The numerous pillories outside the barracks, as usual, were full. Symbols painted next to each offender proclaimed their crimes. Most infractions were relatively minor derelictions of duty, which left the penitents strong enough to at least bemoan their condition. Insubordination brought the worst punishments, as evinced by the symbols next to several forms that hung limply from their restraints. Lok’Saug, it seems, runs a disciplined unit, Chakros thought, and then snorted to himself. If that idiot was even half as intelligent as he was brutal, he might command more than arrow fodder for the proper army. Chakros spat, partly at the idea and partly on general principles, on the head of the nearest offender. There’d be fewer deserters, and I’d be out of a job. I’d be stuck inside this thrice-cursed cesspool of a city with the likes of this one. It was then that the wheel caught his eye.
The wheel had been hoisted high, exposing its occupant to the elements. Today, the trickle of rain was just enough to keep the blood from crusting where it coagulated, leaving rust-brown streaks down the length of the support pole and blotches in the soft mud underneath. Countless wounds pockmarked the body, some started no doubt by the captors and others by the carrion birds. A human, or what’s left of one. Bones pierced the mangled flesh from the inside, allowing the limbs to be woven through the spokes at odd angles. Judging by the the blotches in the earth, the widening areas of rot around the wounds, and the sun-bleached, dessicated bone, Chakros estimated the creature had been there for several days. The crows that danced atop the body squawked at the newcomer. They should have picked him clean by now. Must be the clerics have been working on him, too. Wonder what the poor bastard did to deserve that. The crudely painted sign around it’s neck -- the colour of the paint closely matching the rust-brown colour found elsewhere -- showed a crescent moon. Viilse, Chakros thought. A spy. Spirits above, they actually found one. And here I thought Lok’Saug was just a paranoid, dumb brute. Turns out I was only mostly right. The murder collectively scattered as Sarx landed on the support pole. The weight caused the wheel to rock unsteadily, eliciting a ragged breath and piteous moan from the erstwhile human spy.
“Fresher than your usual, old friend,” Chakros called, indifferently surprised that the creature on the wheel was, in fact, not dead. The clerics know their craft, I guess. Sarx hissed in reply, quirking his head to watch his prey.
Though the crows had taken care of one of the man’s eyes and the other was covered by a swollen, purulent wound, there could be no mistaking the hiss. The human struggled ineffectually in what Chakros interpreted as panic. A feeble, barely audible plea escaped the man’s lips.
“Kill you?” The half-orc chuckled. “You’re the captain’s now. He’s a jealous orc. I take away his toy where someone else can see me, I’m the next one getting played with.” Chakros cast his gaze up and down the street. Overcast though it was, the sun still kept away all but those that could not avoid it. There was at least one ogre about that might report the death of the spy on the wheel, not that Chakros had been even remotely tempted. “Don’t think I’d like the view from up there. Cheer up, though, Sarx might nibble on something vital.” As Chakros turned to leave he found himself watching the ogre which now squelched dully through the muddy street. Something about the way it had stood when he had glanced up the street, looking up toward the wheel.... No, must be my imagination. “Sarx, take care you don’t nibble on anything vital. Wouldn’t want to see you up there either.”
The commander’s quarters lay at the back of the warren of buildings that served as barracks for the Spears of Casnilax. Lightning bolt hangings were everywhere, reminding Lok’Saug’s troops that they were favoured of the storm god. The audience chamber was no exception, adorned in even more symbols than was typical. The High Guard had lightning painted upon their breastplates and cheeks, and held ceremonial spears that had been fashioned to demonstrate the commander’s devotion to his professed faith. Fool wouldn’t give half a toss about Casnilax if he didn’t think it got him in good with Othot-ki’ir. He grovels like the general is the god himself, not just his servant. At least Lok’Saug practices the same mewling he expects from his own men. Somewhat to Chakros’ surprise, he was marched into the hall immediately upon his arrival. As he neared the commander’s raised dais, he understood why -- in addition to the numerous High Guard and the usual toadying “advisors” stood an orc whose cloakpin identified him as an aide to none other than General Othot-ki’ir himself. In the middle of the dais, upon a throne that Chakros supposed was intended to be awe-inspiring, squatted Lok’Saug like a corpulent frog.
“Scout! You are late, worm! You were ordered to present yourself immediately! Explain why you should not be lashed to death for failing direct orders from your commander!”
Inwardly, Chakros rolled his eyes. How about because you need me for something, otherwise I wouldn’t be here? He dropped his gaze and took a knee nevertheless, doing his best to sound remorseful. “I beg the commander that I came as soon as I was summoned. The commander must know I would throw myself upon my own blade rather than disobey his most urgent of orders. If I am late, it was Durzu that took his time looking for me.”
This gave the commander someone else to focus his dominance display on, and someone that he did not immediately need -- or more accurately, judging by the messenger to Lok’Saug’s left, someone that General Othot-ki’ir did not immediately need. “I will personally crush his manhood with Thunderbringer if he has dared defy his commander,” he growled, shaking the giant mace that never left the orc’s side. Chakros grinned. Most likely, it would come to nothing. If he was lucky, Durzu would get some payback for his interruption back at the Skewered Maiden. The commander continued. “For your lateness, scout, you will forfeit your leave and be assigned additional duties in your commander’s service.” Chakros had guessed that was going to happen anyway. “You will also forfeit your last week’s wages. If it has been spent you will pay the difference with your worthless hide.” Chakros looked up involuntarily in surprise, a growl already on his lips. A quick mental calculation told him that Durzu might have the last laugh after all -- that five gold would have made all the difference. Lok’Saug grinned and barked in laughter, a throaty dare. “You have something to say, scout?” The commander leaned forward in anticipation.
With effort, Chakros dropped his gaze back to the commander’s feet and shook his head. He heard Lok’Saug open his mouth to say something else, until a shift in the stance of the general’s aide told him something passed between the aide and the commander.
“Rise, scout. Because your commander is merciful, your punishment will be delayed until you have carried out your next duties.” Lok’Saug sounded unmistakably disappointed. Chakros doubted the stay had anything to do with his commander’s mercy, and more to do with his commander’s obsequious fear of his superiors. He studied the aide for a few moments, thankful for the reprieve nevertheless. The commander continued. “You have the great honor to stand in the presence of J’kesh, representative of High General Othot-ki’ir. You will answer his questions and show the proper respect, or I will flay you alive.”
Chakros bowed as instructed, and this time the respect was not feigned. Whatever was going on, it must be important to command the attention of the High General.
(JD)
