5.
Pyrrho merged into
the Drakhan division when they crossed underneath The Previous
skyway. The Drakhan tended to lapse into a melancholic reverie when
close to Previous constructions, their superstitions causing many to
quietly pray or grip various totems that entrepreneurial traders had
conned them into buying. Pyrrho had made a good income from such a
strategy as a teenager. With the majority of the division focused on
their silly beliefs it was easy to join them unnoticed. When a mile
or so had been put between the division and the skyway and
conversations sprang back up it was like Pyrrho had been there all
along.
The scout's attire
hung a little loose on Pyrrho, but that it fit the much shorter man
than the one they had taken it from at all was testament to Volk's
ability with a needle and thread. Beneath the scruffy uniform he was
at least able to wear his own underpants, a thought that took him
back to the unfortunate incident back at the hamlet. However, that
couldn't be changed now and there were more pressing matters to
attend, like successfully infiltrated the Drakhan camp.
Had he arrived at
the camp alone Pyrrho would have faced a grilling from the guards as
to his name and division, questions he could probably bluff his way
through but there was always a risk of a jobsworth guard prying a
little too deep. Best to avoid the risk by turning up with an entire
division, to be waved through by the guards. Also handy to be in
good relations with the divisional commander, Pyrrho using the
flagon of potato wine brewed recently by Niv to start a conversation.
By the time they arrived at the camp gates Pyrrho had an invite to
the officer's quarters and a wealth of information on the division's
recent manoeuvres.
The atmosphere
within the camp was dour. The rank and file Drakhan were well aware
of the disadvantage they faced in being brought to battle by the Iron
Stead at the current time, after a summer of dispiriting defeats.
Pyrrho glided round the camp, listening to gossip, observing
preparations and sowing dissent. Not that the dissent took much
sowing, frequently he heard discussion of plans for after the
imminent defeat, whilst other huddled groups discussed plans for
desertion prior to the battle. The Drakhan leadership were often
criticised for their decision to bring all of their remaining forces
together, only to then order an impracticably stretched front line.
The Stead would break it at will was the common opinion.
Pyrrho's shoulders
slumped as he walked around the camp. Not just to blend in with the
prevailing mood, but because his latest task from the Iron Stead
himself was proving to be little challenge. Infiltrating a camp more
preoccupied with preventing people leaving was too easy and sowing
dissent in the massed ranks that were frequently more negative than
he had attempted to be was a bizarre sensation. With a shrug he
decided to abandon this phase of the mission early and move on to the
next part.
Approaching the
officers section of the camp, itself separated by jagged wooden
staves and a full compliment of guards, Pyrrho consider using the
invite of the divisional commander to gain entrance. However, he
had cared not for the way the man had leered at him. Plus there was
a fair chance that Niv's potato wine had already killed the lecherous
old git; Niv's brewing ability was some way behind even her skills of
tact and diplomacy. Instead Pyrrho chose to rely on using a dose of
camp gossip, information gleaned from the march back to camp and his
more than ample bluffing ability.
The guard was
unimpressed.
"Who'd you say
ya report to again? " the guard asked over crossed arms
"Dell, head of
company beta"
"Never 'erd of
' im"
Pyrrho sighed,
"like I said, you probably wouldn't have, he's over on the
other flank, but I got cut off returning"
"Returning from
where? It certainly weren't the tailors" this remark was
accompanied by a guffaw from the other guard blocking Pyrrho's way.
Pyrrho looked down
briefly at the loose jacket hanging limply off his shoulders, before
deciding to attempt a different tack. “I have gleaned important
information on the Stead's plans for tomorrow”
“That bastard
plans to crush us”
the first guard's partner decided that now was the time to join in
the sarcasm.
“But we will show
him, eh Hewlett?” the first guard replied
“If you say so,
Panas” the jovial mood of the second guard dimmed a little.
“I say so”
Pyrrho leapt at the opportunity “My knowledge could sway the course
of the battle”. The first guard, Panas, squinted at Pyrrho,
weighing up what this dishevelled little scout was telling him.
