Company Unknown 5, page 7
“I’m guessing you found something.” Dink craned his neck to look through the new clearing.
“Nope. Now, don’t go that way,” I replied.
I was very disappointed that the one time I expected them to do the opposite of what I’d said, they just stood there.
“Do you need another protocol?” I asked Metric.
The tepu blinked once. “Yes.”
“Fine, call my bluff, why don’t you.”
“OK.”
That at least drew a chuckle from the squad.
Dink shook his head in feigned dejection. “Yeah. Yeah. More training.”
“Good news: I found some gnolls and some dwarves.”
The squad looked around. Again, it was Dink who acted as spokesman/target for more coming ire. “And no bodies, so the dwarves didn’t catch the gnolls—or the other way around.”
“You would be correct.” I turned to Metric. “And take away one day of training for being right for the first time.”
That sudden reversal of expectations did the trick. The wood elf sputtered wordlessly for a bit before remembering how to put the syllables together in something comprehensible. “You can take them away?”
Now that he was expecting me to zag, it was time to zig. “And add one week for questioning me.”
Dink repeated many of the naughty words he could not have been near enough to hear the dwarves utter while a friendlier member of their race stepped forward. Every bit of Vex lived up to his people’s descriptor of “murder” while in battle, yet outside of it he was the exact opposite. His humility and nervousness when approaching me were things no amount of punishment would ever get Dink to learn. Still, a commander can have fun proving himself wrong.
“Sir, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you since we left Trebvigle,” Vex said.
“Why did you wait until now?” I gave him my best glare, but it was unnecessary. The dwarf’s twitches couldn’t increase any more.
“Uh . . . well, you see—”
“Your dumbass flew off before he could get the chance,” Dink finished for him.
I returned his glare, but better. “And that is most definitely not my fault. It’s the fault of the person who gave me an excuse to fly. Flight always trumps boring talking or boring thinking or boring anything, really.”
Vex looked back at Dink. “Who outranks a commander in a company? I thought they were at the top.”
“No one,” the wood elf answered. “He’s talking about himself in the third person again. Just let him get it out of his system so we can move on.”
“With the wind in my hair and the birds at my side, it’s the only time I can really be free,” I continued. “Free from the constraints of the ground. Free from the toil of needing to walk like a savage. Free to remind those still constrained as such below that I am better than them by dropping and releasing things on them. Free from thought, reason, or the need to be discreet as to where I dispose of my waste. Free to—” The sudden appearance of eighteen eyes boring into me drew me out of my revery. “Where were we?”
“Vex was telling you something important he noticed back at the village.” Dink pointed to the murder dwarf whose twitching hadn’t decreased in the slightest.
“You can spit it out now,” I said. “Got another couple minutes until my mana lets me be free again.”
“Right,” Vex stammered out. “When we were talking with the councilors back in Trebvigle, I noticed that the faces of the regular dwarves would redden or scowl whenever someone mentioned they hadn’t caught the gnolls.”
“I’d think that would be normal for them. Murder dwarf failing to murder something. Are you saying it’s not?”
“Oh, it very much is, but there was more nuance this time. Something only a fellow murder dwarf would notice . . . which was why I don’t think the councilors did.”
“Because they’re blind!” I patted Vex hard on the back, which just made him twitch more.
“Ah, only their leader was, sir. I was referring to how none of them were born as members of my race—though I would assume they have done great things for the other dwarves to be chosen as leaders. We are not usually very accepting of others, especially not gnolls.”
“Right. Just testing you. What did the dwarves’ reactions say?”
“They were very angry that they needed outsiders to be called in, but there was more to their looks than that. Embarrassment and fear were mixed in.”
“Aren’t the two mutually exclusive?” I asked.
“Not in a dwarf, sir. The two are very much the same thing to us.”
I tapped my foot as I thought. “So, you’re saying we should be on our guard?”
“Yes—but shouldn’t we always be that way?”
“You should, yes. Me . . .” I let my grin finish my sentence for me.
It was a complete and utter (half) lie. Letting them think I was such a badass that I didn’t need to worry about piddly things like defense or planning added to my mystique. They—and my ego—needed to believe I was so powerful and awesome that I could accomplish anything. No one wants to be led by a weak coward, and I was definitely neither of those things. If they thought I was even greater than my present greatness, it would inspire them to a lesser version of that greatness. “Belief is more powerful than reality,” as Mom would say, and I would get them to believe their leader could do anything . . . eventually.
I sighed loudly and long as I took in how Vex’s nerves had infected the rest. Except for Dink, the wood elf showed his usual mixture of bemusement and annoyance at my antics.
“Fine, Moms, we’ll be extra careful when confronting our furry objectives,” I said. “Happy now?”
They eased up a little, which I took to be the best I would get. Finally remembering that we were supposed to be after an enemy very much on the move, I motioned for us to follow the path of destruction helpfully left by the pack of dwarves. If anything could calm their nerves and galvanize their opinion of their already amazingly badass leader, it would be battle. Chapters of words about dead enemies are worth the same as a picture, after all.
