Vigilant - Chapter Two

  • Chapter Two

     

    7th of First Seed, 4th Era 199 – Imperial Camp North of Cheydinhal

    The sounds of the blacksmith’s forge and hammers striking anvils were nothing out of the ordinary in the Imperial camp. Those sounds being heard after the sun had set was. Bastian had worked the same piece of metal all day. He wasn’t trying to create anything. His mind wasn’t even focused on the anvil or the metal that rested upon it. All he knew is that the metal would cool and needed to be reheated so he could continue to swing the hammer. Hour after hour it went. He didn’t notice when the blacksmith or his apprentices and helpers left. He didn’t notice when nearly every tent in the camp began to emit pale yellow light or when they went dark. He only knew the metal was cooling faster than before.

     

    His anger and frustration had dwindled considerably, yet he still pounded on the metal. He simply couldn’t put the Legate’s decision out of his mind. What was it with this Legate? No matter how Bastian looked at the situation, he couldn’t find a valid reason for his team not to finish the job they started. We’ve rounded up four of these groups. No one else has even seen one of them, let alone catch them. We’ve got their scent, damnit let us stay on’em. Then his mind changed tracks. Does he think we couldn’t get the information? Does he think we couldn’t put an end to the attacks? No, it couldn’t be that. We’ve captured and ended too many of these bandit’s little sprees of terror for him to think that.

     

    For him it was simple. His team was the best the choice and the Legate was the biggest obstacle to a quick end of the problem. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Get out of my way and let me do my job. It’ll get done faster. Fewer people will have to die.” He would never say that directly to Mantedus, it would be disrespectful and a waste of time.

     

    The hammer stopped. Metal needed more heat. Bastian took the barely pink block of iron on the end of an iron rod to the forge. He drove the block deep into the center and began working the bellows. With every pump of the bellows, the forge’s color changed. It was calming to watch, it was as if the forge had a heartbeat. From time to time, the forge would spew orange, yellow and red embers into the air. The gentle breeze caught and carried the lighter of these embers a few feet from the forge where they landed, mostly cool, on the stone floor surrounding the forge. Bastian was lost in the rhythm of the coals. He watched as his metal heated up and waited for it to turn the color of straw. A few more minutes. Patience.

     

    The longer he worked the bellows, the less anger he had. The less anger he had, the more he convinced himself that maybe he was the one that was wrong, not the Legate. The Infiltrator does make sense. One person in disguise will raise less suspicion than four Imperial soldiers. But none of this mattered. Orders are orders. It all ended there.

     

    Several thoughtful minutes passed before the metal was hot enough to work again. When it was, Bastian lifted it out of the forge and walked back to the anvil. The hammer once again began to ring as it made contact with the hot metal and the anvil. His thoughts turned to what the Legate had in store for them. Before he could get very far down that rabbit-hole, the sound of a man’s voice brought him out of his contemplations. “You keep working like that and the smith will need a new anvil.” Said the man, half-lit by the light of the forge. Bastian’s hammer came to a sudden stop as he turned to look at the robed figure.

     

    “If he does, it wasn’t a good anvil.” Bastian mused.

     

    “I guess you’re right.”, came the reply. “Still, that anvil will fare better now that you’ve stopped.” The man paused for a moment and then asked, “You HAVE stopped?”

     

    “Yes. No more can come from the forge this night.”

     

    “Night?” The man gave a look to the dark sky and turned back to Bastian. “You mean morning, don’t you?” he said tipping his head in the direction of Sucunda very high in the sky.

     

    Bastian looked around the camp and realized how long he had been at the forge. “I guess you’re right.” A small chuckle escaped and he walked to a nearby post and hung the heavy leather blacksmith apron he had been wearing on a peg protruding from the face of it.

     

    The man observed the Nord and then asked “Tell me, son, what were you thinking about? Why have you worked the forge till this hour?”

     

    “It helps me keep a clear head.” Bastian replied. And keeps me out of the stocks. He thought to himself with a grimace.