“Al'ight, Hewlett
here will 'scort you” a nod to his companion, before standing aside
for Pyrrho to squeeze past.
Great,
thought Pyrrho as Hewlett shoved him toward a tent nestled at the
read of the officers quarter, now all I need to do is come
up with a convincing enough lie for the commandant. Not like me to
over promise and under deliver.
A
series of elaborate and ambitious tales drifted through his mind as
they wound there way through the officer's section. He was so
preoccupied that he almost missed the change in mood. Laughter.
Jokes. Singing. Pyrrho knew enough officers to understand that they
were a different species to most, often oblivious to the challenges
faced, or odds stacked. But here the change was even more jarring.
Were they so misguided as to believe victory was at hand?
Pyrrho's
instinct for self-preservation was one he cherished, countless time
his saviour for a man with more than his fare share of time spent
behind enemy lines. This instinct was currently screaming that
something was wrong here. Stay calm, a
distant memory echoing in his head. He needed to find out what
was wrong. The Stead would be
unimpressed with gut feelings.
He lingered closer
to a group spread around a roaring fire, trying to hear any snatches
of relevant conversations, but all he got was jovial small talk
before Hewlett nudged him along. On the plus side, he did catch sight
of Niv, draped across an elderly officer's lap, whispering sweet
nothings. She didn't show any signs of having seen him, she wouldn't
even if she had, but it reassured Pyrrho that an ally was close. Volk
would be around somewhere too, each of them well adept at
infiltration, but all preferring different techniques. It would
certainly be odd to see Volk charming his scantily clad ample frame
into the embrace of a Drakhan commander. Mind you, knowing the
deviant Drakhan, it would be a technique that might just work.
“Ere we go” the
brusque tone of Hewlett shook the unpleasant mental picture from
Pyrrho's mind
“This the
commandant's quarters?” the tent in front of them was small if it
was
“T'is his
secretary's. Commandant ain't gonna wanna see some lost scout. Not
tonight judgin' by the festivities” Hewlett disappeared into the
tent to announce the scouts arrival. Pyrrho was tempted to use to
opportunity to make an exit, but curiosity got the better of him.
“E'll see ya now” Hewlett popped back out, holding the tent flap
open for Pyrrho to enter.
Fat candles spread
around the small space inside gave an eerie yellow light to the small
woman scratching notations on a tatty sheet of paper at the desk in
front of her. Pyrrho stood in front of the desk, trying to adopt the
air of a nervous scout. The nerves were not false.
“Mmmm?” she did
not look up
“Ma'am, I have
word of the Stead's plan for tomorrow, where he intends to move the
bulk of his force”
Pyrrho's statement
elicited no response, so he attempted to up the stakes. “I have a
contact in the Stead's midst, we may have an opportunity to strike in
advance, remove the head of the serpent, so to speak”
Still nothing apart
from the scratching of the frayed quill, Pyrrho grew impatient. “The
Stead plans to ride a giant chicken into battle”.
“Mmmm, chicken?
Just where did that silly boy from the kitchen get to?” for the
first time, she looked up. Frowned when she saw Pyrrho still
there, then struck by a recollection. “Hewlett said you were from
company Beta?”
“Yes ma'am”
“Did old man
Fisher say anything of the masked ball?”
“Masked, er, ball,
ma'am?”
“Yes, it is his
turn to host. Three days hence. The commandant is looking forward to
it immensely. Says the last one was a riot. Were you there?” a
twinkle in her eye, hungry for gossip.
“Er, I was, er, on
manoeuvres at the time” Pyrrho was normally quick to think on his
feet, but his mounting confusion was slowing his thoughts.
“Of course, of
course. Probably not suitable for a mere scout in any event” her
gaze had returned to the papers.
“And of my other
news, ma'am?”
“I care not for
the Stead, he will be an insignificant footnote in history after
tomorrow. Him and his giant chicken”
Pyrrho frowned.
