War and Hope, in the Skies, on the Horizon ( Nivansrywyllian & Dreamless)

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"My apologies, Commander Dormus," came her terse reply. In all fairness, she understood the gravity that titles and honorifics held, particularly in the presence of subordinates, but the tone that Volantaris took did nothing to assuage her--as he so eloquently put it--'dangerously exploitable temper.

It was not a tone that she hadn't heard before. But as the sellsword had the misfortune of stepping into what was already a considerably heated situation taking place in Eyraille, her patience had long since worn thin, and she found herself running out of pleasantries and tolerance for the accusations made on her House--or, more specifically, her brother's name. A name that she was finding increasingly more difficult to protect...

"The situation that you have entered has already been explained," she began, tempering her urge to snap. "We are a weakened kingdom, Commander Dormus, both by the sudden death of its previous monarch, the damage of his reign, and, admittedly, the youth of its current ruler." There was no avoiding the prospect that Caris was, perhaps, too young for the responsibility; Vega was all too aware, as was reflected in her constant involvement in matters that should concern her brother, alone. "Forgive me for lack of a more mild temperament, but yes, you are correct: I haven't invested trust in you and yours, at least, not to the extent that you wish. Although I will remain optimistic that your assistance in preparation for this war will change that."

Squinting at the harsh, orange light of the setting sun, the Skyknight found herself quickly reevaluating guiding Volantaris and his party on this tour. He certainly took no issue with being 'frank', and she feared that, indeed, that very Sorde rage that unmistakably ran through her blood, might be ignited. But to turn her back now would only validate his accusation. And she needed to be the diplomat that Caris was not.

"The city's armory; I have no doubt you will find what you need, there" she indicated a stone edifice attached the to the Smith's up ahead, although otherwise appeared disinterested. "If understanding is what you seek, sir, then understand this: Eyraille is Caris' primary charge, for better or for worse. But Caris... he is my charge. As a brother, as Eyraille's monarch, and as a young man who is overwhelmed with a position that he never wanted. Forgive me my crassness, but I will defend him on any level, and at all costs. Because I am the only one who understands the position that he is in, and all that it entails."
 
Volantaris turned his eyes on the smithy, and the armory attached to it. For a moment, he thought about further testing the woman's temper. It seemed the turn of the wind was enough to put up her back, and an off sneeze enough to set her to shouting. It was tempting. So tempting. But Volan had more pressing matters to attend to than satiating his curiosity. With any luck, he could complete his service to the crown with most of his men hale, and steering well clear of the volatile knight.

"Both you and your king have invited me, and my army here, and charged me with the defense of your homes, lands, and treasures. Why you hired a man you don't trust to look after all this," he took in the square through which they strode, "I can't fathom." He regarded the woman, from the corner of his eye. "But we do not require your trust. And no assurances I make will change your opinion. You're welcome to draw your own conclusions at the end of our contract."

He and his group came to a stop in front of the armory. "It was an enlightening tour, Sir Vega." He said. "I will see you and your man come daybreak in front of my barracks tomorrow."
 
"Eyraille is desperate for allies. And where it does not have them, it seems, it must buy them." Vega was not proud of this contract with the questionable sellsword, that much was obvious. But likewise, it was either invest trust where there was none, or fall to the steel of a guerrilla kingdom to the north. As they came to a stop, she turned to face Volantaris, but her expression was one of weariness, and not of the volatile temper that he so predicted. "Know that we are not proud of this arrangement, and that I, in particular, am amidst dealing with the repercussions of this decision; a decision that I had to encourage his Majesty to embrace. You might find resistance and resentment among the people of Eyraille, particularly within its military, but there is no hubris, here. You will be hard pressed to find pride."

It was just as well that the meeting was coming to an end. Vega was spent on more levels than she could count, and hadn't the patience left for the sellsword's audacity. She needed rest; more importantly, solitude. "You can count on our presence. I bid you and yours a good evening, Commander."

Offering no more than a terse nod, Vega left Volantaris and his company, returning to the citadel by the time the sun had finally set. On her way to her quarters, she passed Caris, who hardly spared her a glance. Oh no. Not from you, too. "We have no allies, here, Caris; no friends," she reminded the young ruler, whose steps came to a halt. "Would you really alienate me so readily, to stand alone with naught but your pride?"

