| Village On Fire - Part Three |
| Summary: | In the Final Part, the village of Kirekwall is put behind in the misery of rain. The mud and cows make travel slow going. And bandits decide to make the groups time ever more difficult. |
| Date: | 1865-12-01 |
| Related: | Everything to do with Kirekwall |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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| Road South of Kirekwall |
| See Set |
| Monday the 01st of Decembre, 1865 IE |
Grey skies and driving cold rain make it less than a perfect mix for a march. Since Kirekwall, it's done nothing but piss rain. It's made everyone's moods sink dramatically. The visibility is poor - a mix of dense fog rolls in underneath the battering rain storm, so one is liable only to see the group they're marching with. Now with the fading light, it's obvious they will not make their first destination before they are in complete and utter darkness. They're no where close to any familiar ground… and any sign of residential plots have been minimal and if spotted, suffering the same as Kirekwall, if not burnt down, abandoned. The root hasn't been aided along by the torrents of rain, as mud becomes sticky and pulls at armored boots and hooves sink down in places as if going into a bog.
"One! This is miserable," Aidric grouses to Klaudea as their forces make their slow, plodding way through the muck and mire of the road. It had been almost five years since the man had been on campaign and he was beginning to remember all the bits of that he hated. "Night won't be much better unless there's a village to be found nearby." He cranes his neck to look for such a shelter and finds none.
Klaudea chuckles. "This isn't too bad. You should try climbing a mast to fix the rigging in this weather, sir," she tells Aidric with an irrepressible grin. The water running down inside her armor doesn't seem to bother her too much, and her head is bared to the elements. She peers as well as she can into the rain, "I don't this area that well, yet. I don't know if we should expect to find a village, or what condition it would be in."
The day was endlessly miserable, and Emilia had been having a hell of a day to say the least. The episode this morning had put the young woman endlessly upon edge. She was riding in one of the wagons, tucked in against one of the sides, her cloak tucked about her, ensuring simlar was tucked about the yet wheezy shepard that had been situated in the wagon as well. Miserable didn't even start to touch her mood.
Sir Henric was sitting miserable in his saddle like everyone else was. A hood was thrown over his head a long time ago, but it had long since soaked through. He was hunched forward, trying to find some position that seemed -warmer- … and failing to do so. His breath was coming out white, it was that cold out. His eyes searched the people around him and currently, he could only see the regimental line that he was riding with. A shake of his head and he tries to focus on something other than the fact that his skin is wrinkling up underneath his armor.
Finding no sign of shelter Aidric goes back to hunching under his oil skin cloak. "I'll pass," Aidric says. "Ships are bad enough without adding climbing and rain to the mix," he says. "And we're about as close to the middle of nowhere as can be. Likely in the Fallow Lands somewhere if we've not taken a wrong turn."
Its been quite a day to say the least, but the knight here moves along next to the wagon he's cleaned up from being covered in mud earlier and is suited for travel though not comfortable entirely given he's still hurting a little, Graham is keeping an eye out one thing earlier proved as that one cannot get complacent with security at any point and time. He begins looking about as well everyone seems unhappy.
Cathrynn rides in silence, her eyes constantly screening side to side, ears keened to the rumblings, her expression hardening somewhat. If she's still hurting she isn't showing it, bandages gone, narrow streaks of the lacerations showing but mostly healed. She looks to Graham and lifts her chin, as if to say 'yeah, I heard it too…', and she frowns, angling toward Emilia.
Other than the horses for the Hobelar cavalry, all of the soldiers of Lord Chandus's (Scales) Regiment are dismounted, even including the officers. Well accustomed to marching, this does not make them immune to irritation from terrible weather. Nevertheless, they march, as it's the one thing that will be certain about their keep. Sometimes, there will be enemy. Sometimes there won't. But always, they will march.That being said, the marching is off. While men don't need to keep step on a route march, some of them are bunching up very oddly. Their serjeants are reaming them, but it doesn't seem to help.
Thomas has a sour look on his face and he falls out to give the offending men a good verbal drubbing. Only, something's odd… They aren't wearing their uniforms correctly. Their tabards are badly stitched, they have different helmets and… look, some of them are unsheathing weapons? Thomas cries, "To arms! Men of Scales, to arms! Bandits in our midst! Watch carefully and strike them down!" His own weapon slides out of his scabbard and he barks at his squire, who, knowing Thomas's orders, blows a, 'To arms' in his bugle for the WHOLE formation to hear. Then, the two of them fall on some of the counterfeit soldiers.
