Sabres 10.01
- Pronouns
- He/Him
CHAPTER X
Wherein the cavalry officer is given some knowledge of the momentous EVENTS soon to pass.
Wherein the cavalry officer is given some knowledge of the momentous EVENTS soon to pass.
The summer sun shines bright through the windows of the Duke of Cunaris's office, wreathing your regimental commander's burly form in an outline of flaxen light as he considers the three of you standing at attention before him.
"I have read your reports, gentlemen, and I saw fit to send them forward to my superiors. A close but hard-fought victory, I believe, was how you put it, Captain Elson?"
The Captain nods in agreement. "Yes, sir. A victory won by Lieutenant Castleton's brilliant deception, sir."
The Duke nods, a beatific smile on his face, looking very much like a proud father. "Quite so, Captain. In fact, the Duke of Wulfram seems to agree with you. Though there have been a few minor points of contention between my office and theirs, they have seen fit to award all three of you with the Meritorious Service Order. Congratulations."
You try thoroughly to hide your disappointment. The Meritorious Service Order is not a particularly exalted honour and barely ranked above the campaign ribbon that every single soldier of the King's Army in Antar will receive at the end of the war. You had expected higher honours for your victory, especially considering the coveted and prestigious decorations you had won at the war's beginning.
Regardless of how hard you tried to suppress your expression of unpleasant surprise, it was not hard enough. The Duke seems to pick up on it immediately.
"We have been at war for nearly six years now, gentlemen. You may no longer expect high command to hand out decorations freely. Suffice it to say, this stalemate has grown tiresome to our superiors: if you want a prestigious medal pinned to your chest, then we must have a prestigious victory.
"That Antari lord you captured shall fetch a sizeable sum. I shall make the necessary arrangements with young Khorobirit's army. If you thirst for something shiny and metal to pin to your breast, you may make a sash from the ransom gold if you wish."
You nod. There is very little else you can do. Lieutenants do not usually win arguments with their regimental colonels. Cunaris looks at each of the three of you in turn, making sure that he has your undivided attention.
"Gentlemen, as you are likely well aware, the Duke of Wulfram is gathering his army here because he believes there is a chance for us to swing the war decisively in our favour. I must admit that nothing would quite be more welcome. This whole Antari adventure is not popular amongst the commons back home, never mind that we were the ones attacked. The King has appealed to the Cortes to raise a tax on wages, a dreadfully unpopular measure, obviously. Even so, if the war continues, by this time next year, Tierra will be in debt for the first time in its history. The King, the Cortes, and the Commons all want a swift end to this war, and Wulfram plans to give it to them."
The Duke leans forward, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial as if he were sharing a secret with the three of you. "But to do that, he shall need a great victory. He needs officers of skill and intellect in command. That is what I shall expect you to be; I shall trust all three of you not to disappoint me."
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the quiet scratching of quill on parchment coming from the desks of the Duke's aides behind you. Cunaris leans back, satisfied that he has gotten his message across. "Now, gentlemen. I assume I shall see you at the reception tonight?"
Captain Elson replies for you. "Of course, sir."
"Then you are dismissed. Good day."
-
The streets of Noringia have become almost unrecognizable since your return from the North less than a week ago. Over the space of five days, a dozen regiments recruited from all over the Unified Kingdom and formerly stationed all over Southern Antar have converged upon the town. The formerly half-empty streets are now awash with uniforms of every colour, from the green-grey of your own regiment to the silver of the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers to the burnt orange of the Line Infantry.
In addition, having apparently sensed the likelihood of a climactic campaigning season, observers from half a dozen nations share the streets with Antari stragglers and Tierran soldiers. The harbour is filled with ships from all over the Northern Kingdoms and a sleek black-hulled schooner from Takara.
Elson's eyes seem to dart everywhere as you walk down the crowded main thoroughfare with your fellow officers of the Third Squadron. Occasionally, he will point out a particularly distinctive uniform or emblem of some regiment, Houseguard, or other. Cazarosta remains silent, though his eyes seem to follow your captain's. Eventually, the other lieutenant disappears into the crowd, leaving only the two of you.
"Saints above!" Elson exclaims as the two of you step into the cool shade of your lodgings. "Tonight's reception shall be like a moving shrine window, save with dress uniforms instead of coloured glass. Our green-grey shall seem as dull as stone, compared to some of those lot."
[X] I reassure Elson that our recent victory will make our uniforms recognizable enough.
Elson smiles but shakes his head.
"I see what you're trying to do, Castleton, and I thank you for it, but we shall not be the only officers in the room fresh from a victory. There has been skirmishing all along the front over the past few months, and I have no doubt there shall be toasts made to some victorious young officers tonight, but they shall be men of richer families and more prestigious regiments, not us."
