumbling from a nearby house, a woman, covering herself with a blanket stained with blood, tried escaping her tormentors inside, slowly moving away, more blood running down her legs. Suddenly one of Thomas' men walked out from the house and grabbed her by the hair, laughing as she let out a pathetic cry.
"Not finished yet, ya bitch. Boys! I found her! Ready for round five?"
Laughter came from the house before its door was slammed shut. The herald uncomfortably shifted in his saddle and twisted his face in disgust.
"This is your first campaign, Mark?"
"It is, my lord."
"Get used to this. This is actually pretty tame. I remember one of my first times in command of men. Half a company. Siege of some city, years ago. Think all of whats happening right now on a scale of hundreds of thousands. Hell of a time."
He didn't say the screams and faces of those he killed that day haunted him every night, but he had to be the firm soldier and knight he presented himself as. He was about to make another comment to the slowly paling and ill-looking herald when a few mounted men at arms rode towards him at speed.
"My lord!" one of them called out as they slowed their pace.
"Serjeant. Something wrong?"
"We found two people watching us. Man and a woman. Man is saying that he's a member of Edmunds household and reports to Lord D'Uxford."
"That's strangely specific."
"He showed us some papers and a sealed warrant. I believe him, but you'd probably know better than us."
"Alright. Anything else?"
"We found a noble's house. We… did take our liberty with it, but he had a full library. And you did say to look out for those."
"Oh good! Where's this mystery man now?"
"Outskirts of town, he's under guard."
"Good. Take me to this library, then bring him to me."
"Very well my lord."
XXXXXX
Roger Wessyng stood in front of a well maintained and very large home, waiting for the arrival of whoever led the men pillaging this God Emperor-forsaken town. The fires that he had seen nearly a week ago had been closer, but in order to avoid refugees and patrolling scouts, seeing what the attackers were doing and reporting back to Al-Madin, he had ordered the Leopards to move around the burning villages. Having come closer to Edmunds headquarters, he had finally given the order to move in on the raiding parties, ordering his Eldar companions to hide or stay out of sight, for fear of being attacked by his rampaging comrades in arms. There were still bodies in the street, others hanging from poles, and the sickly smell of burning houses and flesh permeated the air, causing him to cough and cover his nose. He turned to the door after hearing the cacophony of clanking metal. Sir Thomas appeared from the doorway.
"Ah! Serjeant! I apologize for not getting you earlier. Had to scare off some of my boys from here. Not sure if I got all of them."
"I understand my lord."
"Come with me, whoever lived here had a hell of a library, and I've been trying to dig through it. Are you a literate man?"
"Most or all of Anglerre is, my lord."
"Ha! I mean a well-read man, serjeant."
"I try to be."
"Then come along. We'll discuss your circumstances there."
Obeying, Roger moved with the knight through a ransacked abode. Paintings torn down, rugs pulled in all positions, priceless heirlooms chucked from their places of honor and shattered into pieces, a right mess if ever there was one. Heading up a flight of stairs, they turned into the library itself. Roger stopped and stared at the body of an older man, probably the owner of the house, his head bashed in by what was most likely a lasrifle butt.
"Damn, I apologize for not telling you. My men have taken a particular gusto to Chevauchee. It's in their blood. What part of Anglerre are you from?"
Roger cautiously stepped over the body before answering.
"Susich, my lord."
"Ah! Good land down there. Visited it many times. My family is from the north, as are my men, if you couldn't tell from the accents. Thicker than custard, Edmund told me once. I understand them perfectly, so if any of them bother you and you can't figure out what they said, let me know. Now where was I… ah yes. "On the God-Emperor's Spirit." Tome that is. Read it once."
He picked it up, skimmed through the pages, the whole book the size of a man's fist from cover to end. He promptly chucked it into the nearby fireplace, alight from not only good firewood, but more than a few pieces of furniture.
"Trash. Most of this is. Take a look, if you want anything. I've heard about you before, you seem to be a smart man. Or at least smarter than my men."
Roger nodded and looked through the bookshelves. Nothing seemed to stick out to him.