The rumblings reach Klaudea's ears through the patter of the rain, but it doesn't seem to dim her spirits as she sits up in her saddle. However, at Thomas's call, she pulls up her coif and reaches for her sword, turning her horse in a tight circle so that she's watching Lord Aidric's back and he can look for foes in front of them.
Dacian is used to riding in the rain. Is less used to riding with a whole giant mass of people. It puts him in mind of his childhood, which is never a particularly pleasant state, so he rides at some distance from the ranks proper, letting each man to his banner and he— well, he bears the colors of the Captive Knight, and his manservant follows them, even if nobody else does. He hears shouting, barely, though the pouring rain, and he peers at the upcoming turmoil. "Say, Pascal! Are the ranks falling upon themselves?!" he asks for some sort of confirmation that he's not simply going mad and seeing things.
Somewhere in the fog… The calls of Bandits … And then a second call, booming with venom: "Blood Will Flow!" … Something that is amplified by those closer to home… Men in the ranks of each gathered force ACT upon the call, drawing weapons and attacking those they are supposed to serve… "Blood Will Flow!" Confusion at once seems to render some of the forces worse off than others. The Sokar's seem to have more that have slipped in upon their numbers within the rain, the Tarris Regiment suffers the same, the Scales… There's mayhem in all parties, including the Cassomir party who has at least one knight turning to finish the job the other idiots couldn't finish.
Aidric turns round when someone speaks against him. "Goat! Take his cloak!" he shouts to one of his own men, who had been keeping sullen silence until then. But when it's clear there are men with more than grumbling on their mind Aidric rips his sword from its sheath and stands ready to receive them, noting, through the corner of his eye that Klaudea has his back.
No shelter… No defensible position… Enemies amongst the ranks… Dressed within the guises of the very troops they seek to attack! When one would assume attack would come from some sort of ambush, this is most likely the cleverist guise yet… The attackers are aiming for the commanders!
Pascal reins in his mount as shouts start to rise up on high, his eyes widening, "Milord…" a frantic look, "We should leave. They might suspect…" He shakes his head and starts to tremble in the rain, looking to Dacian for what they should do exactly. No doubt his Lord is going to pull a sword and attack these bastards. "What do we do?"
The weather certainly could be better. That is for certain. Without the usual traveling cloak, Clara looks like she should be cold. However, she seems relatively okay, for the most part. She trods on, her longbow upon her back, just listening to the murmuring. The murmuring that shifts to dissent….and the call to arms?! What?? The young woman turns around, wided-eyed, just in time to see dissidence turn ugly.
And just like that, Klaudea is ducking low on her horse's neck, avoiding a nearby attack and thrusting her sword under the reach of the false calvary knight striking him in the chest and sending him to the ground. Her new horse backs a couple of steps at the chaos, and thankfully her armor blocks the blows that do land as she squares off with the one who hits her right arm. The contact actually knocking her attack upwards from the chest and diminishing the killing impetus of her thrust to ring against the side of his head.
The melee is terrible, amongst the Chandus soldiers. Men turn on men, hacking and slashing with sword and spear, smashing with shields. It becomes quickly obvious, though, that the bandits are not real Sun Shields - they retain use of their spears, while their authentic counterparts have either thrown or dropped their spears in order to get close and use swords. Not much of a marker, but some marker at least. Thomas and his squire are mobbed by a group of bandits, and he takes a stab on his sword hand, which only barely pierces his gauntlet, while another spear glances off his solid Lorrica cuirass.
In turn, he bashes away several more hits with shield, meanwhile falling on his hand's attacker, slashing the man's scale armour open at his abdomen and quickly following it up with a viscious thrust which opens a fist sized hole in him, front and back. He turns on his second attacker as a third joins in, chopping at the head, which takes off the man's leather chin strap, but nothing else. Thomas is quick to press the attack on the man, trying to keep him off foot whilst blocking his comrade's blows. The squire, standing at his lord's side, bashes an enemy's spear away with his own sword and attacks, as well.
"We're not leaving, Callie. You stay close by me, don't go missing, take my bow and quiver and use it as you can. Be careful whom you shoot— if anyone comes for you or I, then let loose. We don't want to cause the death of someone we oughtn't. There," he calls, scanning the action as well as he's able in this downpour, spotting those in command under banner Chandus under some duress, and nearby, to boot. So that's where he rides, once Pascal has a chance to outfit himself with his bow.
