Born a Monster

I was a terrible Psychologist, suffering two mental Serious Injuries myself while only treating five successfully. I’m not even certain I helped two of them, what with their Resolve scores as high as they were.

My Serenity had taken a few hits, but not as severe. Still...

“I know where I am needed. If I survive, I’ll be back here after.” I said.

“To tend beds, or occupy one?” Flora asked. “We’ve few enough cots as things stand now.”

I shrugged. “If I can’t walk, just throw me in the hammock I’ve erected in my room.”

The “hammock” in question was a bunch of burlap bags sewn together and suspended from nails hammered into the walls. If I’d known how likely it was that I’d end up using it as a recovery bed, I’d have put more work into it.

I had a shield, but the poor thing was melded together from roots and stems and spare wooden items, with a condition of thirty, and only provided four points of protection even if I should block with it.

It was still better than nothing, I reminded myself, as I made my way to the courtyard just inside the gate.

.....

Bards will always put heroes on the front lines, but the soldiers assembling had other ideas. I had to climb onto a roof to even see the courtyard. Rakkal came through them at a leisurely pace, saying a few words to a soldier here, bumping fists with another there...

I had no doubts that I wasn’t in line for such treatment. I couldn’t even reach a rooftop bordering the courtyard; the archers claimed those.

And it was impressive, watching him order the gates open, the cultists melding their work together; hearing the roar of air forced into unnatural currents. And watching as... as the centaurs ignored it, circling the walls four times.

They fired many arrows onto the roofs, into the outer walls. But they made no effort to breach, and were well on their way to the southwest when I checked. The side we hadn’t bolstered, where our allies were not.

“Raaargh! Get back here, cowards! FACE ME!” But the sound of the wall drowned out his Taunt, and casualties, even injuries, were light on both sides.

By the time the wall of wind had been dispersed, and troops rushed into the field, it was all over. Someone had ordered our allies to assist us, and they set off in pursuit. But it was obvious that nobody was catching them.

For half a day, nobody needed to wonder where Rakkal was; his continual cursing and shouting could be heard clearly.

As promised, I had returned to the healing tents, of which there were currently three occupied with bunks, and one with medicines, bandages, and other medical supplies. What we lacked were new patients, especially when the troops began celebrating their victory.

That... led to nearly half as many bunk cases as the battle itself had. I know you expect me to say alcohol poisoning, but it was mainly slips, trips, and falls, and one fool who had slit his palm too deeply when taking an oath.

They came back the next day, and the next, always circling outside of bowshot range of the walls, whooping and cheering, and in general driving Rakkal to greater and greater fury.

“Face me!” he insisted, “Send out a champion, and face me!”

On the third day, he had the footsoldiers outside the gates, the archers along the top of the walls.

Every military textbook will tell you that three to one (or better) are when one always attacks, and yet the enemy did not, running first left, then right, as though facing some invisible barrier at the very edge of where our archers could shoot at them.

Rakkal stomped, and shouted, and made rude gestures, but nothing save taunts and arrows were sent back to him from the enemy cavalry. Neither of either seemed to land near him.

He ordered us forward, and I expected it to be my last day. I’d never seen the death circle of the Sagitarius, a ring of cavalry, lancers on the inside and outside, archers firing over their shoulders. I never wanted to see on from the inside. I suddenly needed, very badly, to pee.

Not to make urine, but to pee. I knew fear, and this was fear in all its glory.

Oh. Merciful. Gods.

They withdrew, leading us from safety. Far enough that they could encircle us...

And they withdrew further.

This wasn’t the tactic of the Sagitarii. What could they possibly hope to do, other than...

“I need to get to Rakkal.” I said out loud, and engaged my Fleet of Foot. Even then, it took most of the ten minute duration to work my way through the tightly packed ranks to reach him.

“Elder Brother!” I called out.

“You have no place this close to me on the battlefield.”

“Those cavalry are not the enemy soldiers!” I shouted. “They’re only here to distract you!”

He snorted, and spoke some words into his left gauntlet.

With more urgency, he spoke into it again.

“LITTLE BROTHER, WHERE ARE THEY?” he demanded.

“Where would YOU strike, elder brother? We must reinforce the northeastern forts at once.”

It was little over an hour’s forced march before we could see the beginnings of the columns of smoke. Come dusk, and we could hear the sounds of battle.

And then, then we suddenly found ourselves in the death ring. We had our own spears on the outside of our formation, the archers inside firing arrows far overhead to fall seemingly at random among the thundering ranks of the Sagitarii.

Our archers did damage rating four (eight points), or perhaps five (twelve points). The Sagitarii arrows were more uniformly damage rating five, with an occasional rating six (for sixteen points). The edge on damage, the edge in numbers, firing at an encircled enemy.

I know how I made it to the fortress, but we lost fewer than one in nine of us, barely more than one in ten.

And though few of the enemy soldiers died, it was not none or even close to none.

This time, when the defending fortress flung open its gates, cavalry made straight for it. And due to twin uses of Flash Step, Rakkal was there to meet them. One hulking warrior in full plate, against lances made to pierce even that.

And yet, as the wedge of cavalry impacted against him, it was the cavalry that was flung into chaos. Of the twenty or so soldiers who passed through the gate, only a fortunate thirteen made it out before the rest of our troops, running forward to aid their bleeding general and emperor, closed that egress for the remaining five of them.

One of them, a matron, surrendered when the last of her brood stallions was brought down around her.

Of the seven, six had survived. “No mercy!” Rakkal hollered out. “We keep them alive, and penned, and restrained! Let NONE attack my sister, save they face my wrath!”

Uma glared at him, spat. “My own wrath should be sufficient, brother.”

It didn’t stop her from trying to crush him inside a massive hug.

There just wasn’t room inside the walls for all of us, and even in the darkness, the ring of death circled until everyone who couldn’t take shelter was down, and a minimum of ... it looked like four arrows fired into the fallen to be certain they did not rise.

But these were Uruk, and many of them did.

The larger ring withdrew for a minute or so, to where I could now see were tents. They lit fires around the perimeter, in case we tried to escape at night.

“Get what sleep you can!” Rakkal ordered his men. “In the morning, we strike them again!”

A cheer went up, ragged at first, but then gaining volume.

There was only one other incident, a single male centaur under a flag of truce. “You have some of our soldiers, and we of yours.” he shouted.

“What of it?” Uma shouted back at him.

“We know that your emperor is inside, I wish to parley with him.”

“Brother has a great need of a healing potion.” She responded. “Trust me, you’ll get better responses from me than him at the moment.”

“Very well. We have one who names himself Hortiluk, who claims he is worth ransom.”

Uma broke out laughing, loud enough to be heard at the enemy camp. “I will ask my brother, but I warn you now he will not grant you peace or mercy on that man’s behalf.”

“What about a simple prisoner exchange? We have several of your warriors, who fought well but who eventually succumbed to many wounds. We could swap your choice of them for the seven you have.”

“Criticals exist.” she replied. “We have only six of yours inside these walls.”

“It must be very cramped inside. Six centaurs take up the space of twelve Uruk. Even eleven Uruk and a hobgoblin, if you can wait two days for us to transport him here.”

“Ha. Ha. Let us meet again tomorrow night, when my brother might be willing to make such a trade.”

“How can you assure us our captured will be returned unharmed?”

“Fetch the scaled runt!” she called.