7.
Pyrrho needed a drink.
Luckily, he had one in his slender handed grasp, so took a long gulp
of the nutty flavoured mead, gasping as he slammed the wooden mug
back down on to the wonky table. “Another!” he yelled to no one
in particular, it was early in the day and the table servers hadn't
started yet. From the other side of the large patchwork tent the old
barman shook his head, but still flipped open the tap of the grimy
barrel while grabbing another mottled old mug.
In front of Pyrrho the slumped form of Volk snored lightly. The big
man had not quite been the same since the body that fell from the
Skyway nearly hit him. It had taken almost an hour to convince him
that it wasn't a Previous vendetta. Mind you, Pyrrho wasn't sure what
it actually was. There'd been some inexplicable goings on for the
last few days. Not that it had seemed to concern Niv much. She had
happily disappeared a little while ago, having ensnared a soldier
from the Stead's personal guard convalescing from a nasty sword slash
received at an earlier skirmish. She'd spent the night complaining
that all the good soldiers were on the front line, but had seen happy
enough in the end.
The front line.
Just a mile or two away the Iron Stead led his troops into battle. A
battle Pyrrho had an increasingly unpleasant feeling about. The three
infiltrators had returned back to the Stead's camp late last night.
The Stead had been angry to be awakened on the eve of battle by the
sound of arguing between Pyrrho and the guards outside his lavish
tented pavilion. Even angrier when he had heard Pyrrho's almost
nonsensical story of the odd goings on at the Drakhan camp. Pyrrho
could have happily strangled the Stead's attendant for the smile of
mock sympathy as he ejected the infiltrators from the tent a mere 20
minutes later.
Ten minutes after the that, the three of them were in the drinking
tent. Tetley's Inebriation Emporium wasn't officially employed by
Stead's warband – indeed if rumours were to be believed, Tetley's
sister had a similar operation on the Drakhan side – but it
followed in close proximity. Soldiers were a thirsty lot, even more
so close to battle, or immediately after. However, on the day of
battle, it was far from heaving. Just a few camp labourers, or
recovering invalids. And Pyrrho, wondering if his day could get any
worse.
Xxxxx
Aesara needed a drink.
No sign of Siro and no news either. They'd spent the last day
fruitlessly searching. The enclosed nature of the valley had
constricted the search area somewhat, but it was still a lot of
ground to cover. Furthermore, with the inhabitants of the region long
having fled from the imminent battle, there were no potential
witnesses to ask.
She'd almost been relieved when they'd found the bloated, rotting,
corpse on the road into the fourth small valley hamlet they'd been
through. At least that would have ended the uncertainty. Although its
nakedness would have raised other questions. Nevertheless, Onatas had
discounted it after a few nervous glances, but not before he had
turned a worrying shade of grey from what Aesara suspected was the
apprentice’s first experience of a dead body.
They'd slowly looped back round to the Stead's side of the battle,
Aesara occasionally grabbing hold of an old soldier acquaintance to
ask after Siro. But none had heard or seen anything and all had their
minds on the imminent battle. The final manoeuvres had begun, the
Stead positioning most of his forces, including his elite guard, just
below the tree line of a forested hill, opposite where he intended to
break the Drakhan lines on a larger hill which rose up the other side
of an expanse of farmland which gave clear lines of sight and
generally flat surfaces. Stead wanted to close the distance down
quickly, favouring close quarters battle where his strength of
numbers would tell. It was what Aesara would have done, but that was
of little surprise as she herself had served in the Stead's elite
guard what seemed like a lifetime ago, before growing weary of what
had become a near constant cycle of warfare, waxing and waning across
the blighted lands. This time it looked like being different, a
complete victory at hand. Aesara had a small pang of regret that she
wouldn't be in the final attack, but shrugged it off as a washed up
old soldier pining for their glory days.
She led Onatas through the hotch-potch community of the followers
camp. It was located just down a rough and muddy cart track to the
neat rows of soldiers tents, standing to attention much like their
owners were up on the hill. It was quiet, most of the followers kept
to themselves, a collection of various entrepreneurial business
people – blacksmiths, weapons vendors and prostitutes the most
numerous – as well as nervous looking family members that chose to
follow their husbands and wives rather than hold up in a distant
home, anxiously waiting for news of a loved one. Few wished to talk
to Aesara, so she planned one last stop. A rough wooden sign hung
outside the patchwork tent.
Tetley's Inebriation Emporium.