You nod. Perhaps he is right.
[X] Ask Elson about the reception.
The Captain seems shocked that you had forgotten when you ask him about the evening's reception. "Pray tell me that you have not forgotten already! Damn me if we were not given the invitations to them just yesterday at low tea."
When it becomes evident to the other officer that you have indeed misremembered, he gives a rather melodramatic sigh before reminding you.
"If you'd care to recall, the Duke of Wulfram has organized a reception for this evening. He's invited every single officer in Noringia, the foreign observers too, though one wonders how he plans to fit them all into one building, let alone one hall. In short, it is the most important formal event either of us shall ever likely be invited to, not to mention the first one I've seen in six years."
Elson smirks boyishly. "Do you remember now, dear fellow?"
[X] Ask Elson about the Duke of Wulfram.
Elson seems surprised that you would even ask. "After all, is your family estate not within the boundaries of his duchy? I would have thought you would have met him at least once."
You hasten to explain to Elson the unlikelihood that the young son of a minor noble family would ever become acquainted with one of the most powerful men in the Unified Kingdom, regardless of political ties. You even manage to do so without a single trace of sarcasm. Elson takes the hint.
The Captain explains for you: "The Duke of Wulfram is the commanding officer of the King's forces here in Antar, of course. He's also the most senior member of the King's army and privy council."
Elson pauses to recall further as if being tested by a schoolmaster. "He's a career soldier, made his name in the Royal Marines during King Alaric's War if I recall correctly. He's of the old school of officers, but he's a pretty powerful 'caster and has been a general longer than either of us have even been alive. I'd like to think that puts us in good hands, regardless of any conservatism on his part."
[X] I excuse myself and retire to my room to prepare for the reception.
You make your excuses and return to your room to make yourself presentable enough for the evening's reception.
The long and painstaking process of preparing yourself for a formal event has become an unfamiliar one after so many years of soldiering on the frontier and shuffling down the ramshackle streets of formerly empty Noringia. However, you are still the son of a noble house and remember your lessons on the subject well enough.
You change into your finest underclothes and daub dashes of scent in the places where you are most likely to sweat. This done, you begin the ordeal of putting on your uniform.
For an occasion of this magnitude, not even your dress uniform will be ornate enough. Instead, you must attend the Duke of Wulfram's reception in what is known as "court dress," which adds more belts, ornamentation, and gold braid to your dress tunic. A half-jacket, half-cape confection called a dolman is tied over your left shoulder; its even more uselessly ornamental cousin, the pelisse, a bastard child of fur cloak and jacket, is draped over it.
As you begin the final process of looking over your sword and the grooming of your hair, you sense a bane signature of immense power approaching you from far away. It is certainly even more overwhelming than the presence of a knight of the Orders-Militant, a rather unsettling thought.
A moment later, you hear the sound of hobnailed boots beating against the cobbles in perfect order. It is only then that you realize that the bubbling noise of the streets below seems to have faded away. The crunching beat grows louder, and with it, the source of the banesign draws nearer.
The sound of marching grows louder and louder until suddenly it stops: as does the banesign right below your window.
[X] Take a look.
You peer out the window…
And you behold a sight which will remain with you until the end of your days.
Standing before you are two perfect ranks of the most spectacularly outfitted and drilled soldiers you have ever seen. Even from a distance, you can see that not a single hobnailed jackboot is out of line, and not a single fold of their black and silver uniforms looks any less than perfectly placed. The steel of their breastplates and helmets shine mirror-like in the afternoon sun. The barrels of their muskets and the scabbards of their long, curved swords blaze with the chained power of banerunes.
You recognize them immediately from stories, legends, and low whispers in the officer's club. They are soldiers of the Richslybgarte: the Takaran Imperial Guard, the finest line infantry in the world.
At their head stands a muscular figure with straight, chin-length platinum-blond hair and the bearing of an officer. The leader of the Takaran soldiers shouts a command in a rich, throaty voice. It is only then that you realize that the Takaran officer is a woman.
It is common knowledge that their racial ability to use the bane without restriction allows Takaran society to draw no distinctions of sex; however, seeing the principle in action is an entirely different matter. Now that you look closer, you realize that it is likely that a good number of the other soldiers in the formation might be of the fairer sex.
Heady stuff, isn't it?
[] A frightening notion, actually: if the Takarans are unprincipled enough to expose their women to battle, who knows what they might be capable of?
[] I'm sure it's all fine and good for the Takarans, but elven women have so many advantages which their human counterparts simply do not possess.
[] The Takarans have allowed their women to fight in their wars, and they are one of the most powerful nations in the world. Should we not follow their example?
[] If only we allowed our women to fight alongside us! Not only would it allow us to replace lost soldiers faster, but it would allow Tierra to field a larger army.
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