Rescue Operation Briefing

It had been four days since the flight from the forest and the discovery of the razed Camp Gwenhwy-fawr. In that period, Avii had been given no time to rest as Ostave was eager to keep with the original plan laid out by the late Marx. But changes had been made. Changes that Avii feared would only lead to more death in his future.

According to the Orcish Knight, while Avii was brought along for his knowledge of the fallen nation, Estarian Command had been prepared for his failure. Over several weeks of preparation for the mission, trained scouts had been gathering information pertaining to how the landscape had changed following Kovik Occupation. The soldiers of the razed camp bore knowledge beyond Avii’s, not only of how the terrain now differed and where Kovik supply lines lay, but also Estarian strategies. This meant it was the responsibility of Ostave’s squadron to rescue them or, at the very least, prevent them from divulging too much.

After confirming the camp’s placement on the map, Avii provided his explanation of the land as it once was. From his vantage atop the hills, he knew the Forest of Bones to be to their east. To the west lie the vast, expansive plains that would ultimately lead to the Kovika nation. This placed the frontlines not far to their north and deep to the south, the target of their mission, the mountain at the centre of Maldain. The path that the suspected prisoners of war had been marched along drove south through wetlands, forcing them through mud and muck far past the horizon. It would slow them, but Avii knew that it wouldn’t be by much, for the Kovik Slavemaster’s whip was nothing if not persuasive.

Ragart, the handiest of the squadron, had managed to fix one of the charred carriages with ease. By his explanation, it would make travel easier going forward and allow found goods to be taken along. As he worked away, the rest of the team scattered in search of supplies. Having to leave their point of origin in a rush, they were less than prepared for the arduous journey ahead. To make it worse, most of the camp seemed to have been cleared by the Koviks, and what couldn’t be carried or hauled had been burnt to the ground. Luckily, Estarian’s were well trained in hiding things away, meaning that before long, barrels had been unearthed and concealment runes deactivated.

All it took was an hour to weigh down the carriage with preserved foods, weapons, and spare arcanzcores. After a final search of the surroundings, the soldiers mounted up and turned to Avii. It was now his turn to earn his right to live.

A spare suit of third-generation armour had been left buried beneath rubble, its occupant burnt alive within. After scraping the word MULE into the chest, removing all markings of rank and privilege, Avii was gifted the shell. The interior reeked of burnt flesh and groaned under the strain of movement, but it was still better than what he had been forced to wear in recent years. Though nothing compared to the mobility or strength of the Gynour’s siege suit, built for heavy combat, Avii was still pleased. And as the arcanzcore glowed in his chest, powering his muscles and allowing his innate magic to be conserved, he pulled at the carriage like the beast of burden he was.

It would take Avii three full days of travel moving at full speed, pulling nearly two tons of weight behind him before they caught up with their quarry. Only having to stop twice to free the carriage from the muck of the wetland they traversed, by the twilight of the fourth day, they hid away from sight to spy on the found Kovika prison camp.

“You see there,” Ostave spoke softly as he glanced through the polished crystal held between his thumb and index finger. “That appears to be the main tent. Leadership should be there.”

“Good,” Sebastian answered as he crawled down from the hilltop before turning to face Avii. “Then as soon as night falls, we strike. Mule, polearm and core. Don’t make me wait.”

Avii did as he was told. Turning back to the carriage, he lifted the tarp and examined the weapons they had taken. He reached in, taking hold of a well-crafted halberd and inspected it. It was a versatile weapon meant for standard infantry, but when paired with an arcanzcore and put in the hands of a Gynour, it could be something else entirely.

As Avii flipped open the top of a nearby crate, revealing the faint glow of three dozen arcanzcores, he plucked one. Taking hold of the top, he found the connecting rune on the halberd, just beneath the axe-blade, and attached the core. With a satisfying whine, the weapon began to glow.

“Damn it, mule!” Sebastian bellowed, approaching in a hurry. “Don’t arm it yet!”

Delivering a heavy backhand, Sebastian struck Avii across the face before taking the weapon. As he stumbled back from the strike, not bothering to wipe at the blood trickling from his lip, he watched as Sebastian removed the core and inspected the weapon himself. What appeared to have been a simple accident had in fact been far from it.