Aesara pushed through the canvas opening, a gust of wind and some
leaves accompanying them into the drinking tent. Onatas excitedly
looked round; he wasn't a frequent visitor to such establishments and
was eager to take it all in. Not that there was much to take in, a
ramshackle yet sparse collection of both furniture and clientèle.
For her part Aesara headed straight for the squat pyramid of barrels
that signified the bar, catching the old barman's eye and asking what
he had on tap. Onatas joined her a few moments later.
“Quiet” the apprentice stated
“Always an odd atmosphere on the day of battle” replied Aesara,
eyeing with some suspicion the dark brown liquid the barman was
pouring her.
“You miss the front line?” Onatas queried, settling onto a stool
which rocked to one side forcing him to put a foot down to steady
himself. He looked down and tutted as Aesara replied.
“Not a single bit” the barman passed her the first mug and began
to pour a second. Aesara took a tentative sip, then a longer draft.
“Damn peaceniks” muttered the barman.
“Excuse me?” Aesara raised an eyebrow from behind her mug
“Nuffin” he replied, gruffly
“You think me afraid of the fight?” the raised eyebrow remained
in place
“I think there be a few too many healthy soldiers in 'er hiding
from glory, t'day of all days”
“ANOTHER!” the voice cut through the tension building between
Aeasra and the barman. Both of them turned towards the source of the
barked demand. The barman's face hardened, Aesara's face dropped.
“What is it?” asked Onatas looking between Aesara and the figure
in the opposite corner holding an empty mug in the air.
“Like the man says” Aesara nodded at the barman “Too many
people hiding from the fight”. She drained her mug, rose from the
stool and strode across the tent.
Pyrrho hadn't like the way the barman had been looking at him, so
he'd turned his chair away. This meant he only really had Volk's
snoring form to look at for entertainment in this corner of the tent,
but that was still preferable to the barman's sneer. He would have
taken his business elsewhere, but that just seemed like too much
effort. He'd settle for giving the barman a surly attitude. That
would show him.
“ANOTHER” he yelled again, slurring slightly. His arm was getting
tired from holding the mug aloft, but he heard the muffled clump of
approaching footsteps; further refreshment was imminent. The clump of
the footsteps didn't sound like the barman, though. Good. Meant that
the waiting staff were coming on shift, someone hopefully more
engaging than Volk to talk to.
Pyrrho frowned. Did that clumping footstep sound slightly lopsided?
Was the server limping? It sounded like one foot was heavier than the
other. It sounded almost familiar. Pyrrho's eyes widened in alarm.
“Still not learnt your manners?” Aesara asked from behind him.
Pyrrho turned slowly.
“Why hello, dearest sister” he attempted a grin, but it didn't
really take. Aesara sneered, worse than the barman had yet managed.
“Unlike you to be so close to the front line” she rested her
hands on her hips, looking down on her younger brother.
“I could say the same thing. Heard you couldn't take it any more,
retired to the countryside” Pyrrho lent back on the rickety wooded
chair, attempting to play it cool, but feeling no where near.
“Big words when you lack your henchmen” she nodded at Volk, then
glanced around briefly for sign of any others.
“And you have taken on a new bodyguard I see” Pyrrho smirked as
he nodded towards Onatas, lurking at Aesara's shoulder, looking even
more awkward than usual.
Aesara ignored the jibe “What are you doing here” hands went
from hips to cross in front of her
“Attempting to drink my self into oblivion. But it is proving
alarmingly difficult to get service in a near empty bar” a sideways
glance at the barman, himself far too absorbed in the brewing
confrontation to move towards the brew in a barrel.
“You could try to get a drink on the Drakhan side, I'd always
thought you were more comfortable there anyway”
“Funny you say that, Sara” Pyrrho's use of the short form of her
name caused Aesara to bristle, and Onatas to shrink back,
anticipating an imminent explosion of anger from the overseer. Pyrrho
continued regardless, “don't you think it peculiar how well the
honourable Senator Stead has progressed since you stomped away from
his guard?”
“You question my honour?”
