'Goddess save me from over excited, impulsive fledglings; my patience is wearing thin with age,' Roy thought, the sentiment echoing like a weary growl
Had he not been blessed with an unnaturally calm temperament, he was certain he would have aggresively introduced Bryant's thick, empty skull to several stone walls by now. At this point, even a strudy tree trunk would do. It was a vivid mental image he had revisited with increasing frequency over the past hour. The young had the tactical awareness of a half baked lizard and the enthusiasm of a devastatingly large landslide.
As he reached the outer wall of the keep, the very same one his men had fought a losing battle upon, another hopeful young soldier stood vibrating with nervous energy, his breath coming in white plumes and eager eyes sparkling in Roy's direction. "Someone approaches the gates, my lord! A company of beastmen, emerging from the southern pass!"
Roy didn't speak. He simply fixed the soldier with a pointed stare, prompting him to continue with his eyes alone. It was a minor, stinging irritation that he was forced to signal for basic details that should have been offered as a matter of course.
"They carry the banners of the Claw Kingdom, my lord," the boy blurted out, his voice cracking. "From the scent... and the sheer arrogance of their stride... they belong to Warrior Hudson's company. They appear to have a prisoner in tow, a Margay, dragged along like a sack of grain."
Roy didn't bother with the stairs. In a fluid, terrifyingly graceful blur of motion, shifted into his obsidian panther form. He leapt atop the outer wall in a single, gravity-defying bound, his claws clicking softly against the cold stone. From his vantage point on the high ramparts, Roy observed the approaching line of soldiers.
At the head off the group was Hudson, looking every bit the seasoned veteran, though his posture suggested the leaden weight of a long day's march. Behind him, a small group of his men were roughly shoving a bedraggled Margay male forward, a captive who looked as though he had spent the last hour contemplating the exact sharpness of an executioner's blade.
Roy allowed his animal form to recede, shifting back into his soft form with a ripple of muscle as he noddeed in permission to allow the heavy iron-reinforced gates to swing open.
Why were all the young beastmen in his own garrison so hopelessly enthusiastic and yet utterly incompetent, while Hudson's lot seemed to at least know how to keep their prisoner's head down? It was a grave peril to Roy's sanity.
He made a silent vow to break his own recruits down to their very foundations and rebuild them once this territory was secured. If he didn't, they would fail miserably at the first sign of a true battle.
Descending the steps with a lethal, measured gait, Roy met Hudson in the centre of the muddy courtyard. The older warrior was already striding in his direction, quickly shortening the distance between both warriors.
Hudson was a good fifteen seasons Roy's senior; grey now frosted his brown hair like an early winter, and the network of faded scars across his face and arms made Roy appear almost unblemished by comparison. With a heavy, familiar thud against Roy's shoulder, the older warrior let out a huff of greeting that smelled of stale ale and iron.
"I am cursed with a unit of half-wits, Roy," Hudson confessed, his voice bleak and raspy. "My veterans were sent ahead to bolster the King's vanguard at the capital. We encountered a small nest of Margay soldiers in the thicket near the river. Had it not been for this coward," he gestured dismissively toward the trembling captive, "we might have been chasing ghosts through the thorns all night."
"He surrendered?" Roy asked, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the prisoner. The male was thin, his eyes darting about with the frantic energy of a trapped rodent.
"Dropped his to the ground grovelling and retracted his claws without a fight," Hudson snorted, spitting into the dirt. "The rest managed to follow their instincts and fled, but this one was too terrified to even run. I am surprised he didn't soil himself during his distressful moment," snickered Hudson. "He claims his name is James. I've brought him to you to decide if he's worth the food it takes to feed him."
"We are here to request permission to enter, to rest and restock our dwindling supplies, my friend," Hudson continued, pulling his heavy, fur-lined cloak tighter as a wicked wind began to howl through the pass. "My old bones are feeling the rattle of winter already. Has the air not taken on a jagged bite this past hour? It's enough to turn the blood to ice."
Roy barely felt the chill; the fire element in his blood kept the frost at bay. A fine dusting of snow was swirling through the air, though not yet enough to blanket the blood-stained earth. "You simply have old bones, Hudson. That is the only reason you are feeling the cold." He flashed a rare, quick grin at his friend to soften the jab.
Hudson barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Old, you say? You'll change your opinion when you hear of my latest victories, you foolish pup. Not everyone is blessed with your fire-elemental blood; you're just wet behind the ears and too stubborn to shiver."
As they walked toward the interior of the keep, the arrogant older warrior began to relate, detail by methodical and exhausting detail, the series of victories he'd claimed in the King's name over the last two seasons.
He even detoured into a lengthy, passionate praise of Chess—the strategy game that had been designed and published in the Claw Kingdom. It had spread through the ranks like a fever over the last two seasons, and Hudson was clearly a convert.
"I tell you, Roy, that game is a marvel of the modern mind," Hudson beamed, his eyes lighting up. "I still find a new opening every time I sit at the board. It's the only thing that keeps my mind sharp while my knees and my patience fails me. I've spent the last two seasons perfecting my game, and I daresay I might even be the best among out ranks, it is no less entertaining than tactical warfare! It's been out for months, and the soldiers are obsessed. It's better than dice, Roy. It's war on a board."
Roy listened patiently until they reached the threshold of the great hall. Bryant was nowhere to be seen, and Roy correctly guessed the besotted male was still upstairs, hovering like a moth near the flame of the woman they called Healer Frey.
The mere reminder of the Margay female made Roy's skin prickle with a strange, unwelcome unease. There was something about her that didn't sit right, a puzzle piece with a jagged edge that refused to fit the picture of a humble servant of the Goddess.
Perhaps, he told himself, it was simply because she was such a distractingly beautiful female. It seemed a waste, a true tragedy of nature, that such a woman should belong solely to the Shrine when she clearly possessed the curves of the devil and the fire to belong to a strong healthy male.
He dismissed the thought as a symptom of his own weariness. Flicking his wrist toward the great stone hearth, Roy ignited the logs with a flare of elemental heat, the flames roaring to life for his friend's benefit.
"Bring the Margay captive, James, inside," Roy commanded a nearby guard, his voice dropping into the register he used for executions. "I wish to pick the bones of this informant myself regarding the secrets of this household. If he's as cowardly as you say, Hudson, he'll spill every secret for a warm meal and a promise of life."
A soldier was dispatched immediately, his boots echoing on the flagstones. Moments later, Bryant came scurrying into the hall, skidding to a halt and bowing so low he nearly toppled over. He looked red-faced and flustered, likely having been caught daydreaming of a certain healer's smile.
Roy cut him off before his second in command utter a single word."Bring the healer to me, Bryant. Now. I shall question her and the prisoner together. I want to see if her story matches the filth that comes out of a traitor's mouth."
Bryant's face went deathly, hauntingly pale, his mouth hanging open in sheer astonishment at the order.