Avii purposefully pushed at the man. After learning in recent days that Sebastian had a short fuse, he found opportunity in the abuse. Lashing out for every little error, the soldier did well to strike Avii like the beast he was. This, of course, provoked the others.

“Sebastian,” Ragart remarked from the hillside. “Leave the beast be. Like it knows halberd handling.”

“It should! It’s wearing armour after all. If the mule can talk and walk like a man, maybe it should learn a thing or two while it’s at it.”

“Well, then why don’t you teach it?” The dwarf chuckled, chewing at the nub of a cigar. “If you want it to be a man so bad. Take it under your wing, boy.”

“Like hells I will.” Sebastian shot Avii a glare before spitting at his feet. “It’ll be a cold day in Maldain that I treat it like an equal deserving of my attention.”

“Stow it,” Ostave now spoke as he slid back from the hilltop. “Gynour, prepare for your assault. Caster, you join him. When the sun sets, we strike.”

“Sire.” Both Aindes and Sebastian replied, making their way to the carriage where they began to rummage through the stored materials.

Stepping away from the carriage, giving space between himself and the men, Avii watched as Ostave approached. With a deadly focused stare, he nodded to Avii and directed him even farther from the group. He did as he was told, moving some twenty or thirty feet away before the Knight stopped him and drew close.

“Mule,” He spoke, lowering his voice to a grumble as he addressed Avii. “Stop trying to actively piss him off.”

“Sire, I—” Avii began only to be cut off with a backhand from the orc.

“Enough, I know what you’re doing, mule. Sebastian is a hothead, and it must feel nice to garner some sympathy from the others. But if you keep up with it, I will have no choice but to deliver my judgement.”

Avii remained silent, listening as he was lectured. He had thought he was being slick, playing everything so well that no one could pick up on it. But it appeared that the Knight was second in command for a reason. Nothing would slip by him so long as he was in charge. And seeing as he didn’t immediately remove Avii’s tongue or fingers, the man decided it best to remain on his good side.

“Nod,” Ostave continued with a grunt. “If you understand, mule.”

Doing so gently, Avii glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the camp. From their position, he could just catch a glimpse of the distant, muddy landscape. His heart sank at the sight, as anxiety filled him. It had been a long time since he had seen a Kovika camp, but prisoners don’t quickly forget their times there. Times that made Estarian incarceration feel like vacations to the coast and days spent lounging on lush hillsides.

“Sire,” Avii spoke cautiously. “If I may…”

He waited, quietly hoping the Knight would let him speak. After all, there was no doubt that he would be charging into the combat zone with them. They needed to know what they were marching into.

“Speak.” Ostave finally replied after a tense moment of quiet.

“The large tent you spoke of. Those are usually slave tents. They stack them in cots, five high with only enough room to slide your bodies between the beds.”

“And you know this…how?”

“Do you think I willingly walked across the Estarian border?”

Ostave smacked his lips at the remark, and Avii watched as the man clenched his jaw.

“Sorry, sire.” Avii retreated a step with a slight bow. “I mean to say, I was liberated from a camp under the control of O’Sinas The Butcher and—”

“You were under the Butcher’s blade?” Ostave’s attention suddenly hardened as he focused on Avii as though he had said something absurd. “That fiend? I’ve only ever heard rumours. They say soldiers who returned home were never the same. Many choosing to join the Gods by their own hands the moment they were left alone.”

Avii remained quiet at this, wrestling with the thoughts of his time in Kovika custody. Ten years under their control had nearly driven him mad. The day Estaria had raided the camp, taken control and found his mangled body, he had hoped for death. But then, after reading the Butcher’s notes, they chose to spare him. From one captor to the next. He would be forced to continue.

“So is it true,” Ostave continued, breaking him from his thoughts. “What they say?”

“Pray to whichever God you do that you never find out,” Avii remarked, glancing once more towards the camp. “For it is not what you heard that was the worst of it. It is what was left unsaid. What drove them to the precipice of darkness and pushed them over.”

Ostave held his breath as he inspected Avii, likely judging the situation and how to proceed, or at least Avii imagined. But the silence of the moment only made it worse for the man. It had always been the silence that he struggled with. After a decade of agonizing screams every minute of every day, he had grown used to having company in pain. It was only when the cries stopped that he realized he was alone. That he was next in line for the torture rack. And as his memories flooded back at the sight of the camp, he felt the pit in his stomach harden. For something told him that he was once again next.