Chapter 246: Furies (1/2)
”After that, the refugees and knights were loaded onto ships and evacuated. By all appearances, it seems like they are heading to the city.” Miranda explained wearily. She'd been expending a large amount of mana to gather intelligence on the approaching army, and the addition of another round of summoning to investigate the source of the light that had exploded on the southwestern skyline had left her on the verge of collapse. She was drinking a few mana potions now, but they only had so many to spare.
Mike frowned in thought, trying to guess the Count's motives. Apparently, he had determined that the First Prince and his ragged band of knights were valuable enough to risk the coalition army's dissolution in his absence. He figured that it might have something to do with having all of the royal heirs in one location, momentarily unifying the disparate factions in the face of their common enemy, but he suspected there was a deeper motive as well. Something that could only be achieved through a unity of purpose.
He glanced over at Morris, wondering what his thoughts were, but it was clear from his facial expression that he hadn't quite gotten over his indignation that his father had left him so far out of the loop. It would likely take a few minutes to calm down.
”So, was there any indication as to what caused the burst of light?” Emmanuel asked, in full Marshal mode. He was also reviewing the scouting reports which filled much of the table in front of him in a remarkable display of multi-tasking.
”Only that it appears to have been the work of crew members from the rescue fleet. Whatever they did also forced a substantial Lacotian army to retreat. My guess is that the Count employed a few experts to ensure the rescue went smoothly.” Miranda replied absently.
”That would line up with my understanding of the man, but I suppose we can bring this issue to a close. It doesn't really matter whether or not Count Graveston intends to rejoin us now that his task is most likely complete.” The Marshal commented with a note of finality that stole the attention of everyone in the room, including Morris, who took a break from his inner turmoil to listen.
”Judging from these reports,” Emmanuel held up a sheaf of papers, ”we have less than an hour to complete preparations for combat. Now, I know all of you have been working hard towards this very goal, but I want to ensure there is nothing else that you need to attend to. As such, I will be asking each of you for a status report, starting with our strike force leader.”
With that introduction in place, Instructor Johnathan stepped forward and regarded the assembly grimly. ”I've been getting the members oriented with one another, and attempting to form rudimentary teams based on compatibility, but I'm not going to lie, its probably pointless.”
He paused for a few seconds to let that statement sink in. ”I have been handed roughly a hundred people ranging from experienced adventurers and career military members to academics who have spent the majority of their lives working in dusty classrooms. There is such a diverse range of backgrounds and levels of competence that trying to form even the most basic level of teamwork is all but hopeless. Therefore, I've given them the standing order that they, when all else fails, simply do what they think is best at the moment.”
”Is that wise, given the general lack of experience you mentioned earlier?” Emmanuel asked with a raised eyebrow.
”Not really, but I would need months to build the cooperation necessary for this kind of operation. The only saving grace of this situation is that we are so far away from being able to move in a cohesive fashion, that it would be near impossible for the enemy to predict our actions and respond accordingly. If we're lucky, we can keep them on the back foot long enough to achieve our goal.”
”I guess that's about the best I can expect, under the circumstances.” The Marshal replied with a nod. ”Issac, how are the rest of the soldiers coming along?”
General Karthan, the de facto second in command step forward and began speaking calmly. ”Poorly. The coalition army was hodgepodge of factions to begin with, and adding in the Tenundians have only complicated matters. There is no clear chain of command, few existing methods of communication that can be used across all level, no unified code of signals, and next to no experience in operating as a cohesive force. Worst of all, I have had to reprimand several commanders who believe that they do not answer to anyone save Count Graveston himself, and were unwilling to take orders from me.
”We had a slightly different problem with the orcs.” He took a moment to glance in the direction of the two chiefs who were sullenly sitting in the corner, ”Because of their...great personal respect for the Dragonknight, they are complaining about the strategy we worked out for the coming conflict.”
”Oh?” Emmanuel asked. ”Are they refusing to fight?”
Jurtrik, he Bloodtongue chieftain growled at that. ”We'll fight. No worries there. We just think its a bit unfair for him to be taking on the enemy by himself and getting all the glory, while the rest of us have to sit behind these walls and wait for the undead to come.”
”Indeed.” Huthar intoned solemnly. ”There is no honor in hiding while others do our fighting.”
Talgratha, the third of the group, who nevertheless stood far away from the other two, remained silent. Much like Morris, she seemed to be struggling with some inner turmoil, one that had no apparent origin. Mike felt a bit uneasy as her gaze slid to him and a momentary flash of something predatory, but not quite hostile, passed across her eyes before she looked away. In the end she didn't comment.
”As I've told the both of you, there will be plenty of fighting here, regardless of the wall. We will need your warriors to hold the undead tide back. The Dragonknight, on the other hand, is responsible for drawing the enemy's attention. That is not something he can do from here.” Karthan explained with a sigh of exasperation. Judging from his tone, this was an old conversation that he was getting tired of hashing out.
This drew a snort of derision out of Jurtrik, but he didn't continue the argument. Neither did Huthar.
”Is there anything else you'd like to report?” Emmanuel asked.
”No, lord Marshal. I only want to reassure you that we'll do our best, but our lack of coherence is going to affect our responsiveness. I have a few workarounds in place, but I won't be able to gauge their effectiveness until an actual combat encounter. I recommend that you plan accordingly.”
”Alright, as I've already heard from the quartermasters regarding our supplies, I'll ask you,” The old mage turned towards Mike, and asked in a slightly cold voice, ”are you prepared to do your part?”
Trying to ignore the strange tension, he replied, ”I'm ready. In fact, I should be heading out to perform the first round of harrying attacks.”
The Marshal nodded. ”Then I will cut the rest of this meeting short. Finish whatever preparations you must, we have very little-”
Suddenly all sound was drowned out by a high-pitched shriek that filled the air, and forced everyone in the tent to clasp their hands over their ears. The noise resounded in their very souls, dragging forth an existential dread that threatened to suffocate them with its intensity. More importantly, it hurt. The scratching, piercing sound seemed to be physically stabbing at them, and the sensation only intensified the longer it went on.
As one of the few able to act under the influence of the scream, Mike staggered outside to hunt for the origin. He was dimly aware of a few others moving as well, but didn't have the luxury of focusing enough to tell who. Once free of the tent, he found the soldiers of the army similarly incapacitated, with a single exception. Tal was standing alone in the center of the camp, staring into the sky as if she weren't surrounded by hundreds of men and women writing in agony.
He hobbled over to her, hands still clenched over his ears, not that it really seemed to help. 'What's happening?' He mouthed once he'd gotten her attention.
She reached out with a slightly glowing hand, and placed it on his shoulder. Suddenly the noise of the scream faded to a dull ache in the depth of his spirit, and he could hear when she started to explain in the ancient tongue. ”These are a type of wraith, similar to one we met before, but different. They are spirits of anger and rage, who have died with vengeance unfilled, and exist only to make the living suffer.”