Some general complaint about weather might reach Emilia's ears, but really there is a fair bit of silence from those traveling with her. It had been a rough time for them the past week. The group had taken a fair number of injuries and most were still recovering in some form or another. To hear the initial bugle call has dark eyes blinking in confusion, then there is that second call. Words from the sign are being called and a frown deepens on Emilia's solemn features, no this day is just not getting any better. Her fingers reach and curl about her bow, and her eyes widen a little to see one dressed like her own knights turns and attacks them. Her eyes darken a little and there is an uncharacterisitc little snarl that slips as she shifts in the wagon and pulls her bow up to take aim at the infultrating, traitereous bastard and puts an arrow into his hand quite soundly…then pulls another arrow that is soundly lodged into his chest to be followed shortly by Cathrynn's arrow that finishes him off! Do not mess with House Cassomir! Emilia is having a bad day! Damnit! She growls,"Be of helping, mine-brother." And she is out of the wagon and going forward in search of his group and the fighting she hears in that direction, trudging through the rain and mud.
"Crow-taken brigands," Thad snarls as he engages the enemy, his sword cutting into one as two try to assail him, but to no avail. The Sokar heir roars in anger as he engages them, trying to protect himself and take the two down, a difficult endeavor that requires his full attention.
Graham it seems the murmering is worse than he could have expected, as the knight whom they ride with turns with the call of blood and attacks him. He only has time to step out of the way "Trickery!" he calls though its apparent, but he's already in motion and striking though with a clang he hits only a hardened part of the armor and has to move swiftly again to dodge the blow and jabs again it seems he goes down under a combination of arrows and his sword strike. "You two okay?" he looks back to Emilia and to Cat though he nods to the order "Yes m'lady." and he'll move to catch up heading to join the battle without distancing himself too far.
Aidric is knocked from his horse. He rolls with his landing, head and side acheing as he gets to his feet. Sword in hand, he wades back into the fray trying to cut down the nearest foe he can find.
The arrow strikes home and Cat lowers her bow as the turncoat falls but her relief is short lived as Emilia exits the wagon and then she's on the move toward Henric and his band of bad guys. Cathrynn grabs an arrow and starts aiming for the nearest one she sees, trying to both keep them off Emilia and follow her orders at the same time, by helping Henric.
Stunned reaction aside. Clara automatically frees her longbow from her back…a fluid motion. But…this isn't stationary targets at the end of a line. This is definitely not what she has done before. Arrow finds string. Now…it is a matter of finding a home for the arrow. But cautiously…so cautiously.
Emilia trudges on through the mud to where she finds her brother thick in combat with banditos. And her eyes narrow. No. Emilia. Is. Not. Having. A. Good. Day. Bow up and arrows are set to fly at one of the heavy cavalary men attacking him, the arrows hitting but not rightly seeming to do much damage, though that last arrow seems to be enough to be that last bit knock him out. That or Henric's blow. Hard to to rightly tell in all this bloody rain. But all that matters is the dude is down and staying down. Emilia turns in the muck and mud and aima along at the another one who has dared to mess with them when she is having a bad day. Thunk! Arrow smacking into armor!!
Graham is in a fight though mounted opponant versus him on foot he is out manuvered somehow and cannot get a blow to land but at least is still up and fighting himself this time. He has another attacker and dodges and will move to fight him though he's still careful of those others around him in case he's needed back for protection he's not being drawn too far off.
The combat is viscious, as would be expected in such close quarters, with so much rain, and mud and most importantly, confusion as to who is who. Thomas's eye for command has completely narrows; he's in a fight for his life. He takes a good spear thrust to the segmented abdomen of his armour and then to his right arm, and though neither pierce armour, they do some damage underneath. However, he doles out some real damage of his own. His first stroke goes wide, glancing off of his enemy's shield arm. The second one is viscious - his sword penetrates his foe's head at the cheek and exits out back, yet somehow, the man stands and attempts to strike him again. Thomas grits his teeth and snarls, kicking the man free and, dodging his comrade's sword blows at the same time, finishes him with a thrust into the gut. "Sir Dacian!" He yells at the sight of the man. He doesn't know Pascal but raises his sword in greeting to them both. "I'll go after that bowman! Slay the last of these bandits!" And he turns, not waiting for an answer and charges the bowman, screaming at full volume.