     

    “I see. Something troubles you?”, the man’s concern was evident as he stepped fully into the light of the forge. He was Breton by the looks of his rounded face. Older than Bastian by many years, with the scars and silver hair to prove it. He wore the robes and armor of a Vigilant of Stendarr, but he carried no weapon, the hood of his robe draped behind his head. Still, Bastian thought that he could defend himself. He may look old, but he was still in fighting shape.

     

    “Not anymore. I left’em in the fire.”

     

    “Ah. I see. When I was your age, dealing with my frustrations usually ended with me inside of a jail cell.” The older man chuckled, rubbing his jaw as if remembering something. “Your way is better.”

     

    “Sometimes, I wonder.” Bastian returned the chuckle. “Tell me father, what brings you to our camp this…um…early…in the morning?”

     

    “I couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing the sound of a hammer striking an anvil all the way to Cheydinhal.”

     

    “Well…” Bastian’s face turned a light shade of red. “I see. I am sorry father. I didn’t realize the time.”

     

    “That’s ok, my boy. I needed the exercise and an excuse to see the camp again.”

     

    “Again? You’ve been here before?” Bastian asked.

     

    “Yes. Many times. But…eh…always during the day.”

     

    Bastian’s chuckle was half to embrace the joke and half to cover his embarrassment. “So that’s why I’ve never seen you.”

     

    “Possibly. And since you’ve never seen me, I’ll start the introductions. My name is Meelus Mucco. Since you’ve already called me ‘father’ twice, I assume you know that I am a priest in the service of Stendarr.” Meelus offered his hand to Bastain.

     

    Bastian took the hand and gave it strong shake and was not surprised in the least when Meelus’ grip was strong in return. “I’m Bastian, father. Bastian Tannik.” When he let go of the priest’s hand, he followed with a question. “Priest? With your armor, I assumed you to be a Vigilant.”

     

    “Oh, I was. When I was younger and more capable, with the strength to pound my troubles into the face and body of Stendarr’s foes. Sadly, time has caught up with me and has taken my strength, replacing it with what those older than myself call ‘wisdom’. Whatever that is.” Meelus shrugged his shoulders.

     

    “Well, I’m glad to meet you, even if it took keeping you from your sleep tonight to arrange it. I hope you can forgive me.”

     

    “Nothing to forgive my boy. Nothing at all.” The older man reached out and placed a hand on Bastian’s shoulder. “I understand the need to deal with one’s frustrations.” Again, Meelus rubbed his jaw, then continued, “You are wiser than I will ever be for choosing to deal with your frustrations by pounding on an anvil than pounding your fists into those that cause it!” Meelus could tell that something still tugged at Bastian, but it wasn’t the time to pry. He felt that Bastian would work it out on his own. But just in case he didn’t, “I too am glad we met. If you ever need to do more than kill an anvil, come see me in the Vigilant’s Hall in Cheydinhal. It’s within earshot of the camp.”

     

    Another chuckle from Bastian, “I will father. I will.” Patting Bastian on the shoulder, Meelus turned and walked away from the forge, heading toward Cheydinhal. Bastian left the forge too, toward his tent.

     

    * * * * * * *

     

    Cid smacked Bastian on the top of his head with the fletching of an arrow, “Wake up you overgrown sleeping cow of a Nord! You’re late!”

     

    “Wha?” Grunted Bastian as he rolled over in his cot to be greeted by the full brightness of the mid-morning sun streaming into his tent. Cid made sure that the flaps were pinned back, leaving the opening to the tent as large as possible. Bastian immediately regretted opening his eyes. He pulled both arms up, stretching his hands wide in an attempt to cover the brightness and blinked his eyes to regain some type of focus. “Damnit Cid! You could have at least closed the tent!”

     

    “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that bother you? I’ll bet it didn’t bother you nearly as much as your anger management exercise bothered me last night and this morning!” He was obviously enjoying Bastian’s current predicament as he watched the Nord roll around trying to find a dark corner of the tent.

     

    “Well, next time I’ll just use your face. We’ll see how you like that.”

     

    “PFFTSSH!!! As if that were possible. You can’t even find your own tunic, how on Mundas do you expect to find me?” Cid smacked him on the head again with the arrow.