"What pride, Vega? What do we have left but risk taking and gambling lives?" The young man's brows knit together in ire, but the curve of his mouth suggest other sentiments. "I have no pride. I'm afraid; there is no pride in fear."

"You are at liberty to be afraid; we all are. And I am not asking you to trust the sellsword or his militia. But please... will you trust me?"

Caris paused, not contemplating his reply, but rather, contemplating whether it needed to be spoken aloud. "You already know the answer to that," came his soft reply. "I always have."

"Then rest easy. We will take this one day at a time, and I will take care of what needs to be done tomorrow."
 
Volantaris and his men continued their tour of the city, as the sun sank, and the moon rose. In the night, the situation changed somewhat. They lost the protection -what there had been- of the skyknight walking beside them, but gained the cover of darkness. It wasn't too far a stretch to imagine them three footmen and a rider, though one walking with a stave the size of a tentpole. Even so, they met no resistance as they came through the city. Maybe none of the more belligerent townspeople saw them. Maybe they were intimidated by the number, or the armament -such as it was- of the group. Or maybe the people truly and honestly didn't want any trouble. In any case, Volan's curiosity was quelled, and his mind was at ease.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Come morning, the thousand mercenaries had all gathered in the parade ground outside the barracks for inspection. Each wore his weapon, and his uniform. Even the irregulars, though their assorted armaments were as varied as their unit. Dolgan strode the lines, scrutinizing the mercenaries under his care, as the Commander watched on from a table he'd had brought out to the grounds. Upon the table was a plate of food, -simple fare consisting of eggs, sausage, and a cup of dark tea- a sheaf of paper, an inkwell, and a jar of sand.

On occasion, the surly dwarf would blister a recruit's hide for being unkempt, or laggardly, but largely there was little complaint to be found among the Moonshadows from a military standpoint.

Volan, for his part, was busy scratching away at a letter, with only half an ear for the tongue-lashing his second gave the men. A second letter -already read, by the wax seal broken at the front- sat beside the sheaf of papers, and to it the sellsword's eyes flicked time and again. After the muster, he'd see to the new scout at his disposal. But the letter needed writing.
 
"There is no remedy to early mornings, Sir Theirry, except to get used to them."

Vega couldn't help but smile at the barely conscious Skyknight at her side, as she accompanied him to Volantaris' barracks--once again, clad head to toe in the leather and steel armor of her position. It was seldom anyone ever saw the Sorde daughter without it, almost as if she felt that it would protect her against so much more than weapons. Unfortunately, what hurt and harmed the most always seemed to penetrate.

"Yes, Sir, of course," the young man stifled a yawn and scratched the back of his neck. "Apologies, Sir, I found myself too roused by this very prospect to sleep well..."

And who in the entire citadel was not lacking in sleep? She had absolutely no grounds to chide him, nor any inclination. "You realize... you are completely at liberty to change your mind." She spoke so softly, it was almost as though she was ashamed at her own suggestion. "If you are not comfortable with Volantaris' plan, you have full leave to withdraw."

"Withdraw? Sir, I would never go back on my word," by Theirry's expression, one would have thought his Commanding Officer had spoken blasphemy. "I want to do this. I'll do whatever it takes, within the realm of my abilities."

There would be no convincing him otherwise, it seemed. On their arrival, Vega notified one of Volantaris' men of their presence, and proceeded to wait patiently to be received.
 
Volantaris saw the skyknight and her fledgeling, and glanced at his men in turn. They were an impressive force, all gathered in the parade grounds as they were, and armed to the teeth. Dolgan's inspection came to a close, and Volantaris made short work of the remainder of the meal, as the dwarf approached, intercepting one of the camp runners on his way to the commander.

Gruffly, the dwarf sent the lad on his way, before approaching the commander himself. "Your new scout's here, with his keeper." The dwarf said.

Volantaris dabbed his lips with a napkin, and pushed himself to his feet. He was dressed in finely tailored riding breeches, cut for comfort in the saddle, and a blue velvet tunic that cinched close around the waist, with wide sleeves, and a baldric to suspend his sword -a straight sword, double edged and forged for hacking as well as stabbing- at his waist. His boots were made of leather, and blackened with bootshine. They were turned down at the knee.

He looked every bit the dandy.

He smiled as he approached the pair, his second in tow. "Sir Vega. And the new scout. Forgive me, I have not had the opportunity to make your acquaintance. My name is Volantaris Dorma, Commander of the Moonshadows. This is Dolgan Stoneboots, my second in command." The man sketched a bow to the lady, and canted his head more shallowly to the rider. "As soon as the rest of your team arrive, I'll have your first mission for you."

