Deus Necros

Chapter 539: Babysitting

Ludwig hurried back up, taking far less time to arrive back at camp than when he took to get into the heart of the elven kingdom, with the assistance of the forest itself, it parted ways for him and showed him where to head until he reached the swamps. The path that had wound like a question on the way in straightened for him now, roots bending just enough to spare his ankles, ferns folding away from his knees, low branches lifting as if a careful hand passed over them. The light came thinner here, a green that had learned the color of water, and in that light the trunks leaned with a slow, listening grace.

The ground underfoot shifted from springy leaf-bed to damp that slicked the leather of his boots. When the first glassy pools appeared between the knees of trees, dragonflies skimmed their surfaces in straight lines, arrow-true, guiding him along thinner humps of soil that rose like the backs of sleeping beasts. The forest did not speak, yet it moved him as if a river had accepted a boat that did not trouble it.

Once there, he switched back to the salamander mount that rapidly crossed the swamp, in less than a day he was able to see the military camp far away, only it looked far too bear boned than when he left. The salamander came out of the codex warm and gleaming, skin damp like polished stone after rain, eyes a patient amber that narrowed at the smell of peat. It took to the water with the confidence of a creature that knew the angle of every root beneath the surface. The ride was a rolling heat along his thighs and a steady push through black-green channels. Reeds parted with a soft hiss.

Once a heron lifted ahead of them, wings slow and shocked at the interruption, then settled again among the lily-stem shadows. When the ground began to hold the salamander’s weight more than the water did, its gait shifted to a long, low run that ate distance. The sun bled and then went out, and he rode by the color of the air until the camp’s outline showed itself as a broken arrangement of dark shapes against the lighter line of the plain.

He called back the salamander into the codex and moved forward on foot. The creature dissolved with a ripple across its back, the heat it had carried leaving his legs and making the night air feel almost cold. Soon, surprise was painted on the faces of a few soldiers that had seen him leave not two days ago, he was already back, intel had spread through the camp and they all knew that Ludwig had already located the position of foes and neutralized them. but how is he back from a journey that should take days? Heads came up from small fires. Cards paused mid-turn. A kettle’s lid lifted and fell without the hand that held it seeming to decide to place it either way. A man halfway through buckling his cuirass forgot the strap and stared with the leather hanging from his fingers.

“Where’s the commander?” Ludwig asked as he realized that the commander’s tent was already removed, perhaps moved even. The place where it had stood showed the darker rectangle where the ground had been pressed flat, ropes coiled like sleeping snakes, a pole or two leaning against each other, waiting for decisions.

“She’s still back at camp…” The soldier who answered did not look certain whether this counted as camp anymore. His eyes flicked toward the bare space and then away, as if what had been there had left a ghost of command in the air.

“Why is half the camp gone?” Ludwig asked before he went further in. He kept his stride even. He did not let the hurry run his feet, only his eyes.

“We’ve been given orders to support some of the frontline. The Holy Order is determined to make a full march on the Kingdom of the Sand.”

The soldier’s mouth thinned on Holy Order. He spoke the title cleanly and still managed to make it taste of grit. Behind him, three wagons stood with their tongues down, canvas already rolled, wheels chalked for road. Lines of boot prints ran out toward the road like veins.

Ludwig frowned, that’s too early. Far too early, they didn’t have any knowledge of the enemy forces or the threat of the parasites. Even if the commander had informed the holy church of the demonification, it shouldn’t be reason enough to throw the whole damn army into a frontal fight. They needed to test the parasite first, and figure out ways to neutralize it. Fighting a full demonic army of those horned creatures is nothing but a nightmare and human loss. The thought sat flat in his chest. He pictured rows of men with salt on their lips and prayer in their ears walking into a field seeded with eggs that taught bodies how to become wrong. The amulet cooled on his skin. The Heart answered that chill with a steady, contained push.

“I’ll have to talk to her,” Ludwig said as he hurried forward, his eyes scanning the area. thankfully most of the barracks were empty, and the mud paths were void of people spare a few soldiers here and there, so he was able to find her talking to a short man with glasses while he held what looked like a map. The open ground between fires had learned a different pattern in his absence. Paths that had been meandering a few days ago ran straighter now. Piles of gear had sorted themselves into corded bundles. The taste of the air had shifted from cooking fat and leather to oil and oiled paper. He followed the spine of the camp to the brain.

Strategizing? Or maybe optimal pathing for her soldiers. The short man’s finger traced and stopped and traced again, tapping a point that made his mouth flatten. The commander listened with her head tipped a fraction, the angle she used when she gave people rope enough to hang themselves or pull themselves up. The map pinned the small light to itself, the countries and ridgelines taking on a sheen.

Ludwig approached the two and the moment the commander noticed him her brows perked up, “How did you get back so fast.”

No greeting. No surprise softened by relief. Her tone weighed time like coin.

“I didn’t see any of your soldiers crossing the march,” Ludwig said. He let his gaze slide beyond them for a breath, as if soldiers might spring from the shadows at the edge of hearing.