Could the old hag really be that misguided? Yet the commandant's
secretary was normally the best informed in the camp. A mine of
useful information. Not this one however, who was back to her
writings, dismissing him with a wave.
This is crazy
thought Pyrrho the
first part of the assignment was too easy, but here I am absolutely
stumped. He was also outstaying
his welcome in front of the secretary.
“You
still here?” she enquired without looking up. “Ah, my chicken”
but this aside was not to Pyrrho, rather to the serving boy who
pushed his way into the tent holding a tray. A rather large serving
boy.
Volk.
Pyrrho
immediately perked up, a backup plan forming. He scratched his
shoulder, not to remedy any discomfort, but as a well practising
signal; distraction.
Volk
showed absolutely know confirmation that he understood, he was a
professional after all, but within a few seconds had contrived to
trip over and deposit a bowl of lumpy chicken soup over the secretary
and her desk.
“STUPID
BOY” cried the secretary, frantically trying to wipe soup from both
herself and her papers. Pyrrho leapt forward to assist, hastily
wiping a river of soup from its approach to the papers spread at one
end of the desk. He then quickly piled the papers up to save them,
handing them over to the secretary with a courteous “ma'am”.
All
while subtly scrunching a
couple of sheets up a sleeve.
“OUT,
BOTH OF YOU” the secretary reddening, Pyrrho and Volk rushing to
comply. Outside of the tent they stopped briefly, Pyrrho ran a hand
through his hair before itching the crown; exit and
reconvene. Volk strode off
towards the kitchen tents.
Hewlett
and Panas were both happy to see Pyrrho exit
back into the regulars section of the camp, sniggering at the soup
splattered scout as he skulked past. Getting out of the main camp was
more of a challenge, with guards having been well briefed in the risk
of desertion. However, the scout uniform, coupled with the official
looking papers from the secretary's office he flapped in front of the
illiterate guard's nose was enough to carry the argument, and Pyrrho
trotted off down the cart track that led away from camp.
He
was the last of the three to meet at their appointed spot in the
small hollow created by a tree long fallen. Volk had a small fire on
the go, cooking some of the supplies he had liberated from the camp.
Niv
was the first to speak, “Well that was weird”
“How
so?” Pyrrho want to to see if she had the same odd feeling that had
confused him so much.
“Felt
more like a victory party than the day before a final battle”
“Gallows
humour?” Pyrrho may have agreed with Niv, but wanted to play the
advocate to test the logic.
“Nah,
t'was like they weren't even thinking about the battle, rather the
days after. Three different blokes and one woman proposed to me.
That's a record. Offered me gilded paper, Elder treasure, the lot.
Wouldn't say what were going on though. Not even sure they totally
knew themselves. Like I said, weird”, a shrug.
Pyrrho
frowned. “What about you Volk? What was the kitchen gossip?”
“Nowt
you'd believe”
“Try
me”
“Well
dis one fella reckoned that lord Drakhan has made a deal with The
Previous” Niv and Pyrrho near simultaneously rolled their eyes.
“Hey, I didn't say it. Like The Previous would ever be on his
side. Plus the guy in the
kitchen had been at tha cooking liqueur.”
“So
what you make of it?” Niv looked towards Pyrrho.
“Same
as you” he sighed “It's like the Stead isn't even a factor in
their calculations. Look at this” he took out the papers from under
his robes that he had paused to change into on the way back to the
meeting point.
“What's
it say?” asked the illiterate Niv, Volk only had a few words
himself, but dutifully looked over at the papers.
“It's
a section from a diary, plus an invite to some fancy meal or other”
“That
all you could nick?” Niv thought Pyrrho to be a better thief than
this “No orders, or secret plan for the battle?”
Pyrrho
ignored her, “the dates are all for the coming weeks, balls,
celebrations, meals, drinks. It's more the calendar of an Elder
socialite than an army on the verge of defeat.
“So
what we do next then?” Volk had returned to looking hungrily at the
pair of pheasants on his makeshift spit.
“We
go talk to the Iron Stead” but Pyrrho wasn't exactly sure what he
would tell him.
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