Cat keeps moving but the weather and the general chaos of the battlefield along with the still-healing wounds all contribute to lack of accuracy of her next shot. She swears under her breath and draws another arrow, pausing her horse to take aim this time, waiting while others move in and out of her field of vision and the path the arrow should take. Patience.
Too many nerves. Too cautious! Clara's stance is all wrong and she knows it. Three shots and three misses, one after another. Despite the rain…despite the fact that she is in the middle of a very dangerous situation, she is annoyed with herself for missing. Clara adjusts, taking a more loose stance….her normal stance, when she is practicing. Her eyes set upon her chosen target. She is bound and determined to hit!
Dacian rides down the side of the fray, keeping at a brisk pace, but slow enough both to maneuver through those fighting on foot and to allow Pascal to stay at his side. He's not going to be far off if something happens to the lad. He lands three blows in swift succession on the left flank of the spearman harrying Lord Chandus, one along his arm, another glancing off of the armor before the third strikes home against the back of his ribs. He nods succinctly to the command, keeping in close to the spearman giving the bandit little room to angle the length of his weapon against him while pressing down on him from above at close quarters.
Henric ought to be the first to kick himself in the ass for becoming complacent in the poor weather. They had marched a damn long time and a cold wet saddle had never been particularly comfortable. Yet to have men, some who were assumed to be scouts, recalled back in with hoods drawn up and cloaks tight in together… he never anticipated what happened now! Definitely bandits closing in through heavy fog and rain, with damp hoods and wet hair covering faces he should've normally been able to spot as not his own. Granted, he had just hired on a few new guys too and that could've played in as he hadn't the time to acquaint himself with horse and rider. Besides, everything was WET and WET clothing and Horses tend to look dark and black all the same. Once the fighting starts, he takes some time to gather his own wits before drawing his blade on… his own men? No. They can't be! "Thorns in every rose bush…" he curses as he is attacked openly and pointedly by the men who are clearly not Tarris Regimental men. The horse gear alone is different… He struggles to defend himself as his soaked cloak gets in the way, taking a few hits with a growled yelp of displeasure of having something cleave into his side. He thrusts his sword at the attackers, whom seem focused on him… Take out the heads of the field commanders… No protection, no walls to barricade themselves against, just all out assault.
COWS are scattering everywhere! … Since everyone is distracted with the attack of more bandits who come out of the fog, yelling, "Blood will Flow!!"
Hard pressed from both sides, Klaudea manages to duck and avoid a few of the blows, and her armor will need some care tonight. She barely feels the hit from the one she that she attacks, pressing on until she sends him to the ground. Without pausing, she turns to the one managed a solid blow to her back, silently concentrating on the task at hand. She doesn't even swear or pray to the One, the only sounds from the squire are the grunts of the exertion, and the one slightly louder, but shortened cry of pain when the spear pierced her armor.
Its another dance off with who he's fighting, thoug it mostly goes well dodging and striking the last round they each trade a blow. Graham winces and hisses with pain though still standing as he moves in for another strike. He is keeping an eye on the others thhough all are still standing which will have to do for now.
Thomas doesn't have far to go from the main formation, as the archer was not able to get ground or distance from the commander. While he plinks away at Dacian, Thomas charges, disrupting his arrow shots. He charges with incredible speed, but stumbles at the last moment, causing his sword to break open the bowman's leather armour, but not do much armour. Meanwhile, the last infiltrator in Chandus gear slashes at Thomas, missing or being swatted away by the young Lord Chandus. Somehow, Chandus manages to find the sweetspot on the archer, his sweetspot all day long - the gut. A thrust in the gut with his broadsword finishes the man off and he turns to the last enemy. "Yield now and we will give you quarter! You are near dead!"
One thing can be said even if the arrows aren't doing much damage, Emilia is hitting the bugers and least causing some measure of distraction….along with all the rain. As horses and people slide about in the mud. As each arrow does hit home, even it does not exact stick or do much more then thunk against the armor of the heavy calvary sorts harrassing her brother and Graham. Eyes do dart though in seeing some of the cows wandering, and hearing their mooing and lowing as they start scattering. Damn it!! Thi day isn't getting better. It's going to be impossible to gather them back if they scatter to far. Damn it!