"I thank you for seeing me, my lord, but I must be heading back to Edmund as soon as possible. My companion is-"
"A very pretty woman! And I heard you have a Royal warrant. Important man you are, aren't you?"
Thomas skimmed through another book, before stopping and turning to Roger.
"Tell me that isn't a concubine or lover of Red Ned you're escorting."
Roger snorted inadvertently in jest at the comment.
"No my lord, but she is extremely important to the war effort here on Haikk."
"Thank the Emperor," Thomas said before chucking the second book in the fire.
"Tourist trash. No great loss. I would have been shocked to hear that Edmund had gone native, as they say. Actually, he never really made sense. Whole family doesn't seem to."
Thomas paused and realized how close he was to possible treason as Roger focused on the growing fire devouring the musty pages of its newly added fuel.
"Still serve and respect them, mind you, but Edward marrying a nun? That's not normal."
"A nun who gave us a man like Edmund. And five other sons."
The knight nodded and laughed.
"Quite so! Quite so! As I said, you can never expect anything from that family or its offspring. I was right about you serjeant, smarter than you seem! Now, I hear you have an official warrant and orders from D'Uxford. I'll want to see them and- God-Emperor above!"
Roger stopped watching the growing fire and turned to Sir Thomas, who had a look of revulsion on his face. He was holding a book that had somehow offended him. He turned to Roger and flipped the book to show its cover. Roger frowned.
"That can't be."
"It is."
Sir Thomas held a copy of "The Awful Disclosures of Sororitas Monk", one of the most infamous and banned pieces of literature in the entire Imperium.
"I've never seen an actual copy before," Roger admitted.
"I have. Read it too. Supposed to be an expose on Sisters of Battle. It's lesbian pornography dressed up as a warning about the Adepta Sororitas. Want a look?"
Roger passively nodded and started flipping through the pages. It was quite the disappointment, the prose seemingly written by a teenager with hormonal issues, the subjects of the book outlandish and almost parody, and without a doubt the worst thing he had ever read.
"I thought it was banned for moral reasons," Roger muttered.
"It was banned because it makes you regret being literate," Thomas answered with distaste.
Roger chucked the miserable excuse for a novel in the flames, earning a look of respect from the knight. He suddenly snapped back to his thoughts and spoke again about the warrant.
"Right! Quite right. Do you have it on you? And your orders, if you don't mind."
Pulling the two documents out from under his surcoat, Roger handed them over. Thomas looked them over and seemed satisfied.
"All right. My men will be informed and let you and your charge through. Probably a day or two's ride to Edmunds headquarters."
"Are you alone out on Chevauchee?"
"God-Emperor no. The whole regiment is deployed around this area. The Captal and his Gasc's tore a hell of a path through before we rotated with them to continue the raiding. Ripped through anywhere close to the line, so now we have to go further out into enemy territory. But I communicate with every other commander in the regiment, so you'll have no difficulties."
Roger nodded.
"Thank you, my lord."
"Of course. Did you see anything that strikes your fancy?"
"Not really."
"Neither did I."
The knight grabbed a piece of wooden furniture, broken into pieces before the two entered the library, put it in the fireplace, and when burning at a reasonable temperature, lit up the bookshelves.
"Come now, serjeant. We'll get the two of you out of this hellhole."
The two headed out of the increasingly smoky library, only to be stopped by a man at arms exiting a room across from them. The soldier blanched and bowed his head.
"My lord."
"What the hell are you doing in here? This place is going up in smoke, get out!"
"Aye my lord," he said before turning back to the room he exited.
"Ralph! We got to go! Don't forget the candlesticks!"
The soldier tramped down the stairs quickly, when a woman, battered and bloody, slowly exited as well, her eyes swollen shut, scratches all across her. She slowly moved to the stairs, getting to the top of them before a man, most likely Ralph, judging by the fact he exited the room and had a candlestick sticking out of his rucksack followed. He bowed at Sir Thomas, and pointed to the woman.
"Bastard's wife. Can't take her back."
As she tried to get down the stairs, Ralph got behind her and pulled her black hair, causing her head to snap backwards. He quickly pulled a dagger, sliced her throat, and pushed her down the stairs. Her body was still as it stopped halfway down. Ralph sniffed and headed down stairs crying out when he got to the bottom.