11
THE RACE FOR VICTORY
Despite several minutes of wasted time talking, we weren’t all that far behind . . . well, the dwarves at least. A few hundred feet of jogging in, we found the band trying to huff and puff their way into standing back up to renew the chase. Unfortunately, they mostly just stumbled into each other and took the rest back down with them. The only thing they were murdering was my respect for them.
Given how useless they appeared, I didn’t even bother to talk when we passed them by. Vex’s derisive harumph in their direction said he agreed with my assessment.
“Ha! You go right ahead and move that way,” one of the dwarves said to our backs.
Though the statement was obviously provoked by the sad desire to save what little face he had, another one of Mom’s lessons came to mind: “Lies are often built on a nugget of truth.” I halted the company and stomped over to the pile of dwarves.
“So, which way shouldn’t we go then?” I asked.
One of the dwarves was either too tired or just too outright stupid to catch my very obvious trick. A stubby hand pointed to the left, followed by four more reaching up and yanking it down. Angry curses always made me smile, but these did the same to my squad. These dwarves all agreed, which must mean their sense of direction wasn’t as terrible as that of the first group we’d encountered, or maybe they just all had the exact same one . . .
The howls and yelps that echoed through the forest shortly after proved they had neither. However, that noise faded more and more as we joined the chase. I was so angry and frustrated I completely forgot the newest and most fun weapon in my arsenal until Dink, of all people, suggested I take to the air.
With the thick tree cover, it was rarely possible to sight one of the gnolls. Slowing down to cut back on the whoosh of passing air, however, brought my ears back into play. The gnolls might not have been a pack of charging elephants like the dwarves, but they were no ninjas either. A few yelps here and a snarl there, and I finally tracked them down. Unfortunately, in doing so I also lost my own squad. Ducking low enough into a tree to get a good count showed a few dozen more enemies than even my overinflated ego thought I could take. By the time Flight faded, I did manage to locate my squad again but was so turned around I lost the gnolls’ direction.
Another wrinkle appeared just before my mana recovered enough to try again. The stomping noise of the dwarves had returned to our left. Neither of our groups dignified the other with a response when our paths crossed. Their return wasn’t all bad, though. When I found the gnolls again, the dwarves’ noisy nature also gave me a general idea of my squad’s location.
Unfortunately, it didn’t give me an answer as to how I could relay what I’d found to my squad without also alerting the dwarves. I could have not worried about letting the dwarves know. If I stayed put and joined their assault, my company would get partial credit for the mission. For missions to kill a group of enemies, it was only possible for one company to get credit—the ones who dealt the killing blow to the last monster—but this mission was more like the one I’d talked the chancellor into creating with the hobgoblins way back in Dink’s hometown.
In effect, these worked like a bunch of tiny missions to each kill one monster. A finite number of enemies until this mission ran out/completed were either determined by some sort of spell from the Hall that checked how many opponents remained in the designated target or set by how much money the mission’s creator had paid. Would have been a good idea to ask the elders about that or write down what the number was or get really any details. I blamed Metric for not reminding me. Probably shouldn’t do that out loud, since she most likely had made a note of how many gnolls were needed—but when had basic sense or proper manners ever stopped me from doing anything before?
Got you! It did stop me when those things accidentally coincided with something fun. Case in point, I could help the dwarves out and get credit for a few of the kills. But with their ornery nature, would they take that as neighborly help or kill-stealing?
Our town needed the money, but allies would help even more. We’d have to play this carefully to prove our worth while not stepping on any toes. These dwarves had very big and very sensitive toes. And what if my alerting them didn’t go well? Their elders wouldn’t take it kindly if I led them to their deaths. They probably wouldn’t find out it was me, but I did need these guys as allies. More dead dwarves equals fewer allies.
With the duration of Flight running low, I was forced to slink back to my squad with no answer. I was so frustrated that I blurted out the issue as soon as I landed in their midst. The problem only grew worse when eight voices obliterated my concentration with ideas. (Metric remaining her usual reserved self, probably due to some protocol.) I didn’t usually open problems up to the floor immediately for a reason—and only partly because it would make me less of a hero. No matter how much they’d scream to the contrary, having a beacon of awesome in command was really what kept us together. And doing that required a filter on their mostly stupid.
Though I have to admit that dressing me up like a giant chew toy and having me fly the chasing gnolls back to the squad sounded fun, no one had thought to bring our giant chew toy costume with us. Oh, and we didn’t actually have a costume and still hadn’t determined how I’d quickly find the squad. Locating them so far had involved me circling around a lot. I always left a third of Flight’s duration for that, and it had barely worked so far. The previous time I had had to walk for a minute like some regular old chump.
All the rest of the ideas were less outlandish (unfortunately), while also having severe flaws or being too impractical to implement. Burning the forest down would give us a much easier view of our quarry, but would have the same effect on their vision, along with that of our competition. Plus the whole case of us being only slightly less flammable than the trees, more susceptible to smoke inhalation, and our potential allies maybe not liking us burning down their homes—but that’s nitpicking, really. I’ll let you imagine how I rejected standing still, hoping the gnolls bumped into us, lighting myself on fire, lighting the dwarves on fire, or just asking the gnolls if they’d kindly run into our waiting spears.
