2k words
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“I will do my best, Roderick.”
“Good man.”
Mazkha went to see to her own wounded, so Roderick decided he should do the same for the men. A makeshift hospital had been set up in the fort’s inner courtyard, and tarps had quickly been stretched over pinions to form a shelter. He saw both Imperial and Brettonian medics tending to the injured, and for once, neither side were bickering, not even so much as shooting lingering glances.
Roderick was no medic, healing others was a duty best left to Wilfred, but any soldier worth their salt picked up a few skills in basic first aid over the years, and he helped out where he could. He considered using the relic to help his efforts, the device made him feel so much stronger when he let its magics free, but he hesitated. The stave all but bent the will of others, it did not heal, that much he was certain of.
His shoulder was still bothering him, but he ran what errands he could, and his duties took him to tending to a man resting on one of the makeshift bedrolls. Before long, he was approached from behind, but when he turned to look it wasn’t one of the medics. “Did you put that daemon in the ground?” Von Kessel asked. He looked none the worse for wear since the raid’s conclusion.
“Bael? No, he slipped away, but the same can’t be said for his men.”
“You opened our gates, and you did not even take out their leader?” the Captain demanded. “What madness took you to put us at risk?”
“It is not madness to meet the foe in battle,” Roderick replied. The wounded man he was tending to had a gash on his leg. He dressed it with a bandage.
“But disobeying your commander is,” Von Kessel pressed. “I gave you explicit orders not to leave the fort, and you took my best defenders with you out there.”
“And I needed them. Many more would be dead if I hadn’t acted accordingly.”
“I do not like how you slight my command, Roderick. Who are you to say what could or could not have happened? We were holding just fine on the walls, you had no right to disregard my orders.”
“Captain,” Roderick said, tossing a dirty bandage into a wastebin, looking Kessel in the eye. “A mounted attack was the quickest way to break the raid, and an unused horse is a wasted one. Don’t take my words as an insult, but you are new to battle on land, your experience yields to my own.”
“And your sense of loyalty yields to mine. Who out of every man here was cast into exile for disobeying their superiors? I thought a dressing down from the Emperor himself would have taught you some manners, but it seems you haven’t changed.”
Roderick felt an insult on the tip of his tongue, but he willed it back, a tense silence brewing between the two of them.
“I’ve commanded these men for dozens of campaigns,” Von Kessel continued. “The next time you think to do your own thing, remember that.”
Von Kessel didn’t quite scowl as he turned to leave the hospital, leaving Roderick alone to finish his first aid. It seemed the good Captain wasn’t just upset at being undermined, but that he’d persuaded his own men into disobeying his orders.
He grumbled in frustration, giving the injured man some water before turning to leave himself. Getting on Von Kessel’s bad side was the last thing he needed at the moment. Roderick had once called out an officer during his younger years of soldiery, and while he didn’t expect to be put on latrine duty, it was never a good thing to have a superior single you out.
Perhaps he should have chosen his words better, being flippant had not helped his case much. Perhaps Skyseeker had rubbed off on him too much. Thinking about the Skaven made his mood sour. Had Wilfred found her yet? Why had he not sent a raven back with assurance? The silence was agonising, and his list of friends was growing shorter each day.
After this long night, he greatly needed some company, but the camp was full of strangers. That was not to say he did not know their names, but these were men of the Empire, comrades and friends were different in many ways. But who could he talk with, now that Von Kessel had given him a dressing down?
But then it came to him, and he took his leave from the hospital, following the path out of the fort. He looped the walls on the southern face, continuing along through the town. The bridge that crossed the river had been left untouched during the attack, and the orcs had camped on its eastern shore, their living arrangements mirroring its human counterparts on the western bank.
Their huts were of primitive designs, decorated with colourful bead chains and wooden fetishes that hung from the rafters by threads, and the occasional skull mounted on stake or shelf. There were shrunken bones that might mark a former dwarf, or elf, a couple of pointed skulls that could only have belonged to bats, btu mostly, the orcs displayed the bones of their own kind. He had to keep in mind that orcs fought their own tribes just as much as anyone who wasn’t a greenskin. They were not so dissimilar from Skaven in that regard.
His boots clocked against the cobbles as he made the crossing. He felt a small pang of apprehension on his way. He could see no humans among the orc ranks, and Roderick was watched by a sentry as he made his way over. It was early morning, the time before the sun made its presence on the horizon, but even in the gloom it wasn’t hard to pick out Mazkha. She and her riders had set up a pen within walking distance of the bridge, and they busying themselves dressing their wounds of unpacking their gear from the giant boars they rode.
Mazkha was presently sitting on a log, his back to him as he clutched her spear in her hands, her deep, olive skin reflecting the light of a nearby scones. It made her muscles look like shining emerald, the skin on her back shining from the exertion of their counterattack. The leather vest she wore looked painted on, her muscular chest almost fighting to break free from it. Greenskin or not, she was certainly a stout woman.