"Jake! I'll trade you a candlestick for whatever you got!"
Roger and Sir Thomas followed him, looking at the unfortunate victim of the Chevauchee. Getting out of the building as it became engulfed in flames, Thomas spat a gob of phlegm.
"Bloody northerners, eh serjeant?"
XXXXXX
No one spoke of what happened to the small town in the Leopards camp that night. The Rangers had seen worse horrors for the most part, given their lifestyle. The Scorpions knew the power of terror and spreading fear throughout the populace. Only the Dire Avengers seemed to make any mention of it as Roger discussed with his forces, still not seeing the strategic benefit of such vicious warfare.
"It will only inflame the people you are trying to liberate," Moira said.
"I don't disagree," Roger said, almost apologetically. "But the damage to the food supply will further our goal of liberating this planet from its deranged rulers."
"Wouldn't you say killing innocents and burning farms is deranged?" another Avenger asked.
Rogers brow furrowed as he looked for an answer and quickly gave up on it.
"I'm just a foot soldier. Let the burden of whatever harm to the souls of my commanders weigh them down. I'm just trying to get us back to Edmund."
"How much further?" Kallen asked. "My sensitive feet are starting to ache."
"A day or less. It's all dependent on someone-" he stopped and looked over to the sleeping princess before leaning in to the assembled Eldar. "Has to keep taking a piss every two bloody hours."
A few chuckles and smiles followed.
"We're keeping her hydrated. This planet can be terribly cruel on the human form."
"Well cut it down a bit. I'm sure she'll be nothing but a dry husk by the time we get back to Edmund. Anyway, concerns, comments, questions?"
Blank stares and silence followed.
"All right. You know the watch schedules. If you're on it, get on patrol. If you're not, get sleep. We're almost home."
The group melted away to their duties or relaxation, but Roger called out quickly to Kallen.
"I'll ask D'Uxford or Farseer Alwyn for some form of transport. In light of your poor feet. I apologize for you having to use them for once in your long life."
Kallen grinned and vanished. Roger stood from the log he was sitting on and began heading to his own sleeping roll. As he moved past some of his troops, he noticed one of the Rangers not on watch drawing on something. He recognized her as Steryn, a companion of Anya. She noticed him and gave a slight smile.
"Serjeant."
"Steryn. I didn't know Eldar could have hobbies."
"I was an artist once."
"Why did you stop?"
Steryn stopped drawing and looked up at him.
"Can I ask you something serjeant?"
"Of course," he said, sitting across from her, "and please call me Roger."
"Very well. What do you know of our people, Roger?"
"More than most humans, I guess."
"Do you know anything about the paths?"
Roger frowned. The light from a nearby Eldari heating system, portable, shockingly light, was emitting a comfortable amount of warmth and brightness similar to a campfire, and shadowed half of his face.
"Can't say I do."
"A great disaster nearly destroyed my people long ago. We found that the best way to avoid further destruction and give us a chance of survival was to follow a set goal or line of work."
"Which is why men like Biuran become Exarchs. If you only know how to fight and that's all you are allowed to know…"
Steryn nodded.
"Rangers are different. It's why I became one. I wanted to become an artisan. But I was told I would be better as a-"
For the first time since Roger took command of the Leopards, he saw an Eldar show disgust on their face.
"Follower of the Path of Grief."
"Path of Grief?"
A new voice chimed in.
"Someone who lives only to show sorrow for the great losses we have suffered, and will suffer."
Steryn said something in Eldari, obviously a greeting.
"Hello Anya. Watching me again?"
"Of course."
Roger shook his head and turned back to Steryn.
"So what path does a Ranger follow?"
Steryn let out a small laugh.
"None. We are Outcasts. We follow no path. We experience everything, great and terrible."
"It also gives us a way out of being set upon a path we do not look favorably on."
"That's very sad," Roger said after thinking over the response.
The two Eldar looked at him with curious glances.
