2k words
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Northern Brettonia was a forgotten place, as though the Gods had cleaned every feature and landmark away, leaving a desolated vastness behind. The Brettonians called it the Contreforts in their tongue, and the province was oft contested by Imperial lords who claimed it to be Empire land long before Brettonia’s kingdom had upstarted. When he’d still held rank, Roderick had heard the grumblings at court many times, the secret political undermining in motion to secure the lands from their staunch, western ally had been a common talk brought up by the Elector Counts and their advisors, especially from one Jaan van de Kuypers, the regent of Marienburg city.
Roderick could not understand all the fuss. Granted he was no merchant or politician, but these contested lands were wanting for resources and strategical advantage. Of the few villages his scouts had reported, all were poor, tiny holdouts of a few hut buildings, and they were separated by long, lonely roads between with almost no cover, which would make travellers easy targets to archers, or even the roosting dragons of the Grey Mountains to the south. Roderick had yet to see one with his own eyes, but one of the orcs swore he spotted a wyrm while on his patrol route, circling overhead while he’d taken cover in a rock cluster. Mazkha had believed him, and so Roderick had trusted the orc’s word and made a note on his map.
Occasionally they would see a castle, stone towers rising from lifted platforms that rose randomly throughout the steppes. The Contreforts were scattered with random lifted formations and plateau’s, no two ever closer than tens of miles apart, and the Brettonians had placed castles on near every one of them. This gave the forts an uplifted and defensive position, true, but there was so much open ground around them, one could simply circle them and keep the forts on the horizon.
Dry grassland with nary a tree in sight stretched on and on in their scouting. It would have been a very lonely place, if not for Mazkha and their men. Lonely, but far from relaxing. Despite the isolation, the scouts had come back of news of travellers and wanderers, some on horse and wagon, some on foot. Even the sharpest eyes could not be certain of their intentions, and even though they were described wearing plain garb Roderick told every one of his scouts to avoid contact at all times. “Any one of them could be a thrall to Chaos,” he’d said. “We won’t make the same mistake as those at Cassel had.”
He had also drafted up a letter to run back to Von Kessel, pleading the importance that the army travel far from the roads. Travellers, Chaos scouts, both had loose lips, and they didn’t need word spread of their presence by either. Concealment was a fickle shield, but it was better than nothing.
His initial scepticism of the orcs had quickly faded after the first wave off reports. The orcs were far from subtle creatures, but they turned out to be hard riders and just as fast as their Imperial counterparts. They were more boisterous than his men, always eager for to brawl, and each sighting they came back with they insisted was some great challenge they had to throw all their force at. Fortunately Mazkha was there to quell such ambitions, as she took it upon herself to be her liaison for the orcs, which he was grateful for. Allies they may be, but giving a greenskin an order had to be done tactfully.
“Got somethin’ from one of me boys,” the she-orc told him. She’d just been off debriefing a pair of returning riders who’d come up from behind them to the west. There had been delays and miscommunication during the first few days, but the gears of their daily scouting were now turning smoothly, and none of their riders were late to camp by more than a day.
Today they’d set up just beyond sight of one off the wending roads through the steppes, inside a huddle of trees who were so grey and thin they looked to be grasping to life. A tent would have proven much more comfortable shelter, but mobility was key out here, all the extra gear would just slow them down.
“What is it?” he asked, pausing to look up at her form his maps and papers littered with ink notes.
“Somethin’ nasty I think. A rider came back from his run to the east, and he claims he saw the end of a fight between two sides. Hundreds strong to each side, he says, and they left behind a massacre.”
“A battle?” Roderick asked, intrigued. He’d been expecting another group of travellers falsely reported as the enemy. “Any idea of who did the fighting?”
“He says both sides were ‘umies, not much else. They had riders, and he could hear cannon fire. Couldn’t get closer to tell without giving himself away.”
“Show me where,” he said, flipping his regional map and sliding it across the tree stum serving as his table. She placed a giant green finger on the parchment. “Right in our way,” he mused. “And not far from the Imperial border, either.”
“Think your kin are out there?” she asked him.
“It seems unlikely. We share militant access with the Brettonians, but if Marienburg is under siege there’s no point in sending a force this far north. A Brettonian force seems more likely. Hundreds strong, was it?”
“Yeah, it was. One side was finishin’ off the other when me boy left. Bet they’d be gone by now, it’s almost two days’ ride from here.”
“Gone or not, an army that big is a great danger to us, whoever they are. We need more information.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked. “Go find em’.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, ‘you’. You’d be better at tellin’ a good ‘umie from a bad one than us. Come on, don’t frown little knight. You’ve been pouring over all that parchment for days now, you could stand to get a few extra steps in.”
