Improving Morale

From TSade

Pages: 1, 2 Bitter Fist of the Rocks walked down the front line of her wing, looking over her loyal men. They looked back at her through bandages, dirt, and exhaustion. Weary eyes followed her movements as she felt a pang of defeat deep inside. She could almost feel every pain in their bodies, the ache and burn in their limbs. Even the haunted look that stared back at her filled her with a sorrow she could not describe.

It started three days before, when the dragon she was attached too was attacked by the front wave of a barbarian horde. Twisted and mutilated by the Wyld, the insane warriors rushed them, cutting into the ranks like a burning jade daiklave. Her commander, a Fire Dragon-Blooded in his sixties, panicked at the wrong time and took a spear in his throat. She and the other wing lord took over, barely pulling together the survivors and withdrawing, a fancy word for fleeing, from the fight. The bulk of the horde followed after them, but thousands of barbarians take much longer to move than five hundred.

Three days.

Three days of fighting and running. In the middle of the night, they had to defend against arrows and rocks. Two days ago, two barbarians tried to break through the ranks in the middle of the night. They fought with a ferocity that startled everyone, they died trying to pour poison into their dinner. That was nothing compared to the second attack that night when they lost the other wing commander, an up and coming Dragon-Blooded that used to fawn over her, when he was much younger. She wiped back a tear and looked around the remains of her dragon, slightly over a wing’s worth of men stared back at her.

They were in a large clearing. To the west, she could see cities and towns dotting the horizon, easily two more days of marching. Two days her men simply didn’t have. Her eyes focused on the brilliant flame of one of the outlying keeps. There were at least two dragons worth of soldiers there, more than enough to defend the Realm, or at least some part that pays lip service to the Blessed Isle.

Slowly, she turned back to her men. Taking a deep breath, she tried to come up with a speech. When none came, she just started to speak.

“I know you are tired. I know that you hurt. I know that the last three days are probably the most miserable days of your entire life.”

From the back, one of the foot soldiers called out, “Except for my marriage!”

There was only a faint ripple of amusement. It took too much energy to laugh.

“I also know that we are hungry, terrified, and we’ve lost too many friends to these fiends.”

A mutter of agreement.

“I don’t...” she choked on her words, “I don’t know... I don’t know what to do.”

Three hundred men stared at her in silence.

“All I know is that we have to get back. We have to warn the keeps of this horde. These monsters can never, ever” she almost screamed out the word, “spoil Creation again!”

Her men, her battered men, raised their fists as one. She raised her hand herself, wincing at the pain from a recent scar.

“Death to the barbarians!”

“Death to the barbarians!”

The fists came down and Bitter Fist looked over them again.

“We’ll send out another set of runners tonight and pray they make it. I want volunteers only, you know what might happen.”

She tried not to think of the two groups she sent out before. Their bodies were staked out before they even got twenty miles. Shaking her head, she kept on speaking.

“I know that it seems the darkest night we’ve ever had, my men. I know that your morale is so low you’d probably be able to raise the dead with it. We lost so many and we are so far. But, I know we’ll survive. And when we do, I promise you that our names will be written on the very streets of Yu-Shan, even if I have to break down the gates itself and carve them out myself!”

They cheered at that. Raising their swords up in the one salute that a commander only dreamed of. As one, three hundred swords came crashing down into their sheathes. She looked around into their eyes, feeling their desperation like a burning cloak against her skin. Spinning around, she leveled a gaze that took in every tired, hungry warrior.

“And I promise you this, survive this and I will do everything in my power to give you the world. You deserve more than just your paycheck for this. This is beyond the call of duty, beyond what any solider should ever have to live through. This is more than loyalty to the Blessed Isle, more than pride in your country, in your gods. This is the will and valor to fight for what is right, for the people who may never know our name, but still survive one more day because we fight here and we fight now!”

As one, they cheered her. Then silence. Feeling drained, Bitter Fist dismissed them with the same thing she’s said since that first night.

“Sleep well and guard well, for tomorrow we may die.”