     

    Bastian reached out with his massive left arm and grabbed Cid by the back of his neck. “Like that! You Imperial skeever’s arse!”

     

    “Alright, alright!” Cid’s laughter erupted in the tent. “Get up, we’ve got work to do.”

     

    “Says who?” Bastian released Cid and began getting dressed by pulling his tunic over his head and looking for his greaves.

     

    “Our illustrious Legate Mantedus. He has given us our new orders.”

     

    “Oh, really? And they are?”

     

    “Well, after noticing that our squad’s leader hadn’t reported to him as he should have, he came to our glorious corner of the camp to inquire as to why. Then after noticing that our leader still wasn’t present and mentioning something about gods-damned hammering at all hours of the morning, he, not so cheerfully, passed on that we are to head to Leyawiin.”

     

    “LEYAWIIN!”, Bastian’s scowl was almost as twisted as his hair. “Why would he send us there?”

     

    “Probably to get you out of his sight so he could get a good night’s sleep.” Cid continued to pick at the wound.

     

    “I said I’m sorry already, Cid.”

     

    “I know. But I don’t care.” Cid almost sounded wounded that he couldn’t continue to pluck at that string. But it was obvious Bastian had reached his limit.

     

    “Why are we going to Leyawiin?” Bastian said as he laced up his heavy Imperial cuirass.

     

    “I don’t know. Maybe some milk-drinking goblin pissed in the middle of the road. Why do you think we’re going? Could it be that bandits continue to terrorize the entire province of Cyrodiil? Hmm? Just maybe?” Cid shook his head as Bastian stopped flopping around on his cot and gave the Imperial a scowl that would cut diamond.

     

    “If you really can’t figure it out, Legate Mantedus has gotten word of another bandit group. He thinks they might be connected to all of the others we’ve dealt with and he’s sending his most experienced scouting squad to find out if they are.”

     

    “Well at least that’s something. Maybe this group will say the same thing about where they get their orders and get paid and we can prove to that pig that we were right.”

     

    “The pig never doubted you Rigel.”, said Mantedus as he entered the tent. His tone even and cold.

     

    Bastian immediately snapped to attention and instantly regretting getting out of bed. “I’m sorry ser. I was out of line.”

     

    “Yes. Well, I appreciate your zeal when it comes to completing tasks and I understand that your mouth often moves before your brain can control it. So, just see that it doesn’t happen again or I’ll have you in irons. Are we clear?”

     

    “Crystal clear ser.”

     

    “Now, finish getting dressed and assemble your squad. I’ll give you the final details when your group is together. Five minutes should be enough, wouldn’t you say?”

     

    “Yes ser.” Cid and Bastian replied in unison.

     

    Once the Legate had left Bastian’s tent, Cid turned to Bastian and smacked him on the back of the head. “Idiot.”

     

    “Shut your hole. Get everyone ready.”

     

    “Yes ser!” Cid’s smile was wide and evil. He had enjoyed that.

     

    * * * * * * *

     

    Cid, Mibem and Dar’Rahka were standing together surrounding a small fire that was gasping for life when Bastian left his tent. As Bastian walked to join his squad he was still fumbling with the laces of his cuirass trying to get the fit right.

     

    When Bastian was within earshot of the group a low “OINK” could be heard from Cid’s general direction. Bastian stopped, looked up – directly at Cid and said.

     

    "That’s enough.”

     

    “Yes’ser” replied Cid with a chuckle that Mibem and Rahka joined.

     

    “Where is the Legate?” Bastian asked.

     

    “He was called away by a messenger just before you came out.” Replied Miben. “He said to wait here until he returned.”

     

    “Right. So, I guess everyone knows where we’re going?” Bastian glanced around as the others nodded their confirmations. “Good. While we’re waiting, let’s gather our gear and make sure we have enough supplies to get us there. Go light on the food, we’ll have plenty of time to hunt on the way.”

     

    With that the four each turned and started the busy work of preparing their packs and traveling gear.