Even as he spoke, a quintet of Centauri bowmen peeled off from their formation, and cantered to the newcomers. Additionally, another four elves joined the meeting, booted feet silent, even on paving stones.

"Wonderful, you're all here." He said, his eyes turning from face to face.

"I intend to make you forward scouts. You are to make camp in the foothills to the northeast, and to report on any change in the location, number, or nature of our foes." He said, his eyes taking to the elves, and the centauri. "Pick a place with enough space for our new scout to land, and send reports daily. Hourly, if things get exciting."

He turned to the sleepy looking knight beside Vega. "It will be your duty to carry messages to, and from this forward camp daily. It sounds menial, but it is of vital importance. Are you still willing?" He asked, his eyes flicking to Vega, to include her in the question.
 
"Commander Dormus. This is Theirry Acaila, one of my newest and most promising knights." Vega took the liberty to introduce the young man, who bowed his respect. "I think you'll find he is one of the best suited to your intent. Thierry is among my most agile knights, and his Roc is not slowed or hindered by poor weather conditions."

"Sir," Thierry addressed Volantaris, his youthful smile triggering a dimple in his cheek. The fatigue had faded from his bright eyes in a matter of seconds. "I am happy to be considered for this task, and don't consider it menial by any stretch of the truth. I hope that I will prove valuable to you--and, vicariously, to you, Sir Vega."

The noble Skyknight offered a slight shake of the head. "You needn't prove anything to me. Simply mind your life, that of your Roc's, and that of those who you will oversee from the skies."

"Of course. I won't let you down. If you'll both excuse me, then, I'll see to my Roc; she should be ready for travel."

Smiling politely at the small cluster of scouts who he was to accompany, before offering Vega and Volantaris a shallow bow, prior to his departure. Vega watched his retreat with keen eyes a moment longer than what was necessary. Thierry was a year younger than Caris; if her reluctance to hand him over to the sellsword's cause wasn't already obvious, perhaps it would never be. "Do let met know if you find his performance and punctuality less than satisfactory," she mentioned, "but I do not think you will find fault with him. Theirry seeks to impress. Whether or not that is to his advantage, I have yet to decide."
 
The collection of forward scouts each clapped fist to heart, and bowed to the two ranking officers. "You'll be leaving in two hours time. Go quickly, but do not exhaust yourselves, or outpace your comrades. Take care, and come back safe." He insisted.

The scouts straightened, and made off for their preparations to depart. Volantaris, for his part turned his eyes on the knight. "Sometimes decision rests outside of our grasp, Sir Vega." He glanced to the sky, a hand rising to run through his dark hair, pushing errant strands back from his face. "In those times, we must have faith. Faith in the training we provide. Faith in the capabilities of our men." He bowed fractionally to the woman, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I anticipate to have a thorough understanding of the nature of our enemy by the week's end. I'll pass a report forward to your strategists as soon as I've reviewed it. Today, I will walk the battlements and see what there is to be seen. If I am needed, Dolgan can find me. He'll be at the barracks all day overseeing the training and maintenance of the troops. For now however, I must finish my breakfast." He paused, regarding the woman.

"Care to join me?"
 
"Without Faith, Commander Dormus, I fear Eyraille would have nothing." Vega confirmed with a slow, solid nod. There was no need to further express her concern for the knight she had just handed over; it was her own fault that she invested too much in the well-being of those who worked under her. Both a blessing and a curse, a virtue and a vice, yet of late, it was increasingly becoming a hindrance.

Breakfast was perhaps one of the last things on the Skyknight's mind, her appetite having gone the way of the wind with the anxiety borne of her kingdom's dire situation. Forging it and other meals as she sometimes did was both careless and reckless, just as much as her tendency to run without ever taking a moment to catch her breath.
Without a word or further thought given to the offer, Vega nodded and followed him back into the barracks.

"If you can believe it, Ilandria used to be allied with Eyraille. But that was over a hundred years ago, if the history books speak the truth." She mentioned off-hand, in case he wasn't aware. On the off chance that it might mean something. "As soon as the house of Sorde became monarchy, their values and desires drove many allies away, Ilandria included. Whether or not that has anything to do with their current stance, I do not know... This was much before my time and Caris's. The details are lost to me."
 