“I was about to send a group, they’re preparing over there… ” she pointed. A line of eight stood under an awning, packs open like mouths, hands moving with the bored speed of men who already knew they would be given weight and speed and not comfort. A medic laced a roll of bandages tight. One man counted hardtack with a face that said numbers had learned to lie to him before.

Looking at them, “Get them to bring a bit more food, there were about a hundred or so captured people who have no ability to travel. Still, what’s going on?”

He did not explain the cages. He did not say the number twice. The commander read what he did not report in the way he held his shoulders.

“We’re moving the headquarters of operations to Lotostra.”

The short man’s finger stopped tapping. He glanced up to see whether Ludwig would argue with geography.

“Damn, we’ll mingle with the Holy Order…”

The words left him like a stone he had kept in his cheek too long. The camp’s nearest fire popped once as if in comment.

“Not much,” she shook her head, we’ll have our own station, they’ll have theirs, there will be minimal contact. Regardless, you came at a good time, really good time. We aren’t going to be marching all the way to Lotostra though, we’ll take the portal, and we need someone to act as our liaison with the Holy Order.”

Her hands had already begun to fold the map, careful not to crease along a road. The glasses man gathered wax seals from the table edge and slipped them into a pouch, eyes still counting something none of them could see.

“You’ll work me as a gofer?” The question was flat. He kept the bite small and metal.

“You’re one of the very few people that the Holy Order takes seriously, and no, it’s only one message, deliver it to them. She said as she handed Ludwig a sealed letter. Give this to any of the higherups you meet there…”

The envelope was thick, the paper good, the seal a disc of red with a bite taken from it by the Emperor’s signet. The wax held the faint sharp scent of the room where it had been pressed. It lay heavy on his palm in the specific way of orders.

“What’s this? This is an imperial seal…” He turned it and the light caught the edges of the stamp, throwing a soft shadow of the crown that had pressed it.

“Yes,” she sighed, “We’ll have to babysit someone.” She added with emphasize on babysit.

Her mouth made the word sound like a chore that would stain the hands. “Let me guess… royalty?”

He did not bother to pretend surprise. The camp had already begun to smell like polished boots.

“Worse… the third son of the Emperor…” The glasses man stopped fidgeting with his pouch and squared his spectacles with one finger. The word worse hung a moment and found purchase.

Ludwig’s brows knitted together, it was already annoying enough to just be given a direct letter ordering Ludwig to participate in this war. But now, one of his sons participating directly? Ludwig could already guess… if the son of the emperor were to die, the whole damn regiment might just follow him. A picture formed without effort, an eager young jaw set above armor that had never been dirty enough, men pulled from their beds to form a ring around him, officers’ eyes tracking two fronts at once, the enemy and their own charge. The amulet cooled again. The Heart pressed once and steadied.

“Why the hell is he sending his son to the frontline?” The question did not ask for a defense. It asked for the mechanism.

“It was his son’s own idea,” the man next to the commander said as he fixed his glasses. “He’s been losing the war of succession to the second and fourth prince as they rallied a lot of power behind them. Especially after the fall of Tulmud”

He delivered it like an accountant balancing columns. Power here, power there, deficit thus, remedy therefore. His thumb smoothed the edge of the map without knowing it.

“I’m pretty sure that the first in line usually is always the successor?” Ludwig said.

It was not ignorance. It was a request to lay the board out on the table where swordsmen could see it.

“You must not know, but the first prince abdicated the throne in search for piety.”

The commander’s tone did not bother to hide what she thought of that particular kind of piety. The word landed with the soft thud of a cushion that had never been sat on by anyone tired.

“He became a congregate? The son of an emperor? And the first heir?” Ludwig asked the questions successively.

Each one clicked into the next with an unpleasant neatness. A line opened where there should have been a wall. Into that line poured ambition and sermons.

“We’ve seen stranger things, regardless please deliver this letter, it should inform the Holy Order of what to do when they see the incoming prince.”

The commander tapped the seal once with her nail. The sound was small and very final. The short man nodded as if the nail had hammered the order into the page.

Ludwig sighed and grabbed the letter unwillingly so, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. The wax warmed slightly in his grip and then cooled to his skin. “Lets move then,” Ludwig said. He tucked it inside his coat where the codex would keep it dry and the Heart could not warm it enough to soften the stamp.

“Take the gate to Lotostra, they’ll teleport you directly to the frontlines. I hope you don’t mind the heat and sand.” She said it without a smile. The words heat and sand were not small talk. They were a promise of thirst.

“I’m fine with those, had to deal with worse, cold and frost… it’s the fact that dealing with snobs that pisses me off.”

Helet the irritation show exactly as much as he wanted it to. Enough to be true. Not enough to be careless.

“Don’t let others hear you say that, or your head would go up on a spike, even if you’re the hero of people, words of treason are the fastest way to the gallows.” Her eyes cut to a pair of junior officers rolling up a standard and then back. She had measured rooms like the one he was walking into before and come out with everything she needed intact.

“Like I said, I’m no hero,” Ludwig sighed and headed toward the gate.