The barbarians caught them mid-morning, almost a thousand men bursting out of the woods behind her wing. Their mutilated faces were twisted into grotesque images as they slammed hard against the hastily formed ranked. The fighting was brutal and violent and blood flowed like the river Oblivion as the fight drew into the afternoon. Bitter Fist was among them, right in the front ranks, hacking away at any tattooed or twisted body that came into view. Her sword, a custom-made chopping sword of good-quality steel, sliced through flesh and bone. Around her, a pile of bodies grew quickly.

It felt like forever when a horn rose up through the din of battle. Three long blasts and two short ones. Bitter Fist looked up as the barbarians began to withdraw, grinning as they backed up. Panting, Bitter Fist didn’t have the energy or the drive to follow them. She also suspected a trap. Instead, she wiped the blood and gore from her face and then wiped her sword on the fur of a corpse before returning it to her sheath.

Still panting, she turned to face her troops. For hours of fighting, there were more than she half-feared would be standing. Many were injured, but it was obvious to her that those who fell, never got up. She groaned and stepped over the corpses. The soldiers parted away from her, giving her a path into the center.

“Rat!?”

The sarcastic voice from the night before called up, “Yeah, I survived.”

“Front and center, bring the map.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She took the long way, trying to meet up with every standing warrior. Looking out into the battlefield made her sick, but she had to look out there, had to look at the damage. Bodies littered the entire clearing, but the living barbarians had withdrawn out of sight. But, not out of hearing. She could hear the drums beating out, the cheering and roaring. She spat in annoyance, they were toying with them.

She met with Rat in the center of her knot of soldiers. Rat was dark-haired and in his twenties. For a mortal, he was remarkably talented with the sword and was already the leader of his own talon. Not that most of them survived with the running battle, but the others followed him just as well. He smiled, blood and mud smeared across his face.

“Glad you survived, my lady.”

He was always cheerful, that part Bitter Fist could do without.

“Got the map?”

He produced it and spread it across a short length of log. She peered down at it, frowning. Her finger smeared a distance of gore across the map as she measured the distance to the first keep.

“At our current speed, we won’t... it will be two days of this. We can’t handle this constant fighting.”

Rat nodded, “Somewhere else?”

Bitter Fist peered along the map and sighed sadly.

“Fuck, we’re screwed.”

She bit her lip as a ripple of noise went through the troops, all of them peering over their shoulders. She looked up at them.

“Well?”

Almost as one, they shrugged and went back to looking at the map. Rat pointed to a spot, off to the side.

“How about here, that’s a cliff range, right?”

Bitter Fist frowned deeply as she peered at it.

“Yeah.”

“And this pass, we might be able to hold up there.”

“Yeah, but there is nothing beyond that.”

“Not true, my brother’s sister said there was an abandoned palace or something in that direction. She,” he paused, “I think she said she heard it from a scavenger lord. They looted it a month or so back, so it would be fairly safe. At least from the traps.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, she was quite adamant while she was showing off her new fripperies.”

“Fripperies?”

“Yeah, new dress and jewelery. There are advantages of being a prostitute, you know.”

He paused, a grin on his lips, “Well, you might not, but some of us have helped with buying fripperies.”

A ripple of laughter.

Bitter Fist stared at the map. Rat’s advice was the best they heard. She looked back toward the keep, not wanting to risk something based on rumor.

“Malfeas, Rat, send someone to find out how bad those warriors are.”

He saluted, “Yes, sir!”

They got an answer some minutes later. The young woman, a second year from appearances, came up breathless, her blond hair matted to her armor.

“There is... two... two thousand, madam.”

Bitter Fist swore loudly. When she calmed down, she grabbed the young woman.

“Okay, tell me what you saw.”

The report along darkened her day. When the blond finished, she shook her head.

“A force that big has only one purpose to it. They are going to be punching through into the towns.”

A murmur of agreement surrounded her.

“I think... our only choice is to head toward the cliff. If we can lead them off, it might give people a bit more time to prepare for themselves. If they don’t, we try to find this ruins and see if there is something there that we can use to alert the towns. If we head straight for the keeps and towns, we are just going to get slaughtered and they’ll go skipping right past our corpses.”