Volantaris lead the way to the barracks, one hand on the pommel of his sword to keep it from jostling against his legs as he walked. "I can," He said idly. He was fairly familiar with the current state of the world insofar as alliances and old hatreds ran. It was the nature of the job, although the farther from the present day history ran, the fuzzier he was on it. He had scholars in his employ to keep him apprised of the situations concerning particular jobs, though they usually numbered among his magi, which had been left behind for this term of service.

"It isn't uncommon for allies to become enemies over a hundred years. From month-to-month, even. During some of the greater wars, a mercenary company may be fighting alongside another, drinking, gambling and bedding down with troops from a country. Another mercenary band. Then when their contract expires, and a different offer is made, the company may find itself opposing the very city it fought for in the same turn. This is not as common as one mercenary company fighting another that they'd fought beside before of course, but it does happen."

He waved a hand casually. "I do not mean to disturb you. It is why I added the termination safety assurance section of the contract at the end." He walked to the mess section of the barracks, where one of the elves was cooking stew by the cauldron. He approached, and took up a bowl, a plate, and a crust of bread from a nearby table. Largely speaking, he ate what his men ate. The elf man gave him a smile, as he ladled the stew into the bowl.

"Thank you, Aoyll." He turned to sit at one of the long tables, and tucked into the meal hungrily. He made himself eat frequently, more for fuel than for the joy of the flavor. But the stew was thick, and good, and had chunks of meat in it. That was more than could be claimed for some camp-meals, and a blessing besides.

"Have you hired mercenaries before, Sir Vega?"
 
The possibility that the end of this impending war did not mean the end of danger had, in fact, crossed Vega's mind several times. Particularly the possibility that Volantaris and his Moonshadows could be bought out, and fight on the opposing side soon after. The more she learned about the man and his mercenaries, the more that she realized he would make just as exceptional an enemy as an ally.
And, should another potential adversary strike up a contract that pit him against Eyraille, he would prove all the more dangerous, knowing the kingdom and its military forces inside and out.

She had known this, and it was a risk she had, in the end, been forced to take.

"You need not apologize, Commander Dormus," she said without looking at him, coming across as far less concerned about the prospect than she actually was. "I realize you are only our ally by contract, and in some months or years time, might meet us once again as our enemy. The idea is concerning, but that is the nature of you and your men... it is a necessary risk that we were forced to take." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, looking down at the scuffed, brown leather of her boots. The last thing the Skyknight wanted to consider on top of the war were future dangers, and future allies-turned-enemies.

Deciding to forgo food for the moment, Vega took a seat across from Volantaris, unable to shake the uneasiness that settled in her core every time she found herself present amidst him and his men. "I have not," came her simple reply, as she tucking a stray tress of russet hair behind her ear. "Hired swords have never been our preference, for the very reason that you have already addressed."
Perhaps a dangerous confession to make; but it was not as though he wasn't already aware of her kingdom's vulnerabilities. What was another shortcoming?
 
Volantaris ate while she spoke, putting away the stew at an alarming rate. As a mercenary, he'd long since learend that food was to be eaten quickly, while it was available. Otherwise, it might rapidly disappear, and leave you with an empty belly, and an enemy to fight. When she paused in speaking, he piped up.

"Then this will be a learning experience for you. Those are valuable, I find." He glanced at the conspicuously empty place in front of the woman. "I feel I should also ask -and please feel free not to answer if you are offended by the question- Have you and your sky-riders ever seen combat? Having never marched on Eyrialle, I can't say I've ever seen you or yours in combat."

Again he glanced at the woman's vacant setting. "Would you like me to fetch you a bowl of stew? Aoyll can make boot-leather and berries taste good. It is a rare talent, and one highly prized in an army's cook."
 
"I take no offense," she assured him, shaking her head. "Not all of the Skyknights have seen combat. Two thirds of us have, if I had to guess, myself included. Not to the extent of war, mind you, but small sieges led by small men with big aspirations to conquer us. The younger ones such as Theirry, however, had yet to deal in combat... and that worries me."

Biting her lower lip, she stared thoughtfully at the wood grain. "We practice our formations frequently enough that it is my hope that by the time the war is upon us, they can rely on muscle memory if not experience, but... I will not kid myself into think that practice effectively emulates combat. Still, the Skyknights are Eyraille's best offense and defense. Only archers and mages are capable of taking us down--and some have, in the past--but we try to coordinate the rest of the army to take care of those very threats before they cause damage. It is never surefire. In the future, when word finally spreads that magic is not the evil my father thought it to be, we will hopefully have mages on our side... though not in time for this war, I'm afraid."

