Two Sides of the Warp Token Update

2k words

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-xXx-

Roderick gave the reigns a harsh tug, his mare slowing to a trot as they passed through the east gate of the camp, the rest of his cavalry following in behind. The Commander was waiting for him just beyond the palisades, his armour reflecting the light of the sun, watching Roderick expectantly as he dismounted.

“You’re early,” the Commander noted. “How fair the new horses?”

“A little more flighty than I’d prefer,” Roderick replied, stroking the horse’s mane.

“And the raid?”

“Decisive and pummelling,” Roderick announced, handing off the reigns to a nearby stableboy. “We crushed at least a third of their forces before they reorganised, while our casualties were low, as expected.”

“Excellent!” the Commander said. “if a blow like that doesn’t force the Skaven to crawl back into their marshes, I don’t know what will.” He glanced beyond Roderick, bringing his voice to a low whisper. “What of your… secondary task?”

Roderick hesitated, recalling the dozens of ratmen flailing in the river, each one an opportunity he had chosen not to take. “Sorry, sir,” he said, shaking his head.

The Commander chewed his lip. Instead of reprimanding him, he merely waved an arm. “Bah, it is of no matter. There’s always a next time. Come,” he added, planting a hand on Roderick’s pauldron. “We can celebrate with the men once I’ve gotten your report.”

While kegs of ale were laid out for the fatigued cavalrymen, the joy of victory placing the camp in high spirits, Roderick and the Commander retired to the war tent, the sounds of revelry muffling as they closed the flap behind them.

Roderick was thoroughly debriefed by the Commander, recounting every frantic second from his arrival at the river to his hasty retreat, his encounter with the Skaven leader piqued the interest of his superior. “A Warlock leads the vermin?” the Commander mused. “Might be wise to send for a sorcerer of our own, I hear a wizard appeared down in Portomaggiore not long ago, perhaps he is for hire.” He gave Roderick a curious look. “You are truly skilled indeed, Captain, to engage one without suffering a scratch, however briefly.”

“What are your plans for the Skaven now?” Roderick asked.

“We’ll continue our hit and run tactics whenever possible. It has worked thus far. Until we eliminated every weapon team they have, we cannot afford to engage them in a frontal assault.”

“I would recommend relocating the camp soon,” Roderick added. “Staying in one place for too long risks the Skaven catching our scent, and they know we’re operating in the area now.”

“Sounds like someone is averse in strategy,” the Commander mused. “You ever led your own band, Captain?”

“Never,” Roderick lied.

“Pity, something tells me you would suit the role well.”

“Regaining my freedom is a little higher on my priority list,” Roderick replied, tapping his foot as he hoped to steer the conversation onto the more important matter of his debt.

“You did a splendid job this day,” the Commander admitted. “More than that, you used a small team to sow chaos against a superior force, that is no small feat. You surprise me, Captain,” he added, again giving him that strange look again. “What few Imperials I’ve had under my employ are all talk and no bite, and I thought much the same of you when we first met – with you laying at the foot of the Vaults half-dead.”

Roderick grimaced at the memory. His body dumped in a ditch, a slash across his side from shoulder to stomach. For all his battles and duels, a group of common bandits had gotten the better of him right after a long, cold journey through the mountains. He thought it would be the end of him, to drown in his own blood a thousand leagues from his homeland, but as luck would have it, the Commander’s band had happened upon him while on patrol that very day. They had tended to his wounds, and with all his possessions robbed, Roderick had only one thing he could offer his saviours in return.

They had put him to work shovelling the excrement and tending to the horses, his affinity with the animals eventually drawing notice from the riders. It wasn’t long before his skills as a horseman were taken advantage of, and he was saddled, first for a few skirmishes, then finally put in command of the cavalry group. It wasn’t his most glorious few weeks of life, but he imagined it would make a good story for his little brothers.

“I wish my men were half as persistent and resilient as you,” the Commander continued. “Perhaps they will be in time, with you working for me. I can pay someone as useful as you verywell.”

“As tempting as that may be,” Roderick replied, hoping his sarcasm didn’t come off too strong. “I must be on my way. I’ve tarried too long.”

“This isn’t a request, Captain. Someone with your skillset doesn’t show up in my band often. You will train the men and make us a real show of force to our enemies.”

“… What are you trying to pull?” Roderick demanded. “We had an agreement, one more raid for my freedom.”

“Now we have a new deal,” the Commander explained, his tone so casual they could have been discussing their favourite play. “You will be assigned to training duty, I’ve hired a new batch of recruits that will arrive in the morning. One, maybe two months of training, and I’ll consider rediscussing the terms of your debt.”

Roderick blinked. “Surely you jest? I never agreed to train your mercenaries, I-”

“You offered the life debt, Captain, not I,” the Commander interjected. “I strongly urge you to consider your next words. Many people would gladly kill for your position right now, and there’s plenty of gold in it for you.”

“I seek something worth far more than mere gold,” Roderick replied. “Why don’t you keep your word and release me?”

“If you don’t want to get paid, that works for me,” the Commander said with a shrug. His dismissive demeanour shifted, the two men staring one another down as the tension began to rise. “Come now, Captain, you wouldn’t refuse the man who saved your life, would you? What would Sigmar say of such an… honourless act of defiance?”

