Chapter 208: Recuperation (2/2)
At some point while he was inside, Red had found a grassy patch next to the dorm to lay down in. Evidently, the afternoon sunlight had proved too strong, and the dragon had drifted off to sleep, ending up on his back with legs splayed haphazardly in the air. Every so often, they twitched a little, making Mike wonder what kind of dream he must be having.
[That looks like it should be uncomfortable for a creature with wings and bony spines running along its back, but I guess he's pretty tired out too.]
Despite Red's apparent unconscious state, he did seem to have enough awareness to send a mental message essentially stating that Mike didn't need to worry, because he had it under control. Although he was a little hesitant to believe the dragon, who looked about as relaxed as possible, he eventually agreed and headed out to run his errands.
With a quick application of Air Magic, he launched himself forward, angling for the infirmary he knew was established near the front. By this point, his mana reserves had almost completely refilled and he felt ready to face the aftermath of the battle.
Mike had access to some of the most potent Healing Magic on the continent, and he would feel morally remiss if he didn't make use of it to assist the injured Almiran soldiers. Not to mention, that it would give him a good opportunity to practice a little used skill.
He briefly considered creating another disguise, but he'd honestly gotten sick of all the lies and secrecy. There wasn't much point in trying to hide his identity anymore. Nevertheless, he wasn't quite ready to embrace the celebrity lifestyle, and therefore reapplied his now trademark mask. With this, the Dragonknight Erasmus would be getting a little more famous.
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”Manling! How long are we to sit and watch our enemies? My tribe grows more restless with each passing day. Soon they will attack with or without your permission, and I have little inclination to stop them.” The Orc Chieftain boldly stated as she burst into Morris's tent without any invitation or warning while he was in the middle of changing.
Morris had gotten used to Talgratha's blustery demeanor over the last few days. This particular invasion of privacy was normal for her, so he did his best to remain calm while pulling his pants back up. ”As I've said before, the Count has ordered us to hold position here and not engage the enemy until he signals us.”
The coalition force had arrived at the crossroads leading towards the capital, only to find an Orcish army, augmented by a small number of Tenundians, already encamped on a nearby hill. Since basic military logic dictated that trying to take the camp by storm, despite the enemy's notable terrain advantage, would not only be difficult, but lead to a high number of casualties.
He assumed that the rowdy and battle hungry Orcs would force the enemy into attacking soon enough, even if they had to abandon the high ground to do so. However, two days had passed without any sign of movement from the other camp, and the excuse that he was waiting for some signal from his father was starting to wear thin.
She pointed a threatening finger at him, ”Listen well, human. I don't care that your father is a famous warrior among your kind, nor that he left you in charge. Orcs only respect strength, and I have yet to see anything of it from you.”
[Is she trying to challenge my authority? Does she think I will rise to her provocation that easily?]
Morris sat down in a simple camp chair that he'd scrounged up during the march, finding it much preferable to the ostentatious contraption he'd inherited along with his position as commander. ”Chief Talgratha, when you and the Ashborn joined us for this campaign, you agreed to abide by our military decisions until the Tenundian threat had been eliminated. In exchange, we have signed extensive trade agreements and ceded a portion of the territory south the Ash mountains to you and tour tribe. Are you telling me, you no longer wish to honor your end of the bargain?”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him, but remaining silent.
[One more good push should do it.]
He glanced over the campaign map laying spread out on the table before him, his gaze resting briefly on a star labeled Almirn, before snapping back to the orc. ”Besides, you still want to have your rematch, right? Break ranks now, and my good friend Mike won't give you the chance to restore your honor. I will make sure of that.”
She grunted, turned on her heels and left without saying another word.
Once she was gone, Morris sighed. As time wore on, the fractured nature of the coalition was becoming more apparent, and he was increasingly being forced to rely on his negotiating skills in order to avoid a more serious conflict.
[I hope things change soon, because I don't think I can keep this up for too much longer.]
As if to abuse him of the notion, a voice called out from outside his tent. ”Commander Morris, I would like to speak to you regarding our current troop placement. I have a complaint to make.”
He recognized the nasally whine of Baron Tugh, one of the minor nobles who'd followed his father into battle. The man had once seen combat during a Tenundian border raid, and therefore became the preeminent expert on military tactics, despite the presence of vastly more experienced nobles in the army.
Unfortunately, he was an influential member of the neutral faction, and therefore had to be treated with care. So, no matter how much Morris wanted to throttle the rat-like man, he was forced to play nice.
”My good Baron, please come in and make yourself comfortable. I was only in the process of getting ready for bed, so no harm done.” He called, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.