     

    The group was nearly finished when Legate Mantedus returned. “Gather’round.” He said as he approached. The group all turned and formed a semi-circle around the Imperial Legate.

     

    “First, I’d like to commend you all for your excellent work thus far in dealing with this ring of bandit raids. Your last mission brought back some conclusive evidence that the raids over the past nine months are being orchestrated. But, we still have questions. The biggest is why?”

     

    The Legate looked at all four of the soldiers in front of him, then placing his hands behind his back and dropping his head, he continued. “I wish I could offer you more time to rest and recover, but just before you arrived I received word that a larger force was moving south toward Leyawiin. This morning, I received confirmation of it.” The Legate paused to collect his thoughts, and then in a solemn tone explained the situation. “We’re stretched thin here. I’d like to send a large group along with yours to deal with these thugs, but I simply don’t have it.”

     

    He turned and looked directly as Bastian. “I’m sending your team to find and track this group.” The Legate made track, very poignant and clear. “Find out how strong they are and gather as much information about them as possible. What is their ultimate target? Why bring so many? Do they intend to sack the city of Leyawiin? Are they going to pillage the surrounding villages?” Pausing, Mantedus looked around the group to make certain his next words sink in. Turning back to Bastian, he continued, “Do not engage this group unless you have to – you’re outnumbered at least five to one here. I need your team and solid information more than I need thugs that know nothing other than coin’s involved. Understood?”

     

    “Yes ser.” Bastian replied. He thought, for a very brief moment, to ask about taking targets of opportunity, but then thought better of it.

     

    “Good. Then may the luck of the eight be with you. I will send more people when I can with further orders.” With that, the Legate turned and left the group to their preparations.

     

    Bastian looked at his group. With a nod of his head and a raised eyebrow he said, “Let’s get to it.”

     

    * * * * * * *

    CHAPTER ONE  |  TABLE OF CONTENTS  | CHAPTER THREE

Comments

8 Comments   |   ilanisilver and 7 others like this.
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  February 25, 2018
    I'm surprised nobody came up to him before Meelus and said, "Stop hammering, will ya?!" :P
    One solution I would offer to Bastian is coffee. Good ol' coffee (maybe wine if he's like Lissette)

    Yeah, I don't see no problems with the dialog...  more
    • Solias
      Solias
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      I'm surprised nobody came up to him before Meelus and said, "Stop hammering, will ya?!" :P
      One solution I would offer to Bastian is coffee. Good ol' coffee (maybe wine if he's like Lissette)

      Yeah, I don't see no problems with the dialogues. They seem to ...  more
        ·  February 25, 2018
      If the hammering had stopped earlier, then Cid wouldn't have had his fun....  :P
  • GailOlm
    GailOlm   ·  February 24, 2018
    I love the amount of detail and dialogue in your story. :)
  • The Sunflower Manual
    The Sunflower Manual   ·  February 24, 2018
    It's immensely enjoyable the way metalworking is woven into Bastian's characters, with him being able to tell the passage of time from the metal and how he takes out his frustrations on the anvil. Though honestly, there ought to be military regulations ag...  more
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  February 24, 2018
    Poor Bastian brooding all night like that... I'd have a helluva migraine after all that hammering. o: 
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  February 24, 2018
    Ah, military life. Yup, it has the perfect feel of military life, plus as Ilani said the dialogues are on point, absolutely nothing wrong with them. But I gotta be honest, I would kill Bastien using the same anvil he's been pounding on whole night. Man, I...  more
    • Solias
      Solias
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Ah, military life. Yup, it has the perfect feel of military life, plus as Ilani said the dialogues are on point, absolutely nothing wrong with them. But I gotta be honest, I would kill Bastien using the same anvil he's been pounding on whole night. Man, I...  more
        ·  February 24, 2018
      LOL.  Yeah.  Depriving me of sleep is never a good thing either.
  • ilanisilver
    ilanisilver   ·  February 23, 2018
    I know you said you had difficulties with dialogue in the writer collective thread, but this dialogue sounds good. It flows very well, and describes the relationships between the soldiers so we can see it clearly.