Nythe (1)

A golden-orange light crested over the horizon bringing the morning with it. And the players in the drama that was the Battle of Nythe had already taken the stage.

Roy, Gray and Beau were stationed on the road preparing to head toward the encampment Luvall had established. They would serve as decoys of a sort, for at least as long as they could make the ruse last, since reports of their defection had never made it back to camp.

While the trio played that role Sahaela would create a clinging mist that would fall upon the encampment before investigating the remaining buildings while Midori and Rune waited for the signal of which ones—if any—held captives.

After that it would be up to Midori to free them while Rune dealt with the guards.

Yet waiting in the dense brush at the edge of the Luvall encampment a pit of anxiety settled in Midori’s gut, a feeling like there was something they had completely missed.

But Rune’s comforting hand on hers briefly soothed the swell of anxiety, she smiled at him before turning her eyes to their target.

“Is Luvall known to take prisoners?” She asked, tension of the silence having become near unbearable.

“Historically just women. But I suspect they’ve been using captured villagers as workers,” he pointed to a nearby longhouse that—by the look of the sawdust at the base—was only recently constructed.

“I hope so, we could use all the help we can get in the fight.”

And almost on cue Midori watched as the trio walked into the town feigning mild injuries indicative to having lost a battle. A pair of soldiers walked toward them exchanging a brief bit of conversation before standing aside and letting them through.

And unbeknownst to those soldiers, the Battle of Nythe had begun.

-----

Roy leaned heavily on Gray in feigned injury. Theatrics and trickery had never been his specialty but he seemed to sell it well enough for the guards to let them through.

They made their way to the medical tent taking note of the rather large expansion that had happened in such a short amount of time; an entire longhouse had been constructed with the beginnings of another already underway.

All built on the rubble of the half dozen domed earth homes that were destroyed in the city's taking.

“There’s no chance they’re moving this fast with just the soldiers we had.” Gray’s voice was heavy with a mixture of regret, guilt and anger.

“I agree, no doubt they’re using captives.” Roy said quietly followed by a loud theatrical groan. Rune had struck him in the ribs before they parted, and though the injury was not serious it was already starting to bruise.

Moving across the encampment no longer came with the patriotic joy it did when they had been on the ship, the land they walked was stained with blood leaving grim patches of mud like pockmarks on the terrain.

The medical tent was where it was when they landed. A large grey canvas tent a stones throw from the port they arrived on, one of the few remnants of the city that had been here before them.

Roy wondered how long it had been there before their arrival, all the history erased in the span of half a day thanks to the twisted monster that Tarkus had unleashed on the defenceless populace. That was his other reason for training with Rune, he wanted to make sure the Herald was enough to defeat that…thing.

With the medical tent relatively empty Roy was deposited by Gray onto a cot before calling for a medic.

“Don’t worry Roy, we’ll get you all sorted and then get back out and beat that Herald,” Beau said with a squeaky, cracking voice. The young lad had never been much for lying but he was doing his best.

A weary looking man trudged over to the trio, dark bags visible under heavily bloodshot eyes. He had clearly not slept well, or perhaps much at all, in several days.

“The trouble?” His voice was deep and raspy, he coughed quietly into his hand.

“I think my ribs are broken,” Roy lied while groaning loudly to try and sell the performance better.

Leaning in the doctor pulled up Roy’s shirt and examined the bruise that had begun forming there, pressing gently causing Roy to wince in fake pain.

“Hm, seems like only surface damage. Possibly a fracture, but I doubt it.”

“Huh,” Roy said as if surprised by the development. “I guess that Herald was weaker than I thought, or maybe I’m just made of sturdier stuff?” He chuckled lightly while sitting up slowly.

“A Herald, you say?” A sudden voice from the back of the cent sent a chill through Roy’s spine, as a figure in heavy looking spiked charcoal armour stepped from behind the curtain that had been shielding him from view.

“Tell me more about this attack.”

-----

Sahaela had given the signal, only one of the buildings had hostages held within and so Midori and Rune set out for their part of the operation. 

The conjured mist hung heavy to the ground masking their movement until it was too late.

Taking out the guards was simple enough since the quartet guarding the captives had been reduced to a duo, the other two heading toward a slate coloured tent near the port.

Rune moved with such speed that he was behind them before they could even register his presence, and with similar speed grabbed their heads smacking them both together with an almost comedic bonk sound.

Creeping up behind him Midori grabbed one of the guards and helped drag them inside.

The heavy smell of grain, honey and the yeasty scent of fermentation in the air and looking around was not hard to see why. Over a dozen clay pots were stacked on a sturdy wooden shelf against the wall furthest from the door; and inside she suspected was the delicious but deadly bubble juice that rendered her incapacitated after a few glasses.

And in the middle of the room tied in a circle to the central pillar were a small group—no more than eight—of darker skinned individuals whose garb Midori recognized as similar to those of the Yanara villagers.

She approached them and they recoiled, as much as they could with their hands and feet so tightly bound. Momentarily hesitating she swallowed the worry in her throat and spoke the word Rune had taught her the night before.

“Kōkua.”

Rune had said it meant help in their language, and she was thankful they seemed to relax ever so slightly though still eyed her suspiciously.

Closing her eyes she took a breath and imagined a blade of water forming in her hand, imagining painting it on the canvas in heavy oils. As she did the water of the air began to coalesce into a razor sharp blade of water, which she used to swiftly cleave through the bindings.

The villagers stood quickly yet kept their distance, but as Rune appeared in the doorway their demeanour relaxed far more and a few seemed to even smile. They spoke in their native language—a language Midori realized she would need to learn if she truly planned to stay—and after a few moments Rune turned to her with a wide smile.

“They are grateful for your help, and those who can will fight with us but only two have the strength.”

Rune pointed to two large men with wide frames and broad shoulders that were adorned with various intricate looking tattoos.

“Okay then,” she said with a grin. “Time for phase two.”