Chapter 37: Born A Monster, Chapter 37 – Escalation

Born A Monster

Chapter 37

Escalation

The stableboy came running up to us. “Heroes, Heroes! There is a siege engine attacking the eastern gate!”

“And?” asked Philecto Amor. “Do we look like siege weapons? Let the city watch handle things the city watch is supposed to.”

“The tower is hit, sir. I thought that since the elven princess had a bow, perhaps she could do something about it?”

Adara set her hand on Philecto’s shoulder. “By all means, lead me to this tower. I shall deal with this lone siege engine.”

.....

“And we stay here?” Gustavian asked.

“I need no escort.” She said. “I will return soon.”

I heard the report after the fact; she killed all six soldiers working that siege weapon and didn’t need a second quiver of arrows to finish up. Having seen her slay ghouls outright with that same bow, I had no reason to doubt the stories.

I’m sure the stableboy was expecting her to use Fire Cyclone or some other impressive spell. People who think that way, using magic first and flashy, those are people who don’t pass through adept to the mage ranks.

“We’ve got to send a member to the watch commander.” Adara said.

“Sounds like something tailor made for my talents.” Philecto said.

“If you would, kind sir.”

When he was gone Gustavian asked “We really getting involved in this? Our normal work is hazardous enough. War is, well, war.”

“Hundreds of goblins, but you balk at a few hundred of your own kind?” she asked.

“I know what people are capable of.”

She chuckled. “After all the cultivation we’ve done, you think we still qualify as people?”

historical

“Yeah, I actually do. We’re faster, stronger, tougher – but you really think Philecto isn’t going to visit the cathouse while he’s out and about?”

“Well, where do you think he was yesterday, then?”

Gustavian blinked. “I forget how non-human you are at times, Adara.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Sure.” Gustavian turned back to study of the scroll.

I didn’t understand why I was still there; they had stopped asking me questions, and had discarded my insights. I laid out straws in the manner of goblin marks, and recited my letters.

It required a lot of work for me to learn letters; it didn’t appear to be a lack of Insight or Resolve, my brain just wasn’t set up for intellectual pursuits the way the brains of others were.

There were brain specializations, but I just lacked the biomass to evolve them. I was making progress, if slowly, in reducing my biomass debt, but it still consumed more each day than I needed to survive.

Any surplus went into growing the new level two skin and scales. In the meantime, I had caught a view of my image in a store mirror; I looked like a partially plucked chicken.

Philecto returned. “They want us to ensure the safety of their diplomats, or revenge them if it’s too late.”

“What did you tell them?” Adara asked.

“I told them we need a day or two of preparations.”

“Good man. Gustavian?”

“The words on this scroll aren’t changing. Maybe the blood cult has something in their vaults that sheds more light on this issue.”

“So you are saying we should leave now?”

“What? No, we should pick up some available mercenaries, the supplies for them, and then go.”

Philecto shook his head. “We travel faster without. And have fewer problems.”

Adara tapped her chin. “Anything happening to the diplomats has already happened. We should travel in force. Three of us do not make a security detail on our own.”

#

I didn’t need to return funds; although they had no use for shield bearers, I did still have my valet status.

They were not happy being told to wait three days until one of the spider slaying squads returned from the west, but it was Anston and Gemina’s squad, whom they had worked with before.

There were two teams of drovers, two porters, one translator, and four linkboys.

One of the duties of a valet is to provision supplies; even with dry goods, it wasn’t easy to provide up to ninety nutrition for nearly thirty people, even for a week. Of course, we would supplement those supplies with forage, but better to have more food than we needed.

The amount the adventurers consumed was just – well, proportional to what they could do, which was impressive. We almost needed a third cart, but I lucked into two jars of preserved honey.

It was hay and oats for the oxen that pushed us over into the third cart. That meant two more drovers, two more oxen, a porter, food and supplies for same – I was far from idle.

“Why two wheels per cart instead of the standard one?” Philecto asked me.

“The broken lands are full of rocks, and rocks tend to break cart wheels. We will be going up and down a number of hills, as well. Considering we need to journey both there and back, the second wheels are a needed precaution.”

“And why are we buying new shields for the soldiers?” he asked.

“If we are to be guarding diplomats, we will want to look our best. That means new uniforms, cleaned armor, and new shields.”

“This looks like things the Guild normally pays for.”

“If the city wants to put up a fancy front, they pay prices for that quality.”

“I see – I believe that I can get the city to subsidize these payments. Carry on.”

In truth, my Charisma just wasn’t high enough, and we probably paid a lot more than we needed to. But I had been on too many expeditions without proper supplies to let my first convoy become one of them.

The good part about the extra cart is there was enough room for all nine of the promised twelve soldiers to ride.

