Chapter 31 – Volunteers
Dust blew in the door to the command tent of the 32nd army as Morandor lifted the flap and let himself in. He chuckled as he shook the sand out of his beard and strode over to General Ainia as she moodily studied a map. He stepped up on a stool, still idly combing his hands through his beard.
The map floated above the ground depicting the terrain in their vicinity. It appeared as a large roll of parchment with peaks and valleys depicted by hatch marks and small charcoal notations of their units and conjectured enemy units. However the notes around the units could be seen to update themselves periodically, belying its magical nature.
“What's got you so amused?” asked Ainia dryly. The dark red horizontal stripe of Amazon war paint was dipped with the furrowing of her brow.
“'nother batch of auxiliary volunteers turned up, General, Sir”, said Morandor. “Only these were from the Underwater. Came in flopping about the place like fish in a net.” He chuckled some more.
“I take it you had a mage see to them, after you had a good laugh”, said Ainia.
“Yes sir”, said Morandor. “A full recovery is expected.”
“Mmm”, said Ainia. “Who was the genius that teleported them in without giving them above water protection?”
“There's the thing”, said Morandor, putting the finishing touches on his beard. “They teleported themselves.”
Ainia turned away from the map. “Teleported themselves? But they have no magic in the Underwater.”
Morandor shrugged. “If you say so. But that kid brought them. Devonshire's whelp. She must have given him a magic ring or something.”
“Winter”, said Ainia. “Why did he come here, and not the 22nd? That's where Devonshire is stationed.”
Morandor shrugged again. “They're asking for orders. Do you want to send them there?”
“No. I've no idea what sort of mother-son politics is going on. And I definitely don't want to get involved in that.” She turned back to the display of the battle field. “Do they look any good?”
“They looked pretty priceless thrashing about on the parade ground”, said Morandor.
“I'll take that as a 'no'”, said Ainia. She stroked her chin. “We've got some dispatches and materiel to send to the 33rd that doesn't warrant a strategic gate. Kit them out and have them report to escort it there.”
“Are you sure you don't want me to send them back to dig canals?” asked Morandor, sniggering.
Ainia shook her head. “Orders are to give all auxiliaries a fair chance. When they blow it, we can set them peeling potatoes with no questions asked.”
“Mmmm. Potatoes”, said Morandor. “I'm glad the Army sees fit to import the good stuff from Westdale. Nothing better.”
“I'll leave you to it, then”, said Ainia. “While I work out how to get killed less quickly”, she muttered.
Morandor gave a sloppy salute, hopped down from the stool, and strode out the door into the wind.
Morandor scowled into the wind as the sand peppered his face. The natives of this area he talked to said it could get a lot worse. If it got worse, he could just suit up. Their equipment kept them comfy in the demonic realm itself. If it was better, he wouldn't be worried. So the sand was a very precise level of inconvenient.
“Are the fish sorted out yet?” Morandor barked at the assigned mage. He had come up outside the tent where he had left the volunteers.
Bala jumped and then saluted. “Working on it sir.”
“Working on it?” asked Morandor. “What's to work on? It's all standard equipment. We have standard issue packs. Is that so difficult?”
“They don't, um, exactly have standard bodies”, said Bala. The mage had unwound his turban a few turns and wrapped it around his head. That gave him some protection against the sand. Although, thought Morandor, it did make him look rather silly.
“Well, we've trained you to keep on your toes in the grand army of Romitu”, said Morandor. “So I know you've come up with an ingenious solution. Tell it to me.”
“Well”, began Bala uncertainly. “They did bring some of their own equipment. It fits them already. I had been considering applying the standard magic to that to tide them over.”
“Sounds fine to me”, said Morandor.
“I'd have to tap into the strategic mana reserve to do that”, said Bala, hesitantly. “I'd have to ask you to sign off on that.”
“Hmm”, said Morandor, holding his chin in his hand. “I'll sign it if you do the paperwork”, he said. Bala looked relieved. “But find out who their god is, and make sure you cross charge the mana depletion to them.”
“Well”, said Bala, even more hesitantly. “Technically, according to the almanac, their leader is their god.”
“What? That little twerp?” said Morandor, incredulously.
“Sssh”, said Bala, cautioning him with both hands. “He's right inside the tent.”
“He's the son of the Magister General, ruler of some submerged hamlet, and now he's a god too?” asked Morandor, no quieter.
Bala shrugged. Morandor shook his head, lifted the tent flap, and stepped inside. Bala followed close behind.
Winter stood in the middle of the room, wearing little other than his sable cloak and a black and white bird on his shoulder. His Triton volunteers milled around him, examining skeptically various pieces of the standard Romitu soldier's kit.
They looked up as Bala and Morandor entered. “Major”, said Winter, stepping forward and bowing his head seriously. “I am honored that you came.”
Morandor looked at him appraisingly. “Yeeeessss”, he said slowly. “Thank you for... volunteering.”
“I am happy to serve”, said Winter, bowing his head again. “Whatever orders you care to give we will gladly follow in service to Romitu, who has been very supportive of us.”
“Wellllll”, said Morandor, starting to scratch his beard again. “First we need to solve the problem we have with your equipment. We can't send you off to fight the ravening hoards with less than the best. Fortunately”, he slapped Bala's rear, “the Corporal here has a solution.”
Bala coughed. “I think I should be able to lay down the minimum supportive spells on your existing equipment. That will tide you over for the moment. I can perform the incantations, but it will take some mana.”
Winter nodded. “I am agreeable to that.”
“Can you vouch for the mana?” asked Morandor.
“I can vouch it will be replenished”, said Winter. “Atlantica has sworn any and all aid in divine matters.”
Morandor shot Bala a glance. “Note that down. And carry on.” He turned back to Winter. “What about yourself. Seems the kit should fit you fine.”
“I am fine fighting as I am”, said Winter.
Morandor raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” He looked him up and down. “Is your bird going to protect you?”
“Yes”, said Winter, with no inflection. “My bird will protect me.”
Morandor rolled his eyes. “Note that too”, he said to Bala. He turned back to Winter. “If you bite the big one out there, and you don't have a sword to save your soul, or a helmet to call for backup, or a canteen for your thirst, or anything else, I don't want anyone to come complaining to me about it.”
Winter looked him back in the eye. “My Mother won't come and harass you.”
Morandor wagged a finger at him. “That had better be the case.” He glanced over at Bala.
“I'll note it”, said Bala.
“Have you got a mission for us?” asked Winter.
Morandor gave him a long stare, and then looked around at the Tritons. “You tell me. Your troops seem a bit out of it.”
“They are a little disorientated”, said Winter. “Going from underwater to a sandstorm is a little confusing.”
“Like a fish out of water?” said Morandor. Bala cringed.
“You might say that”, said Winter, levelly.
“We've got some packages that need escorting t
o the 33rd”, said Morandor. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“I was hoping for something more combat related”, said Winter. “But we will do as Romitu directs.”
Morandor snorted. “The 33rd is up to their elbows in undead. I would not be surprised at all if you see action. And I will be surprised if your hope does not change.”
“We will follow your orders, and events will dictate who is surprised”, said Winter.
Morandor smiled. “Excellent.” He turned to Bala. “Do your magic”, he said, wiggling his fingers, “and send the paperwork to my desk. Collect the consignment from logistics and go with these fine folks as guide and mage.”
“Yes sir”, said Bala, saluting. Winter also gave Morandor a salute. Morandor shook his head, laughed, and ducked back out of the tent flap.