“He’d say that someonewas trying to pull a fast one on me,” Roderick grumbled. Never mind the fact the Commander given Roderick his word, but he should have known not to trust a man of the Southern Provinces, where allegiances and promises could swap at the tip of a hat. Or perhaps tip of the coin purse was a more apt way of putting it. Damned mercenaries.

“I need to clear my head,” Roderick explained. “if there is nothing else, Sir…”

“Don’t let me keep you,” the Commander replied. “Go, grab a drink for your nerves, join the celebrations. You’ll see how fortunate you are after an evening of rest. Shall I see you at the training fields at first light?”

Roderick nodded curtly, turning to take his leave. He could feel the Commander’s eyes on his back the entire time he walked, thrusting the flap out of his way, the hot sun beating down on him. The infantry from the raid had arrived at some point, the swordsman drinking deeply from mugs of ale as they joined the cavalry in their shared victory over the Skaven.

Roderick made his way over, but he had no intention of joining their celebrations. To say he wasn’t interested in the Commander’s deal need not be said, but his reasons went far beyond his unwillingness to basically become a glorified slave. He could take his chances and just walk out of the camp, but without a mount or a weapon, travelling Tilea would be a death sentence. He needed to make a few preparations first, and then he could leave this godsforsaken camp behind.

-xXx-

At first light, Roderick pulled himself out of his cot, fastening the straps of his armour as he paced his tent. The festivity had continued on well into the night, but a silence eventually settled over the camp as the weary soldiers retired to their bunks, Roderick waiting for half an hour to be sure the revelry wouldn’t start back up again when he made his move.

Checking one last time that he had all his possessions, he slunk out of the flap of his tent, glancing both ways as he disappeared into its shadow. The crescent moon shone brightly overhead, casting the camp in a faintly blue glow that would make sneaking difficult, but not impossible. Roderick clung to the shadows whenever he could, squeezing himself between the tents, gently working his way to the far side of camp, the snoring sounds the soldiers made inside their bunks helping to cover his footsteps and creaking armour.

He could see auras of torchlight move back and forth in other parts of the camp, the chatter of the nightwatchmen carrying over the distance. From the way they sounded, these men had one too many drinks themselves, that should make evading them a little easier.

He could smell burning wood as he slipped passed one of the firepits dotting the area, peeking round a tent to see a pair of men throwing fresh kindling into the flames. Probably serving boys under orders to keep the flames lit in preparation for the morning meals.

Roderick waited until their backs wer turned before crossing into the next aisle, the canvas of the shelters rippling as the breeze picked up. He shuffled between the tents as quietly as possible, taking care not to catch his foot on the stakes hammered into the ground. As he turned the next corner, he emerged onto a path, his breath hitching as someone nearby chuckled under their breath. A trio of men were coming round the bend on his left, their chainmail armour glittering in the light of their torches.

They hadn’t noticed Roderick yet, but they would spot him before he could slip back behind the tent. Taking a swift risk, he batted aside the flap, emerging into a small tent that may have belonged to an officer or scribe – as it was a quaint little space, with silk sheets draped over a bed on one side, and a writing desk on the other.

The owner wasn’t anywhere to be seen, fortunately, Roderick holding his breath as the footsteps drew closer. He brushed the dagger clinging to his belt, had they spotted him? As Captain of the cavalry, he had no real reason to fear being seen by his lessers, but if they spotted someone dressed in full plate sneaking around in the middle of the night, what other conclusion would they come to? Desertion was frowned upon by all armies, no matter what creed or race, and mercenary bands were no different.

The footsteps brushed by the tent, one of the men making a joke about rats, the laughter of the other two growing faint as the men continued their patrol, Roderick taking a peek outside to be sure they’d gone. He could see the light of dawn was growing stronger with every minute, but he waited to make sure they wouldn’t come back before pressing on.

His progress was methodical, slow, but Roderick reached the edge of camp without another close encounter with the sentries, the tents reduced to a few scattered handfuls the closer they got to the palisades. Close to the perimeter wall, wooden awnings had been constructed into a series of hollow chutes six or seven long, a post fence walling off a modest field of grass to one side of the structure.

Roderick made his way towards it, vaulting the fence, narrowly avoiding a feeding trough leaning against the post nearby, dashing across the open space towards the chute on the left. His hasty entrance startled one of the horses taking refuge inside the shelter, the creature whipping its head back and forth and snorting loudly.

He soothed the mare with a couple soft words, moving into the improvised stables carefully, stroking the mount when he was close enough. Recognising him as its rider from the battle yesterday, the horse relaxed, stamping its foot as though trying to convey its annoyance at being disturbed.

Bales of straw lined the three walls, creating little alcoves for the four or five other horses crammed into the space, the creatures standing tall as they dozed. Roderick took a knee, pushing one of the lumps of straw aside, revealing a small alcove in the wall, where a leather saddle rested just inside.

Lifting the tack with some effort, he hoisted the saddle onto the horse, the creature chewing on the straw as he looped the straps over his flanks. Once fitted, he returned to the alcove, next taking out a shortsword and a pistol, along with a bag full of powder charges. He’d gathered whatever supplies he could find the previous afternoon, his status as Captain affording him some measure of discretion to stash the gear away. He would have preferred a rifle, but that kind of firepower wasn’t as easy to smuggle from the quartermaster as the pistol was.