Chapter 14 - Part 6

The man on horseback stopped his mount, which had only been proceeding at a walk, with a gentle tug on the reins. Behind him columns of soldiers, both mounted and on foot, stopped as well. It was the heavier end of twilight after a day of travel, and they were grateful for the break.

“We’ll make camp here,” Brogan ordered. His second nodded, and began barking out orders. The Valenar bristled, and the ogre snarled, but the rest of the multi-racial force, some fifty humans, dwarves, warforged, and others, followed their commands without comment. For that matter the Valenar elves and the ogre did what they were told despite their surliness. They were Blademarks, after all.

Brogan d’Deneith stripped off his riding gloves, exchanging them for thinner things that allowed for manipulating finer objects. His handler, a Khorvaire elf with a love for horses and a dislike for her Valenar ‘cousins,’ took the reins and began to comb down the animal.

Brogan creaked in his chain mail as he walked around watching his force pitch tents just off of the Orien road. A Warden of the Wood who was escorting them was showing the Blademarks which wood could be gathered. The truth was that the men already knew to be careful with fire in a place where the trees could come alive, they had been traveling in the Reaches for several weeks now, but it didn’t hurt to humor the Warden. They were half a day’s ride from Greenheart, where a conclave of druids and forest folk was temporarily swelling the small town’s population, and Brogan was hoping for an audience with Oalian. This was a time to be careful with the greatpine’s wishes, even if it slowed down firewood collection.

The third-in-command, a young woman named Mazshi, approached him as she took off her gauntlets. She had a Least Mark of the Sentinel on one side of her plain, hardened face. He wanted to tell her it was not necessary, but Mazshi practically worshipped him. He waited patiently while she touched him, infusing him with the power of her mark. He felt the magic flow into him. Any sniper’s arrow targeted at him would fail now, unless it was enchanted.

“You shouldn’t be riding at the front, commander,” she said in clipped tones.

“This is hardly the most dangerous spot in the world,” Brogan smiled. His short-clipped gray and white beard creaked around his lips as he did so. “I need to lead my men, not hide behind them. Rahg in particular needs to see I am unafraid.”

“We could do better than an ogre,” she grumbled. “He eats more than he’s worth.”

“He impresses clients,” Brogan reminded her. Brogan did not have a dragonmark, but he had a sense of tactics and business that gave him a high station in the House. “We show them that we can command the monsters, implying that we have the contacts in Droaam. We show them the warforged, implying that we have access to the same resources as Cannith. We show them our more exotic members, the glory-hungry Valenar youth, the Mror axemen, and we show them our numbers.”

“All this for some nature priests,” she said, shaking her head.

“All this to convince the Children of Winter that the Blademarks are worthy of their time,” Brogan said, and not for the first time. “Do not underestimate the battle value of hordes of vermin that can be directed to strike where we please.”

“If Oalian does not prevent us from recruiting them,” said Marlal, his armor creaking as he walked up to them. The second-in-command was a half-elven male of apparently young years, but he was only six years younger than his cousin was. The elven blood made Marlal seem to be Brogan’s nephew. Nonetheless, Marlal treated Brogan with all the respect that a military commander was due, kinship or not. The half-elf was thorough and careful with all of his assigned tasks, and he only raised points to consider, never objections.

“The ban on Deneith’s presence was up over two months ago,” Brogan said. “We have sent repeated gifts, apologies, and polite requests through House Sivis. All of our efforts have been accepted. Everything should go fine.”

“Unless we have another fight over a bounty with Tharashk,” Mazshi grumbled.

“One, I’m not leading a band of Sentinel Marshalls chasing a fugitive that Tharashk also has a contract on,” Brogan said. “Two, that certain hot-headed half-orc that triggered the incident that drew Oalian’s wrath is not anywhere around here. A Phiarlan agent spotted him up near Merylsward on a job for some Gatekeepers a couple of weeks ago. Unless he’s learned to fly, he’s nowhere near here. Tharashk should give us no trouble.”

Mazshi grunted, an expression of hers that meant she hoped you were right but she didn’t think so. The three officers of the Blademarks then broke apart and continued to oversee the settling of the camp.