"How so?" Steryn asked
"My life was never set out for me. My father was in the service of law, and I wanted to follow him. But I was a third son, so my brothers had a better chance to take his place. I could've gone anywhere, but I chose to try and follow dad. Living without a choice on your future must be very painful for someone with talents they never use."
"Survival is preferable to agonizing destruction," Anya said.
Roger shrugged at this and looked at the drawings.
"May I ask what you're drawing?"
Steryn suddenly beamed and turned it around to show him. Looking at it, Roger realized it was the heraldry of Thomas Mordale, but it was a perfect recreation.
"I have been fascinated by your people, the… Anglois? Especially the noble ones and all their colors and styles of "heraldry." It's utterly fascinating to me. How a simple combination of colors, objects, stripes, lines and such can mean so much. It's… what I've been missing. My previous passion has come back in full force. If only those narrow minded-"
She paused, remembering Anya was nearby. Roger quickly pulled the conversation back.
"Did you see the man wearing the full coat of arms next to Sir Thomas? That's a herald. His whole life is looking at the styles of heraldry and identifying them. They have whole books and rolls of all the different variations-"
"I must see these books!" Steryn suddenly shouted, waking up a few nearby Eldar, who cursed and muttered under their breaths before going back to sleep.
"I can see what I can do, but calm down please. When we get back to Edmund I'll get something for you."
"Promise?"
"Of course."
"On the blood of Khaine you swear?"
"Uh… it'll be taken care of."
Steryn nodded excitedly and went back to work on Mordales crest.
Roger stood and walked back to his sleeping bag. He took off his armor and surcoat, crawling into the bag. As he tried to forget the horrors Mordales men inflicted on the innocents of Rimya, he heard a whisper from nearby.
"Goodnight Roger."
"Anya, aren't you on watch?"
"Correct. I am watching you."
"Great," Roger muttered as he went to sleep.
"Goodnight Anya."
XXXXXX
A day or more of agonizingly slow travel later, the Leopards had returned to the Cathedral and the massive camp surrounding it. The Eldar had been given orders to stay nearby but out of sight, the standard order ever since Roger took command and they were anywhere close to Edmund. Roger and Noura had been given a wide berth by the camp guards, and they were quickly meeted by an escort of Edmunds personal knights.
"Serjeant Wessyng. Good to know you survived!"
It was Sir Tristan Arganc, who had escorted the hapless serjeant after his near certain death by execution, seemingly forever ago.
"Sir Tristan! I take it alls well?"
"As well as it can be. Edmunds happy about the Chevauchee but he's still chomping at the bit staying here."
"Oh good. No changes then."
"Ha! It's not like we all vanished. Anyway, I take it this is the…"
"Yes," Roger said quickly, trying to quickly silence Sir Tristan with all respect. "Lord D'Uxford wants us to keep her identity under wraps until she's in Edmunds hands."
Noura was not paying attention, too busy watching in stunned amazement at the size of the army around her. She had only heard rumors about a large army near her former prison, but she had been unable to envision it. Now, seeing thousands of men in armor, bearing weapons, their tents in the countless hundreds stretching for what seemed to be forever, it was mind-boggling to her.
"She's never seen an army on the march. Let's get to the Cathedral."
"Very well."
Sir Tristan, Roger, and Noura quickly arrived in Edmunds makeshift throne room. The only problem was that there was no Edmund.
"What the hell do you mean he went out hunting?" Sir Tristan said to a nearby Royal guard.
The guard shrugged.
"He went out about an hour or two ago. Don't know when he's coming back."
"Bloody hell, we have important cargo and news! Tell me D'Uxford is here at least."
"Lord Robert is with Prince Edmund."
"Bollocks!" Sir Tristan growled as he headed back to Roger and Noura.
"I am very sorry, your majesty. Normally Edmund is a punctual man."
Roger shrugged and went to sit down on a nearby bench.
He thought about returning to his quarters in the basement, watching Sir Tristan and Noura continue talking. He was just thankful he was able to wrap up his first successful operation with the Leopards. Deciding to catch some rest, he laid his head back on the wall and closed his eyes. He nearly jumped when the throne room's doors crashed open.
"Look at the size of this stag lads! We'll be eating this bastard for weeks!"