Volantaris' offer caused her to look up from the table, flashing a quick smile. "Oh--thank you all the same, but I assure you that's not necessary," she said. "I am quite all right for now. No doubt I will have ample opportunity to eat later, when I am headed to the market square to check on the preparations for tomorrow's festivities." The Spring Equinox; it was nothing that any other village in any other kingdom did not celebrate, but in Eyraille, it also marked the beginning of hatching season for the Rocs in the mountains. Because the birds were so sacred to the kingdom's denizens, it only added a tad more emphasis to the celebration.
 
Volantaris dipped his head in a nod. No, formation practice was no substitute for blooded battle. He made a contemplative noise, as he finished the last of the stew, wiping up the dregs with his crust, and eating that with a few, ravenous bites. "I am familiar with fighting magi. It's bloody work, but I'm comfortable with the task. The biggest problem I am going to have is with the terrain. The terrain surrounding Eyraille will mean that -at best- we will be fighting amidst hills and valleys, and at worst that we will be fighting in forests, or swamps. My cavalry will be somewhat hampered in the former, and useless in the latter. My archers however will do the lion's share of the fighting."

He glanced at his now-empty bowl, considering going back for a second. "If we can convince the enemy to make their way through the northeastern forests, I can deal with them handily. Irregulars and archers will make short work of normal infantry, and cavalry, and the rough terrain will be difficult for the more heavily armored units to traverse. I'll put my light cavalry in the hills to the west of the forest, along with my shieldmen and halberdiers, with my heavy cavalry as a reserve force."

Up his eyes turned from the bowl, to regard the woman. "I'm going to have to convince them that it's less costly to march through the forest than it will be to deal with my cavalry in the hills. Of course, I suppose I'll be needing to discuss the stratagems with your strategists. Sooner would be better than later. There has been news of Illandria hiring mercenaries. I anticipate military action within the week. You don't buy mercenaries and wait a month to use them. Not if you have a choice."

When he'd had time to send out scouts between the time he'd gathered the flier that morning, and the meal he'd just finished was anybody's guess. "I'd like to field my men by tomorrow at the latest, so that I can pick my battleground."
 
It was almost embarrassing, sitting in the sellsword's presence and listening to his war and battle logic. This clearly was not the first war he'd fought, and it likely wouldn't be the last. She, on the other hand, had born witness to her father's sieges as a child, before Caris had been born. But to witness it all in passing did not make her a keen military strategist. All of the studying and practice in the world could not substitute for the true throes of battle. She'd have to rely on Volantaris' judgement, perhaps more than she wished to.

"I can provide you with detailed maps of the city, and the kingdom at large, if you think it will be of use," Vega offered. "Eyraille's terrain has its blessings and its curses; typically I advise my Skyknights to avoid flying over forest thickets, or anywhere where the ground is not in plain sight... But, obviously, there are times when it cannot be avoided. Those are risks that we take every day."

The magic wielders were, however, the biggest threat. From the ground, they could have been anyone, and the effects of their magic were not necessarily limited to what they could see with the naked eye. From time to time, she had watched her knights fall to some unseen force, many who would come in (along with their Rocs) with mysterious wounds that made positively no sense. She'd seen burns, as if they'd flown right into a fire, but more insidious were the broken bones, of the bird and its rider. So often they would accompany a mysterious and severe drop in body temperature that both parties suffered, like they'd been frozen prior to hitting the ground.

And then, those mysterious deaths... perfectly healthy riders and birds falling from the sky like rain, only to later have it confirmed that their hearts had stopped.
There wasn't a day that went by that Vega didn't fear magic. There was no defense against it.

"I'll trust you to do as you see fit, Commander." The Sorde daughter rose from her seat. "If there is anything that I can do to be of help or facilitate your efforts, then do let me know."
 
Volantaris nodded his head ponderously. "I can spot a mage among a troop. They'll usually be wearing leather armor, or none at all. Too much metal stifles the magic. Interferes with the desired effects. If there are mages to be fought, my archers can handle them." Especially if he could draw the armies into the forests. "Yes, I think I would very much like the use of any maps you may have of the city, and the surrounding countryside."

