Deal with a Devil

As The Capitol came into view, Fulcher took a moment to observe the battlefield. Near the base of the hill leading into the dense housing around the castle was a large command tent, and lines of soldiers. They ran about and scrambled with the appearance of the rebel force, forming ranks and setting up for the assault. On the far right side of the battlefield was a smattering of combatants that looked more like trappers and hunters than soldiers. Their camps were less organized, and they moved slower to prepare as the army of Corvidrop entered the fields on the opposite side of them. Even further to the right, and closest to the rebels was a smaller campsite with a large bonfire. Fulcher narrowed his eyes as he studied the people sitting around the fire, eating and drinking while musical instruments were played.

Adventurers, he thought, I don’t really have a plan for them. My best bet will be that we can claim the throne before they do too much damage to our army.

Fulcher turned Ravage around and rode towards the back of Corvidrop’s army, where the Lord was riding with his Ravenguard.

“Benedict,” Fulcher called as he rode up alongside Corvidrop’s horse. “They have mustered to meet us in the field. Why? Isn’t it better to fight from inside the castle?”

“They likely have too many troops to fit inside the keep. The Capitol is smaller than other strongholds, and they clearly have the numbers advantage,” Benedict answered as he surveyed the field before them. “That, and we are outnumbered. Would you risk a siege from a smaller, weaker army? Or would you simply crush them when they arrived?”

“Crush, I suppose,” Fulcher admitted.

“Right. So, you best hope your friends from The South arrive before they decide that very same thing,” Benedict said. He turned his horse towards the adventurer camp.

“Come. We’ve negotiating to do,” he said as he rode off. Two of his Ravenguard rode with him, as Fulcher spurred Ravage to keep up.

The music from the camp stopped as they approached, with a couple of the adventurers standing up in preparation of their arrival.

“If you don’t win them over quickly, they’ll likely join the battle against us,” Corvidrop called as they rode. “Remember, these adventurer types only want one thing; loot. Be it gold, weaponry or land, they value what they can gain over ideals or purpose.” Fulcher nodded, peering at the ramshackle camp of leather-clad warriors. He spotted a horse riding towards them, and remembered the face well enough from his arrival. The Huntmaster was coming to meet them.

“What do we have here?” an adventurer called out as they arrived at the camp. “The Lord of Ravens and The Rebel Prince riding a new beast!”

“I wonder how it tastes,” another man called.

“I wonder how he tastes,” called a woman in the back. Laughter erupted from the camp as several of the combatants eyed Ravage with interest. The raptor rumbled and clicked his claws against the soft grass.

“Who among you speaks for the whole?” Corvidrop called.

“We speak for ourselves!” said one.

“We are not servant or slave to leadership,” sneered another.

“Boris is a talker! Let Boris deal with the whelps!” a dark hooded figure jeered. A collective chant came from somewhere in the back of the camp, spreading like wildfire.

“Bor-is! Bor-is! Bor-is!” the camp called. From beside the fire, a large man took a sip from a mug before standing. He was tall, as tall as Fulcher was atop Ravage. He was bald save for a bushy mustache that erupted from his lip, still dripping with ale. His chest was bare, with a pair of deep blue pants rimmed with white furs. He hefted a greataxe over his shoulder as he moved through the camp, coming to stand before Fulcher and Corvidrop.

“Aye!” the camp cheered in unison, before they all returned to whatever they had been doing before Fulcher had arrived.

“You come to speak, little lords?” Boris bellowed, the axe still resting against his shoulder. With one hand he pulled his pants up, the fur shifting slightly to reveal a glowing blue belt. Benedict looked at Fulcher, who cleared his throat.

“I know you are being paid by my father. So I’ll be blunt. What do you want in return for staying out of the battle?” he asked. Boris, and then Benedict, rose their brows as they looked at Fulcher.

“You do not even wish for our aid? You simply want us to stay away?” Boris asked.

“Yes. I’ll take your demands now, and if we win I will make certain to honor them,” Fulcher said. He peered over at the approaching Huntmaster, who at this point was knocking an arrow into his bow.

“Mm. You speak boldly, little lord. You would make yourself King after defeating your father?” Boris asked.

“A better King,” Fulcher began, “One that won’t be ruling over others, but alongside–” his voice caught in his throat at the sight of an arrow whizzing through the air towards him. He hardly had enough time to react before a surge of yellow energy burst from somewhere in the camp. The magic collided with the arrow as it approached, freezing it mid-air as if someone were holding it there. Fulcher looked around to find identical arrows hovering near Ravage’s eye, as well as Corvidrop’s neck. An angry murmur stirred within the adventurer camp.

“The King’s Dog seeks to interrupt our negotiation!” called one.

“He is a fool to try and force our hand,” murmured another.

Fulcher caught a glimpse of some wizard in the back of the camp, his hand lit with yellow energy. He flicked his wrist, and the arrows fell softly to the grass.

He hardly put in any effort to save our lives, Fulcher thought. These adventurers are terrifying.

“Ignore him, little lord. But do not spout about ideals. If you will take our demands, we shall make it simple,” Boris said. Fulcher nodded as the behemoth of a man turned back to the camp.

“WHAT DO WE WANT?!” he bellowed.

“A proper guild!” came a cry.

“Contracts!” said another.

“A feast!” came a third. The camp again began to chant. “Feast! Feast! Feast!” Boris turned back and smiled down at Fulcher.

“Of course, continued employment by The Throne, as well…” the man said. “Is this agreeable?” Fulcher turned Ravage to stick his hand out to Boris.

“I give you my word. Continued employment from me. We will also build you a Hall and provide more fruitful contracts. And we can throw a victory feast,” he said. Boris laughed as he reached over to shake Fulcher’s hand, the giant’s hand gripping the prince’s entire forearm. The shake itself almost took Fulcher’s arm off as he laughed, turning back to the camp.

“Today, we watch! Who wants to start taking bets?” he cheered. A table was cleared as a shrewd looking rogue sat down, motioning towards the rest of the camp. Coin purses were tossed over, with some gemstones and magical items clattering against the wood as they started to place bets on the outcome of the battle. Boris walked back to his seat as Benedict turned.

“Come on, before they change their minds,” he said simply. Fulcher gave one last look towards The Huntmaster. He stood shouting over his horse, which now had an arrow sticking out of its chest.

Fulcher had not even noticed one of the adventurers responding to his provocation as he turned Ravage away to join the others.

That’s a relief, he thought, those people are true monsters.