Another ripple of noise. She stood up, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not going to lie. We are putting ourself into the line of fire.” She turned to take in all the men.

“And that is after a good three hours march to the cliff. Anyone who has a better plan, speak now before I do something stupid.”

Except for soft coughing and sounds of the injured. Bitter Fist hoped, prayed to the Dragons, that someone would come up with a new plan, but no one did. After a second, she addressed them again as their commander.

“Okay, we move fast and hard. If you can’t keep up...” she sniffed, “keep up. Don’t bother with the track, these bastards can nail us any time they want. Instead, let’s get to the cliffs as fast as possible and hope that if they are really playing with us, they’ll give us a chance to at least get a good night’s sleep.”

They gave her one short cheer and prepared to run. Less than a few minutes, they were marching as fast as their exhaustion would let them. Bitter Fist prayed they would make it, moving among them, talking to them as she drew on her elemental nature, the enduring rock. It was hard work, tasking both her stamina and her leadership. Every moment, she felt like a horde of barbarians would burst out behind them to strike the final blow.

When the cliffs came into view, she almost gave a sob of relief. Others in the wing did, crying out with joy as they found it. Bitter Fist sent a wave of runners ahead, to find protective spots and the pass between the cliff. The cliff itself was only a hundred feet in height, but she felt hope growing in her breast with every step closer. The cliff went easily miles in each direction, fading out of view beyond the trees. Almost a perfect spot to hold themselves, depending on the pass.

An hour later, they managed to find the pass and a spot half way up the path. There was wide and expansive, but fifty men could hold it. Her legs were aching, though, by the time they climbed up. Rat came up with a grin.

“We lucked out, captain. There is a spot we can set up a few tents and get some of these guys treated. The rest can fan out. I had the runners gathering up logs so we’ll have hot food for once.”

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “Good job.”

“We’ll set up your tent over there, its the best spot.”

“My tent? Did we even bring one for me?”

Rat grinned at her, “No, but we still have one. If we are going to have a massive battle, our commander better be well rested.”

“What would I do without you, Rat?”

“Probably be ignoring the advances of some other mortal.”

She shook her head and started to give orders.

Night came hard and fast. Bitter Fist remained up, eating the thin gruel with the others, the entire campsite almost in silence. In the darkness, they could see the crescent of the barbarians, they were camping a few miles out in the woods, surrounding them. Everyone was on edge, knowing that the next morning may finally be the end of their flight. She wanted to say out, to say something, but they were too tired. Rat discreetly ushered her into her tent. To her surprise, the inside was well arranged. They actually managed to form a bed out of leaves and pines and her packs were rested along one edge. The tent itself was large enough for a dozen men, with the bed in the middle. She frowned at that, but spotting a bucket with water and rag, she had other thoughts in mind.

Feeling guilty, she stripped off her chain mail and used a wet rag to clean herself out. They only found one spring and they needed for fresh water. Her eyes glanced back at the tent, the flaps were secured, but she still felt guilty as she soaked off the caked mud, blood, and gore from four days of fighting. Her hand shook slightly as she sopped it across her breasts, fingering the nipple for just a moment before letting the water drip off her heavy mounds. She cleaned across her hard stomach and thighs, barely giving the triangle between her legs a swipe. She stopped and spread her legs more, sitting on the edge, to stroke along both sides of her labia, watching the droplets of water dance between the almost black curls of hair.

For a moment, she could almost imagine it was back when they first started this campaign, part of a legion going out near the Wyld, searching for some army they never found. Then, a brief scream ripped through the camp as the doctor set a bone. The moment evaporated and she finished wiping down again before fishing out her least dirty outfit. Pulling it over her aching body, she cleaned off her chair armor as best she could and slipped it on. After the last attack in the night, she didn’t dare sleep without armor.

She stood up, ready to go back out, but then stopped. Weariness sapped at her strength and she slowly turned back to the bed. Even the makeshift bed was better than what she slept in recently and she could almost feel it calling to her. Giving the front of her tent one last look, she crawled into the blankets and fell asleep almost instantly. Pages: 1, 2