Dacian wheels to avoid the business end of the spear, likewise lifting his shield to just above shoulder height to wield it against the onslaught of arrows falling from that direction. As the spearman passes by in pursuit of Sir Thomas, he swings hard to the back of the man's head, up near the base of his neck, a wound he'd assume would topple the man. But he still moves, for all the blood, and Dacian rides in pursuit, though he lifts his blade to the ready-hold when Thomas offers terms of surrender, ready to desist if the man will stand down.
She's far enough out and moving in such a way that no one is swinging at her at least and Cat lands a shot then draws out another arrow, taking careful aim. For now she has the luxury of taking a few extra seconds to take better shots, which is easier on her healing wounds as well.
Just like the range. That's the thought that runs through Clara's head as she slides into her familar form. And it works. Two more shots fire from the rosewood bow. And….down drops Clara's target. Quickly, another arrow is fitted as another bandit finds his way into Clara's sights. And he proves to be just as good of a home for her arrow as the previous.
Dacian also holds his first two fingers out away from the hilt in a signal to Pascal to hold his fire for the moment.
Klaudea is finding herself more challenged, now, as the wound slows her sword arm. Though she's still able to get her blows in, and fend off or dodge the ones coming at her, she doesn't seem to be able to connect with as much force. She batters away at her opponent, scoring shallow hits, and an arrow is now sticking out of the armor in front of her. Even so, the man is still fighting, and she grits her teeth, putting her shoulder behind her shield as she rains more blows over the top.
Henric is able to dodge and turn his mount in time to avoid some of the worst attacks aimed at his head, ducking to avoid a sword aimed at his head, delivering in return a rattling blow to one man whose after him. "Blood will flow is right you bastards, your blood!" It's not pretty, his hacking and slashing, mostly, it is just to carve himself a way to get out of the position of being surrounded and attacked on all sides.
The beaten, broken and bloodied brigand throws down his spear and shield and falls to his knees, unable to say anything. "Squire - he is your charge. Hold this position and rally the men." Thomas turns to Dacian and Pascal, grinning now and breathing heavily. "Well, gentlemen, what do you say we go give our comrades some help? This is almost over." Spitting on the ground, he raises his shield oncemore and advances, not at the walk or the run, but rather at the breakneck sprint to attack some of the pseudo Tarris cum brigand cavalry who are harrying Henric and Graham. His attacks aren't particularly succesful; he hits, but he's not able to pierce the horseman's armour. On the other hand, when the man is skewered with sword and peppered with an arrow, Thomas gains some rest. He holds his shield tight to his body, pivoting to survey the field. "We've carried it. Thank the One." Evidently, he comes to the conclusion he'd be better use back with his prisoner and marches off to return to his own men. "Officers, to the front! Serjeants, get your men in order and a headcount to me, NOW!"
As her sword swings down, Klaudea finally gets some 'oomph' behind her strike, the blade biting into a neck joint of the armor and continueing on through. Reaching a foot forward, she kicks the man away from her, then takes a breath, noting that those in her own ranks have been put down. Her eyes slit to scan through the rain, and then she spurs forward towards another group still battling with brigands to help out, nicking the heavy armor to barely draw blood before the man turns and runs.
The men closest to himself and his men dealt with Aidric wipes the blood off his sword with a deadman's cloak and remounts his horse. "Damn fools," he curses at the broken enemy, his head throbbing from the blow his helm took in the fighting. "Orders, my lord?" he asks Thaddeus.
It appears starting combat when already wounded is a /bad/ idea who knew? Graham still stands and is fighting though he has wounded his enemy the other seems to know his chest is where he'd been hurt two more strikes and he's slowing down his breath comes harder to him though he's still fighting but its probably best that the others showed up the last bandit scampers and he takes stock of Emilia and Cat moving over to where they both are "Are you two *pants* alright?" he sheeaths his sword and presses his chest wincing.
Thad grumbles as the last of the enemies are put down. The question from Aidric is answered in almost a bark, "Gather the cattle, the last thing we need is them scattering to the wind." He turns his horse and begins bellowing these orders up and down the line.