The bad part of that, as anyone knows, is that the burdened oxen became cranky and the carts became stuck more often.

But, while the fare may have been plain, food was plentiful. Spirits rapidly improved, and morale remained relatively high.

Until, that is, we had our first conflict with the Crimson Hand.

#

“Shields! Raise shields!” Philecto called, raising his own.

The soldiers were protected; the rest of us were relying on our ability to dodge.

It was the oxen who took the brunt of that first wave of falling arrows, save for one drover who took an arrow clean through his thigh.

Initially, one might have thought we were on the losing side, as there were fifteen of them to our nine soldiers. But it was not the case.

Adara’s arrows, fired from her bow of white wood, arced lower and seemed to travel faster. Where they struck shields, they often wounded the person behind. Most of her targets just fell, struck in the core of their bodies.

By the time Philecto and the shield wall reached them, the fight was effectively over.

Gustavian and Adara set about tending to wounded soldiers, and the drovers to their oxen.

The infantry were in a bad mood when they returned, laden with battle spoils.

“Well, we’ve a certainty about our job this month.” Philecto said. “This sack contains the heads of the three diplomats we’re supposed to protect.”

I turned my head and spat, but issued no curse upon the Crimson Hand. Others were not so kind.

The injured drover, our two most damaged oxen, the oldest bearer and the youngest linkboy all went back with the heads in one of the carts and what Philecto assured us were enough battlefield goods to trade to the Black Fist for safe passage.

The rest of us made camp there while the goods were being transferred between carts.

I gave the shields to Anston and had them issued to those whose shields were damaged. I did what repairs I could upon them, and stored them near the new shields; I had a feeling even these shields would see use again before we were done.

The next patrol Gustavian and Adara found before they had seen the carts; by the time the carts came upon the scene, it was all over except for the looting.

Adara was sporting a new bandage, which should have been a warning to all of us.

We set up camp behind the second ridge from the city, and spent most of that next day just watching.

“The farms look exposed, but watch the patrols.” Gustavian said.

“Those can’t all be trained soldiers.” Philecto said. “But yeah, it’s clear they’re on war footing.”

“I see no way to attack the city with the troops we have. We’ll have to fight at least two patrols just to get to the wall.” Anston said.

“Where are their cavalry?” Gemina asked.

“Or war dogs?” Gustavian said.

“We don’t know they have either of those things.” Snapped Adara. “We might as well prepare for their high priest to come forth riding a dragon and hurling flaming aurochs at us.”

#

.....

Initially, it was decided to attack only the military patrols. We just picked a well patrolled cart road between farms and fought as though we were trying to reach the city wall.

That plan fell apart.

They did have cavalry, at least forty of them.

“Fall back in order! Maintain formation!” Philecto commanded.

And to their credit, the guardsmen tried that.

Normally, horses cannot be encouraged to charge a shield wall bristling with spears. The horses of the Crimson Hand had eyes so bloodshot as to appear pink at a distance, and nothing that resembled self-preservation.

Their initial charge forced us off the road, lest we be trampled. Some of us were. I’m not sure who all died then, or fighting in the fields, or who was captured.

Anston, I am certain of. Gemina and I carried his corpse back to camp, before discovering he had bled out.

All of us were injured, including the heroes. The bulk of the squadron was gone, only Gemina, Diamond and Henton surviving.

“That,” Gustavian said, “Was a disaster.”

“True.” Admitted Philecto. “But it’s a disaster they can’t afford to repeat.”

“Nor can we.” Adara said. “Let’s go home; there’s no more to be done on this outing.”

There were no dissenting opinions.

That next day, one of the carts got stuck; we took what was most valuable to us, and left the rest behind. I suppose it might have been my duty to repent, to say that we didn’t need that gear after all, but – no. We’d gone out prepared for almost anything, and not a single loss on that trip was due to starvation or sickness.

And, strategically, it couldn’t actually be called a loss. We’d easily felled three times our number in enemy soldiers.

And there was no doubt now that we were enemies. We might not have ransacked all those farms, but I know of at least three civilians, people who had thought to watch the conflict with their own eyes.

As proud as I was of our provisioning, we were on the last legs of our food when we returned to Narrow Valley.

Henton retired as soon as we got back to the guildhall; there were death benefits to be paid, and the adventurers did so.

“Reynald has sent a more urgent request for reinforcements to Whitehill.” Cosimo told me. “This entire year has been a disaster for the Guild.”

“I have seen a good bit of death.” I admitted. “Has the town started summoning the peasant levy?”

He shook his head. “It’s on us until fall. The city council has put out notices of war, which should help with our flagging membership. Failing that, we’ll have a wave of recruits at the end of the war.”

Or not, I thought, wondering how many casualties we had taken, were taking, and would take.

Nor was I the only one, although I’m getting ahead of myself.

#