He pushed himself to his feet as the woman rose, sketching the fractional bow once again. "Sir Vega. For the time being, I would suggest keeping your skyknights to the skies over the hills and plains, if you can manage. I will of course defer to your experience, and that of your tacticians, but It would be too easy to slip a small group of ritualists behind our lines to pick off your men. I don't anticipate letting as much as a man through the forest without my knowing, but I would rather be certain that your fliers were well clear of that particular danger."

The sound of hooves on floorboards entered the mess, and one of the lean centaur with a purple crescent painted on his flank approached at a trot. He was lean -for a centauri- and tall. Nearly nine feet, all told. He clapped a hand to his heart, and forelegs bent to the ground as he took a knee in front of the commander.

"Wrogen," Volan said, by way of greeting. With a glance to Vega, he flashed her an apologetic smile. "I will not keep you if you have other duties." Back to the Specialist he turned. "Report."

"An army's on the move sir. Heading south from Ilandria as we speak. Heard rumors of it on the way. A fighting force will be upon the city in a week's time, if they keep with their supply train. Sooner, if they push ahead."

"Damn and double damn. Find Dolgan, and have him prepare the men to march." Another glance at Vega, "If your city can afford it, it would be a great boon to have your bowyers and fletchers increase production of munitions. If you've any craftsman that can make lances as well, that would certainly help. I aim to field my men today, unless you're particularly fond of fighting a siege."
 
"Then consider them yours; I will have every map of the palace sent to your barracks immediately for your own reference," Vega promised without hesitation. "My strategists have all but memorized them, by now; they are more crucial in your hands. And worry not about my Skyknights, Commander; as you are already well aware, I am fiercely protective of them, on and off of the battle field. They are as much my brothers and sisters as they are my soldiers to command. Rest assured, your advice will be heeded."

Whether it struck as an advantage or disadvantage, Vega Sorde invested more than just her time and effort into the Skyknights. In them, she also invested friendship and a camaraderie unlike any other. It was inevitable; and she would never apologize for it.

Just about to leave, it turned out well that she'd hesitated for a moment longer. The centaur's news did not fall deaf on her attentive ears, and in fact, drained the Skyknight's face a shade just shy of ashen. Army's on the move... But it was so soon! There was no time left to prepare. Their only hope was to hold their breath, and pray that their numbers, with the help of the Moonshadows, helped them roll with the punches to yield the least amount of casualties.
She never would have thought her confidence in Eyraille's military would drop at the worst possible moment.

"I must alert the citadel immediately," she said as the centaur took his leave. "But I will see to it that the best craftsmen Eyraille has to offer will work day and night on armor and weaponry. Even if... well, it doesn't matter now." Equinox was around the corner; the city and surrounding areas would want to celebrate. And she and Caris had wanted to let it happen,in spite of danger, for the sake of morale. It was a small mercy that the denizens of the kingdom needed so badly... They would hate the monarchy for canceling that modicum of joy for the sake of war.
But it could not be helped.

"Commander Volantaris, I trust you to do whatever you feel is necessary," she emphasized at last. "I would not micromanage you or your men, even if I had the inclination. There is too much else to be done... I only hope that we find compatibility between our strategies."
 
Volantaris eyed the woman ponderously. Someone who tried to micromanage a mercenary company would quickly find themselves both overburdened, and immobile. He was certainly glad that she wasn't going to be second-guessing him, but the lack of direction concerned him. He supposed she wasn't the monarch, but giving mercenaries free rein of the battlefield was-

There was no time to speculate. With a shake of his head, Volan gave a grunt of acknowledgement before making for the door. Upon his exit, he snagged one of his men with a glance, and set him to fetch his mount. Already, the lion's share of his men were rallied on the parade-ground, armed and armored.

He found his second addressing the company in his usual, gruff manner. The dwarf had his helm tucked under one arm again, and a sword at his hip. When he caught sight of the company commander, he finished addressing the men with a brisk salute, which each returned with precision. The dwarf approached.

"More news to be had, sir?"

The commander shook his head. "Not beyond the encroaching fight. We've got to get the archers, and the irregulars into the forest to the northeast. Get your phalanx units, the heavy cavalry, and the light cavalry into the hills." The dwarf was a seasoned veteran when it came to tactics, and Volan trusted him -and the captains below him- to carry out effective tactics without his own micromanagement. "Tell the archers to single out magi. We don't know if Ilandria's employing them, but they know what to look for. Have we gotten those spellshields from your dwarven contacts?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Well we'd best hope that the metal will suffice again. I'll be in a forward command position in the hills near the forest. Re-rout the scouts we sent out earlier to my position, and I'll use them to better effect. Have someone catch them before they're gone, if you're able."