“You questioned mine first”
“That is because you are inherently dishonourable”
“You flatter me” Pyrrho smirked, although it still didn't feel
quite comfortable to him
“I did not mean to” Aesara took an uninvited seat “but you may
have some use to me for once, so considered yourself flattered for
that”
“I am always eager to help you, sis, you know that”
“I'm looking for someone”
“A long lost brother? I might be able to help there”
“No, someone actually worth finding” Aesara leant forward “a
resource locator from the university”
“A scavenger from your travelling circus? Why would I know about
that?” an uneasy feeling sprouted in the pit of Pyrrho's stomach
all the same
“You wouldn't. But I know of your work. Skulking in the shadows,
poking at the flabby sides of the enemy. You see things, you hear
things”
“That is true. But the battlefield is large, and I am but small”
Pyrrho shrugged
“His name was Siro, about as tall as him” a nod at Onatas who was
still nervously standing at the side of the table, “dark hair, blue
eyes, small scar on the right of his forehead. He was, well, raw.
Could have run across an enemy and panicked”
Pyrrho reddened “How would, er, you describe him to someone that
hadn't seen him at his full height, or, you know, had a good look at
his head? I mean face” how did she get under his skin like this?
Always been the same; Pyrrho had withstood the worst torture the
Drakhan, or anyone, could throw at him, but his big dumb lanky sister
could have him giving the game away in seconds.
“Why must you always be so frustratingly evasive?” Aesara
wondered out loud
“Your natural charm brings it out in me” Pyrrho squirmed
“Please sir, if you know anything at all I would be most grateful”
Onatas decided that now was the time to try and break the building
tension.
“I don't believe I've had the honour of introduction” Pyrrho
wouldn't admit it, but he was glad that Sara's lackey had decided to
speak up at the current juncture.
“I am Onatas, an appreciate from the university. And you would be?”
He stuck out a hand, quivering slightly. Pyrrho left it just a second
too long for what you could call a comfortable pause, but took the
proffered hand eventually. Aesara sneered at the limpness of the
shake from the sidelines, neither of the parties involved looking
exactly like this is how they intended the introduction to go.
“Pyrrho. Rogue, spy, thief, infiltrator, errant brother. Take your
pick” he effected a bow, but the smoothness of the move was lost
when he banged into the table, causing Volk to stir.
“What? Who? I beg thee Previous to leave me be. Take Pyrrho!” the
large man mumbled as he awakened. Before looking sheepishly at his
assembled audience “Er, how'd do” he recovered to utter
nervously.
“And this is my ever so loyal man at arms, Volk” Pyrrho scowled
across the table “Who would never willingly give me up to The
Previous without a fight, I'm sure” arms folded across his chest.
Pyrrho paused for a second before continuing, this time directed at
his ample sized ally, “I was just saying to my dear sister and
her, er, friend, that we hadn't had sight nor sound of a young lost
scavenger in recent days”
“Young scavenger? Er no sir, I mean ma'am, and er, her little sir
too” Volk squirmed as he spoke, causing Aesara's frown to deepen
even further. She would have probed were it not for a fresh
interruption. The group turned in unison as the tent entrance erupted
open and in charged a young man of perhaps 13 or 14.
“Uncle Tetley, uncle Tetely” the boy yelled towards the bar “It
happens, the Stead makes his charge. Victory is at hand!”
The drinking tent, already sparsely populated, emptied further as its
mixed bag of customers ran or limped out. Within seconds the rickety
table at the far corner was the only one left. Pyrrho spotted an
opportunity to redirect what had become a troubling conversation.
“What say we go marvel in the Stead's victory? I'm not sure we've
ever stood side by side on a day of conflict before Sara”
“I'm sure I'd be dead If we did, I could never imagine you holding
firm against a Drakhan charge”
“Well it matters not, it is the Stead doing the charging today”
he stood “And I for one would like to witness the culmination of
what has been at times a desperately hard campaign”
Aesara considered another prickly reply, but she paused, Pyrrho did
at least have a point, this interminable conflict had dragged on for
what felt like generations. “Ok” she replied, herself also
standing “I know a good vantage point to view the charge from”
she strode towards the entrance way, Onatas trailing in her wake.
Volk just stared in alarm at Pyrrho who smiled before saying, “she
smells fear big man, at least try
not to make it so easy for her”
“Sorry Pyrrho. But do you think they mean the same scavenger that,
er, you know...?”
“It would be a horrid coincidence” Pyrrho made a move towards the
exit “but one my current luck would dictate is true”
“And if she finds out?”
“I hope you like the appearance of you intestines at close hand”
“Pyrrhoooo, you know I prefer it when you lie to me in dire
situations” he trailed after the shorter man
“I did” Pyrrho looked over his
shoulder “If I was being brutally honest I'd have asked if you like
the taste of your
intestines at close hand”
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