A lance slammed into his arm, pitching him hard from the saddle and there wasn't anything he could do to keep on it. Henric landed hard, the bite of his armor sending all the air from his lungs. He wheezes as he rolls over in the muck now, the land soaked with rain and trampled over by numerous horses and men. His fingers find purchase on his sword again, eyes turned up to watch the charge of one of the lancers. He has to pivot and roll to avoid the attack, coming to stand, following the attacks aimed at him. He turns aside the one lance and dodges the other, with a heavy breath, drawing his bastard sword high to come down hard on the one lancer's arm. The result has the man failing to connect any further attacks, while commrades come to his aid. The bandits dressed in black and posing as riders of his regiment that aren't out right killed, ride off in a hurry once they realize their time is numbered. Life was certainly better than death. Henric barely remains on his feet, winded still, doing some sort of mental assessment of his injuries. He was hit in the head again, so if it's apparent he's confused at what just happened, it's probably because he is. Thomas' orders to his own men make him snap his eyes toward his, repeating much of the same to his own men.
Cathrynn lowers her bow and frowns then nods to Graham, "I'm fine.," she all but growls. Oh she's fine alright. Her chest hurts, her neck is tight, her shooting is off and the damn bow isn't hers but yeah, she's great! Grrrrr. Poor Graham, hope he didn't need that bit of arse.
The aggressor before Klaudea is throughly pummeled, as an arrow finds the hand, deflecting the attacker just enough to fall right in line with Klaudea's swing to take him down. With her former pincushion fallen, Clara turns her bow to one of the heavily armored men that had surrounded Henric. The first arrow bounces off the helm harmlessly. However…the second? It finds its way, buried into the neck, somehow piercing through a weak point to strike the man down. The bow is lowered….and the gravity of what the young lady just did strikes her, causing her arms to tremble.
Arrows are sent on to the remaining heavy cavalary that harrass her brother, a bit of a cry with the hits he is taking, Emilia finally sinking an arrow thruhg some armor, an arrow going wide. And that last dude seem to take off fleeing. Eyes look to Graham and over him,"Am of fine," ignore the wheezing. " Get of to the wagon and of rest. Bandaging. Wounds of seen of too. " Her eyes flicker towards where her brother is, "See to him as of well." And there are still cows scattering. And her…shepard…is still laid up…Emilia….trudges…Will it is more like a running sludging maneuver over to her horse back by the wagon and up she goes, up in a thrice….The cows. Damnit. By the One Her day. Sucks!! Her eyes blacken a moment. But in all the rain, who is near to notice? Shaking her head. She spins Onyie out into the rain and there are COWS to bring back into the group before they scatter to far. She didn't almost lose her life to lose these damn beasts now. For the Cows!!!
Dacian lifts his blade in a silent salute to Sir Thomas, assenting to follow, though in truth it seems to him the others have things well in hand already. Still, he rides an obedient second to Sir Thomas, taking advantage of the faux-Tarris knight's distraction to get his blade in and out in a swift jab of the tip just moments before an arrow descends like some sort of bolt from heaven to pin the man to the ground. H'uh. He lifts his head to Thomas' orders, then Thad's, and, as he has no men to see to besides the one at his side, he'll go to lend his aid to those of the herdsmen who are as yet ambulatory. He may never have herded cattle proper, but he's knowledgeable enough of them to hopefully be able to lend some aid.
Aidric looks to his own men, Goat, Scarecrow and Brick, they had real names but he had a hard time remembering them. "You heard Lord Thaddeus, gather some men and get after those cattle," he orders. "And if any of those men turn on you, you have my leave to slit their throats."
Dacian herds Pascal along with him. He's got tons of experience herding that one about.
With the last of the bandits leaving, Klaudea rides back towards the Sokars, and pushes back her coif to let the rain wash grime from her face. She nods at the orders, and though she sets her shield back in place her sword remains in her hand as she rides after the cattle. The lowering of her brows indicates the likelihood that if she was in the habit of swearing, she'd put all those years among sailors to good use.
The cows are on the loose. That simply cannot be. Clara is seen to sigh, softly, as her mind latches onto the fact that the cows need corraling. Better than the alternative thoughts, at least. She trundles over towards one of the wagons, where she had left her own horse. Once the longbow is secured, she takes to the saddle…and heads off after Emilia. All to save the cows.
"There WILL be hell to pay, gentlemen." Thomas says in a low, fierce voice once his officers have assembled. "How in the One's holy name could you have let so many men in the ranks who didn't belong there? Are we professional soldiers, or are we Caltu levy? I expect there to be consequences. Your Serjeants, Corporals and Lance Corporals will answer to yourselves, and you will find the deficiency. And you will rectify it, then report to me. Do you understand?" The officers, not used to such a dressing down, quietly give their assent. In the background, Chandus Serjeants and other non-commissioned officers are bellowing at the troops.