It was not very hard to figure out who was speaking. Shooting straight up, Roger quickly moved to Tristan and Nouras side, bowing as the Prince and his retinue passed. One of the group broke off and moved to Roger.
"Lord D'Uxford," Roger said politely.
Motioning Roger to look at him, he could the man's face was strained and almost exhausted.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Yes my lord. No injuries, no casualties from my group. Well, we lost Al-Luz."
D'Uxford seemed to ignore the last part of Rogers report, color coming back to his face. He bowed to Noura and beckoned her to come with him, bringing Roger along. As they moved to get in front of Edmund, Roger gaped at the massive animal the Prince had apparently brought down on his own. Three servants were carrying it, all of them nearly buckling from the weight. Setting it down in front of the exuberant looking prince.
"Look at him. Thirteen points! Charged right into his side, put that spear right in the bugger's heart! Duck helped me get him! Nearly killed him, but I think the results speak for itself!"
He was talking to no one in particular, obviously a bit drunk, probably from the celebrations over his admittedly fine kill. He turned to find his long-suffering spy master, and blinked twice when he saw the two next to him.
"Roger Wessyng! Where the hell have you been? I was just thinking about you today! I was heading out on the hunt and saw a Cadian Guardswoman, redhead she was, and I thought of your friends…"
He grinned, laughed, and then noticed Noura.
"You got yourself a woman? Not a bad looking bird. I bet with a few of my household knights that you'd be shacking up with an Eldar soon. Guess I owe them a few pounds."
D'Uxford rolled his eyes and made an annoyed cough.
"Edmund, this is the Aamira of Yalat, Noura. Remember?"
"Uh…no. What the hells a Yalat? Some kind of disease?"
"For fu-" D'Uxford had finally reached the end of his patience, obviously. Roger cut him off quickly.
"Your highness, you sent me and the Leopards to retrieve her from imprisonment in Al-Madin. If I found and returned her, it would help the war effort, remember?"
Edmund tapped the side of his throne in thought. He groaned loudly and seemed to snap back to his senses.
"Right! Right! For General Corado! That's her?"
"Yes, your highness. I'll let her speak for herself."
There was a long silence after that. Roger nervously tapped her arm, still looking at Edmund. When nothing still happened, he quickly looked over at her. Looking at her face, he quickly realized the problem. He may not have known much about women, but he certainly knew that Noura, despite seeing Edmund at his arguable lowest and most embarrassing, was completely starstruck by the man.
"I-uh…your highness. I have heard much about you," she stuttered out.
"You have? Like what?"
"I heard you were tall. And you had very… elegant hair."
"Well I hope I met your expectations, your majesty."
Roger saw a flash of disgust on D'Uxfords face and he quickly spoke.
"Ed, I'll let you and Noura talk. I'll inform the kitchen of your prize. And I'll get some professionals to stuff and mount the head."
"Good old Ducky, always knows a man who knows a man. I'll let you go."
"I'll take serjeant Wessyng with me as well for a debrief."
"Alright. I'll speak with you later Roger. Good work."
The pair bowed and quickly left the throne room. As they headed down the stairs to the cell containing D'Uxfords office, the Lord of Clavham stopped and grabbed Roger's shoulder.
"This day has been a complete nightmare serjeant. I nearly got killed trying to get a damn animal for Edmund to put on his wall."
"Two days ago I was standing among corpses and burning houses from the Chevauchee."
D'Uxford grimaced and nodded before continuing.
"I guess it could be worse. You said Al-Luz died?"
"Killed as we escaped Al-Madin."
"Well that lessens the pressure on the funds Edmund gives me for our line of work. He wasn't that good of an agent. Had a tendency to annoy or aggravate anyone stuck with him, myself included."
"All I will say, my lord, is that convincing a Striking Scorpion to not murder someone in their sleep is a difficult task."
"Ah. Well-"
They finally reached his office, and D'Uxford pulled open the door.
"Let's start the debrief. I take it that nothing too crazy happened?"
Roger laughed.
"I hope you're ready to spend a few hours listening to me, my lord."
The door closed, and for all intents and purposes, the Leopards had completed their first mission.