While they continued the attempt to refine those ideas and somehow make them worse, my mana recharged enough for another Flight and I immediately took to the air. Instead of hovering above the gnolls while my brain tried and failed to come up with anything, I observed. At first it was just the gnolls, but then I got bored and tried to find my squad in the hopes I could devise a way of locating faster in the future. I failed but did find the dwarves pretty easily.
In doing so, however, I lost track of time; I was a bit too fascinated with how whenever the gnolls changed course, the dwarves immediately adjusted. It had become obvious by now that the gnolls were trying to lead the dwarves into traps—some of their own designs, some of the natural kind like cliffs—yet every time the dwarves unerringly moved around them. Unfortunately for the dwarves, they were just a bit too slow to catch their hated enemies again.
With Flight fading and the dwarves so near, I decided the easiest though probably least fun way to answer that mystery was just to ask. Probably would have been a good idea to let them know I was coming, but definitely less amusing.
The dwarves’ charge was stupendous. They unleashed every bit of frustration and savagery they’d saved up for the gnolls . . . for about two seconds before their fatigue took over and every one of them doubled over panting. Deciding they needed to work that out, I let them recover for another try. I was impressed that I gave them a third go before I spoke and revealed that their bleary eyes and blearier brains were wrong: despite my smell, I was no gnoll. A few of them either didn’t register that or they didn’t care. They made it another seven feet before their commander called them to a halt.
“What kind of moron wanders into a war zone?” The question might have been directed at his soldiers just as easily, but I decided it was for me.
“A fellow warrior,” I replied. “The field of battle is our home, like anthills for ants, aquariums for aquatic life, and arms for armories. War zone equals warriors.”
“Well, if it’s a battle ya want, then we will give it to you!”
This time I helped them out by going to them. I did not help them out by sticking my head under their drooping axes and swords, however. You could say I provided a little extra oomph to their steps by skipping their way. They did not like that one bit, but anger can never take the place of regular exercise—a thought I would in no way be repeating for Metric. It would be like admitting she was right and I was wrong. Not having to do that was one of the chief reasons I continued to accept the mountain of responsibility that was my job.
Being the diplomatically inclined person I was, I did not convert the dwarves into the easy experience their limp forms presented. Dead people don’t normally form alliances with you. Sure, the undead, necromancers, and all that creepy crap. Not to mention Resurrection spells and other similarly expensive magics. But eww—and/or if I had that kind of money I wouldn’t even be here.
Had to have a little fun still, so I tapped a couple of dwarves on the head with my hammer and flicked a few more until they tumbled over. That probably didn’t help me make friends, but with dwarves it was hard to tell. Was that a happy grumble or an infuriated one? And was there any difference between the two?
For now, I pretended they weren’t trying to decide on the best way to kill me and they pretended they had a chance with any of those ideas. I’m sure if I had the Diplomacy skill, it would have told me that was the best I could hope for.
“Now that’s out of the way,” I said, “why don’t we try to help each other out? We both want the gnolls dead but you’re too . . . let’s say slow to catch them, and my squad can’t locate them.”
“Are you honestly sayin’ you’re an entire squad unto yerself?” their captain asked, mostly to the ground.
“I am, but no. They’re over that way somewhere.” I pointed behind them, then thought better of it and pointed to their left. “See my problem?”
They huddled together to think my proposal through—or more likely give themselves time to catch a breath—but their answer didn’t matter. Several of them kept glancing at a polished oaken wand that sparked a little whenever the metal tip was pressed. Grabbing it and scampering off was doable, but again I had to think of that alliance.
Things were always easier when the solution would be to hit them. I consoled myself by thinking there would still be time for that later—just with the gnolls, not them.
I took a few steps back for when the dwarves inevitably charged me. The suddenness was impressive, but that was about it.
“Consider it a moral victory then?”
“Graaa!” they said for ten more feet before coming to another huffing stop.
We went on like that for a few more minutes before my mana finally recovered. Another, better idea had come to mind.
12
TEAMWORK WORKS THE BEST WHEN NO ONE KNOWS THEY’RE ON THE SAME TEAM
As much fun as it would have been to surprise the dwarves, I decided to head back to my squad and explain what I’d come up with. I figured leaving the dwarves in the dark was enough to sate my daily need of mischief. While it wouldn’t have been impossible to accomplish my goal with my squad knowing, it would be a lot easier. We’d wasted enough time already, and there were probably a lot more gnolls we’d need to catch to complete our mission. There was no telling when either of the two armies near our town would strike.
I was a little hurt that no one argued against my plan. It just wasn’t the same without a few squeaky voices at the end. But I supposed the real reason they agreed was not because it was sound but because it didn’t involve them running around lost, or running around much at all. I knew the dwarves wouldn’t have disagreed with that—well, would have disagreed less. Dwarves liked arguing like most races liked breathing.