A human approached, leading the commander's horse by the reins. Volan thanked him, and mounted the beast. It didn't take long for the column of fighters to mobilize, with Volantaris at their head. With luck, they would slow the encroaching army down long enough for the king to field his own army.
 
Vega Sorde was a practitioner of peace, not a veteran of war. She therefore saw fit to leave Volantaris to his strategizing and oversee what was amiss at the citadel, as well as how prepared their own troops would be for this impending battle.

She found her brother, of all people, commiserating with Ulrick outside of the palace. Good; if Caris was on his feet and talking important issues, then at the very least he wasn't lending himself to defeat so soon. There could be hope, yet, for the young monarch. "I take it you've both caught wind about the pending invasion," she said as she approached them, ignoring the disgruntled look on Ulrick's face. Caris was her brother; she'd see fit to interrupt if the occasion called for it.

"Vega. I've been speaking with Commander Ulrick..." The young king's voice dropped a notch, as if by refusing to speak aloud, the troubles and setbacks were less real. "Our numbers are not what we thought they'd be. Word of this pending attack has not sat well with some of the foot soldiers and cavalry. They believe..."

"They think we're already defeated," Ulrick finished Caris' thought, his frown deepening. "And they have threatened to stand down from this. Morale has never been so low, Skyknight."

They couldn't be serious... "These are the same soldiers under your training, Commander?" She asked to clarify, miraculously managing to keep her tone level and free of judgement. "The ones who you are preparing? And instead of dealing with what has been delegated to you, you bring the issue to His Majesty?"

"Well. I--"

"Figure it out." She all but snapped. Composure was integral in front of Caris; he was too sensitive. "You wanted to keep your army and your stature, Commander. Do not make us regret allowing you to maintain your position. Caris, come; we need to consult our tacticians for strategy."

Ulrick fumed, his round face red as a beat. "Now see here! This is your kingdom--"

"Our kingdom. Come back when you have a solution," Vega asserted. "If you're stumped, perhaps go and speak with Commander Volantaris. He seems to know a thing or two about keeping the loyalty of thousand's of men and women."
Without another word, she and Caris turned towards the palace. Whether or not it remained a reassuring or unsettling feeling that the mercenary knew war better than they did remained to be seen.
 
The army moved fast, at a forced march. Centauri scouted ahead while cavalry and infantry alternated walking and jogging. The dwarven heavy units made up the rear of the formation, but kept time with the rest of the army despite their stature and heavy armament. The scouts -and the skyknight with them- had been caught up by the centauri by the end of the first day, and rejoined the company by morning. The army made camp lightly, as their wagons caught up with the sinking sun.

The next morning, they picked up their march at an easier pace, though still quickly. They were making record time for a mixed company, and would soon be upon the forest. Centauri scout runners were the first to go forward, and the skyknight to make sure no army waited behind the folds of land.

When the company reached the edge of the forest on the third day, the elves took to the trees, and made it their own. The irregulars joined them, and while much less natural in the forest setting, quickly set about familiarizing themselves with the terrain. They had beaten the enemy to their chosen battleground, and it was an advantage that they intended to exploit to the utmost.

The rest of the company -including human infantry and crossbowmen, the dwarven heavy phalanx, the human heavy cavalry, and the centauri light cavalry- fielded themselves in the low hills siding the forest. Trees were cut, and by the end of the fourth day, a rough palisade wall was erected around a central encampment, and the dwarves set to entrenching the camp with earthwork bunkers from which the army could take cover from magical fire. To the west, a wide river cut through the hills, making a difficult crossing for any army, and another if they intended to attack Eyrialle.

The end of the fourth day saw a letter sent back to the capitol by the mercenary commander, by way of his solitary Skyknight.

To my dearest Vega,

I will wait for you amidst the trees of your youth, in a home I have built with my own two hands. I ache for the day that you will join me, and though my heart may bleed until that day comes, I will wait even to my last breath.

With love,
Volan

It was a message, of course, detailing the position of the mercenaries, and their current plan of action, and vague enough that -should it fall into enemy hands- that they might very well think it a simple love-letter.
 
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