Roderick scratched his beard, which had outgrown his preferred length as of late. While he was no stranger to staying back in command pavilions while his forces moved, his recent travels with Skyseeker had left him wanting for more.
“Perhaps I could leave the command to the others,” he conceded. “The men know what we’re doing, and most of them wont be back for a while…”
“That’s the spirit,” Mazkha replied, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. If he were an orc it wouldn’t have bothered him, but the force of it sent the air from his chest. “My boy needs to rest up for a spell, but not to worry, I’ll come protect ya!”
“Because your brother ordered you to?” he asked.
“Because ya always surround yerself with your fellows, it’s hard to get ya alone. But now I finally get my five minutes with the little knight.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he joked, Mazkha putting a dainty hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, an oddly womanish gesture from such a powerful person.
“Oh, I certainly will, don’t you worry,” she said. “I’ll get my ride ready.”
She turned towards the orc side of the camp, Roderick’s eyes unable to help but wander. There was something about her movements that intrigued him, and only a fool wouldn’t think she was doing it accidently. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve her attentions, but he was lying if he thought he didn’t enjoy it on some level.
A sudden notch of shame welled inside him, his thoughts turning to Skyseeker. Her teases were just that and nothing more, yet he couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying his feelings for the Skaven. He should have shut down Mazkha’s advancements from the start, but he’d let them slide instead, and now he was returning them right back to her. He couldn’t’ deny she was an attractive creature, orc or not, but This was more than simple insincerity, it was as though the idea of flirting with Mazkha was acquiescing to the notion that Skyseeker was gone for good, and that made him feel like lead weights had been dropped in his stomach.
Had Wilfred managed to send word back to Von Kessel? Roderick wouldn’t know out here in the steppes, but he was doubtful. If his old friend hadn’t sent a raven in the weeks of marching from Lyonesse, why should that change? Thinking otherwise was folly.
Roderick frowned down at the map, as though it was responsible for his woes. Soon he snapped out of it, rolling up the parchment and stuffing it into a pouch on his belt. There was no time to feel sorry for himself, there was a mission to see through, an Empire to save.
He collected a few provisions from the camp’s stores, fetching his destrier from the clearing nearby. He relayed his orders to the sailors, warning them that any scout that comes back hold their patrols for now. It was odd to still refer to them as sailors, after all this time of walking and riding through land, even if they had come from Kessel’s crew.
When his men were all set, he saddled up his destrier, trotting it over to he edge of camp. Mazkha was already waiting, her leather vest matching the brown coat of her overgrown boar she was mounted. She followed him out as he trotted out of the wooded grove, her bundle of spears clacking against her back.
“Feels good to be movin’ around, eh?” Mazkha asked from his flank. “I know you’re the warboss and all that, but sittin’ in the saddle’s much better than hunchin’ over some papers, ain’t it?”
“I hope the men will be fine in my absence,” Roderick said, glancing back at the camp.
“You seem on edge, Roderick,” Mazkha noted. “Yer not gettin’ cold feet campin’ the nights with me, are ya?”
“It’s not that,” he said, though his heard did flutter at her meaning. “It was one thing to be ambushed by Chaos in that town, but now they may have a potential army here in the region. It’s troubling.”
“You need to clear yer head, little knight,” Mazkha said, placing her boar in front of him so his horse had to stop. “How about a race?”
“A race?” he asked.
“Aye! How about from here to that rise of there,” she said, gesturing with her chin. Less than a hundred meters away lay the edge of the grove, the expanse of the steppes stretching beyond. Double that distance was a hill, the wind combing its leaves in waves. “Let’s test who’s better, boars or horses, and see who’s the fairer rider of course, the little knight, or the orc huntress.”
Part of Roderick wanted to dismiss the notion – they were out here to scout for the enemy, not play her little games, but perhaps a hard ride would do some good. It wasn’t that they had to worry about the enemy for the moment, his scouts had cleared the surrounding area, and had assigned watchers at the edge of the grove just in case.
“Very well,” he said. “try not to linger, I’ll need your spear if there’s Chaos beyond that hill.”
“Already with the trash talk, eh?” Mazkha laughed. “How about we make a wager? Whoever loses has to hunt out dinner tonight.”
“Did you not bring rations?” Roderick asked, and she nodded.
“Yeah, but there’s wild game out here, and a juicy piece of venison’s gonna go down better than some salted meat. I’d call that a fittin’ reward.”
“As you wish,” he replied. They lined up their mounts at an improvised starting line, the necks of their respective animals roughly equal. Roderick gripped the reigns in his gauntlet, signalling to her that he was ready.
“On my mark then,” she said. “Three… two… one… ride!”