“So then, you ride these pigs into battle?” Roderick wondered aloud, looking to the boar that was closest. Her black locks flicked as she turned to greet him, her tusks making her smile toothier than a humans.
“Little knight! Yeah, real beauties, ain’t they?”
The oversized sow squeeked, a sheet of saliva falling from its wrinkly jowls.
“I’d dread to see what an ugly one looks like,” Roderick muttered. “How do you tame these beasts?”
“How’d you get on anyone’s good side? Feedin’ and pettin’, of course. They can be a right pain in the ass if they decide they don’t like you, but if you get on their good side, they’ll carry you straight into the realms of Chaos if you asked em’ to. You can pet her if you like, that one’s mine, on yer left there.”
“I think I’d rather keep my fingers, thank you.”
“C’mon, little knight, you ain’t afraid of a little piggy, ain’t ya?” She chuckled, and a couple of the nearby orc riders laughed with her.
“Nothing little about this thing,” Roderick replied, looking the boar up and down. It was over six feet tall at the shoulder, its head the size of his torso and very nearly level with his neck. The tusks that came out of its mouth were as long as a sword, its thick hide the colour of mud.
It was a true warbeast, but something about being made fun of by the greenskins made him reconsider backing away. He took a gentle step towards it, making sure he was in full view of the beast so he didn’t startle it. The hog raised a pair of dull eyes at him, its nose the size of a frying pan, snivelling at his approach. Roderick raised a hand toward it, the tensity growing as he brought his fingers in inch from its snout.
It suddenly nipped at him, and he flinched out of its reach, turning to scowl as Mazkha laughed at him.
“You’re a brave one, little knight. You didn’t think you could pet her without offering up a morsel first? Weren’t you listening? Here, think fast.”
She tossed him a giant slice of jerked meat, perhaps it was pheasant, or maybe even pork, but he got the message. He tried once more, and the boar considered the meat with a curious snort, before yanking it from his hand and gobbling it down. This time it did not try to take his fingers off, Roderick reaching over to give it a tentative scratch behind one of its floppy ears.
The beast even leaned into his touch as it grew used to his presence, Mazkha cooing as she watched with a big grin on her face.
“Aw, she likes ya!”
He amused himself with the beast for a few moments longer, then left it to eat its morsel in peace. He moved over to sit on the ground nearby Mazkha, the orcess watching him curiously. Perhaps she was surprised by his willingness to make himself at home amongst all her brothers.
He put a little too much weight onto his bad arm, and he winced, rolling his shoulder as Mazkha raised a brow.
“Yer arm still playin’ up? Thought you said it was fine.”
“It’s just a little strained,” he replied, the orc shaking her head. She had little hairbands tying up her locks, and they were decorated with blood-red beads that clicked together.
“Ain’t nothin’ little about a bad sword arm. Here, let Mazkha have a look.”
She stood, Roderick having to crane his neck to meet her gaze from his sitting position. He protested, warding her off, but she simply ignored him, lowing to her knes as she positioned herself behind him. “Stop yer fussing, humie,” she said, taking her arm into her hands. She was too strong that there wasn’t’ much point in resisting, Mazkha orienting his arm until it was straight.
“Alright, let’s test yer range of motion. Tell me when it hurts.”
She slowly pushed his limb in all directions, only relenting when Roderick started to wince. She tutted at him, giving him a pat on his good side.
“This won’t do, yer gonna have to take this off.”
“My armour?” he asked, shifting on the dirt.
“How else am I gonna treat ya through yer gambeson? Come on then, don’t be shy, you ain’t got nothing I’ve not seen before.”
Roderick considered sending her away, but his arm was hurting, and there wasn’t much harm in her checking it. He sighed, more of a show of relucatnace for Mazkha’s sake, then began to undo the straps. When he reached for the ones on his flanks, Mazkha beat him too it, her big fingers unlooping the knots.
“Something tells me you’ve done this before,” Roderick muttered, watching as she undid the sequence of straps, as dutiful as a practiced squire.
“This ain’t the first time I’ve dressed down a human before,” she said, laughing at his expression. “Ha! Not in that way, Roderick, I meant I’ve looted human bodies for their stuff.”
“Charming…”
When his plate and undershirt were set aside, Roderick shivered in the chill as his torso was left naked, Mazkha picking up where she’d left off. Her nails were giant, sharp things, and she traced his muscles from bicep to back with them. She didn’t break his skin, but there was a pressure that that left him slightly ticklish, but that quickly turned to white-hot pain as she neared his shoulderblade.
“Oh dear,” Mazkha muttered. “I see the problem now.”
“What is it?” Roderick asked, trying to peek over at what she was looking at.
“Well, yer left half is fine, but the right looks like a giant blueberry. You!” she suddenly barked, pointing at the nearest orc. “Bring me my waterskin, the blue one in me tent. Move yer ass!”
The orc scurried off like a frightened housecat. He looked just as imposing as Mazkha, but she was the warboss’s sister. She practically spoke with his voice, and it showed.