“Last chance to just fly the hell away,” Naomi murmured in his ear.
Scorio was tempted.
The situation was far more chaotic than he’d have liked. Upon joining the others on the gravel wash that descended from the Iron Weald, they stood around, waiting, without a sense of where they should go or what they should do. Plassus and the Blood Barons descended directly to the army’s command center, and most of the veterans they’d traveled with simply filtered into the camp and left the others behind.
There was no sign of Moira, Jova, or any of the others from the Bone Harpoon. Aezryna and Charoth had their own camp, adjacent to the massive one belonging to Plassus, and all their people descended to it.
Scorio wagered it was better run.
Vermina’s army was camped a good hundred miles away; after depositing everyone who was staying, the Bone Harpoon resumed its journey east toward it.
Eventually Great Souls with some measure of authority began to appear, each intent on gathering select recruits to follow them. Scorio caught sight of Taron moving through the milling crowd, parchment in hand, and when they made eye contact the Pyre Lord gestured for Scorio to fall in.
A handful of others were already following in a loose collective, the Shadow Petal amongst them.
Great.
Hiking his pack, Scorio and Naomi fell in behind Taron. They followed him around as he searched for the last names on his list, and when he was content, he turned to cast a weather eye over their small group.
“Alright. Let’s get you over to our company’s quarters. Once you’ve dropped your packs and gotten a lay of the land, I’ll give you a rousing speech to raise morale. Good? Then let’s go.”
They cut through most of the camp. People were mingling, greeting each other, or simply sitting, eating, warily watching.
Taron’s company was a collective of mismatched hide and canvas tents on the edge of the sprawling camp. Through their ranks Scorio could make out the endless sands. Great Souls emerged as they arrived, warned by some unseen signal, and Taron took a moment to greet friends, nod coolly to some, acknowledge welcomes from others. He took the new arrivals, five in number, to a single large tent that stood empty and dark, and gestured within.
“Go ahead and drop your gear. You’ll be sleeping here till we head out. I hope for your sakes that you get along.”
Scorio glanced past Naomi at the other three. The Shadow Petal stepped into the tent without hesitation, unslinging her black pack. The second was also familiar: Galvon, another Kraken Dread Blaze from Bastion. His was a striking presence, his hollow cheeks filled in by a thickly grown beard, his brows heavy, his eyes sunken. He’d been part of the Kraken strike force that had hunted Scorio down while he worked with Helminth - what had his power been? Something about a wall of force.
The third was a broad-shouldered and square-jawed man, his caramel hair tousled, his chin deeply dimpled, his face clean-shaven. Large, wary, but with an air of patience, he nodded to Scorio with pursed lips and also dropped his pack within.
Nobody spoke.
Scorio decided to keep his pack with him.
Soon they joined the crowd milling in the center of their company camp. The air was a mixture of resignation and curiosity, but before anybody could approach Scorio, Taron hopped up onto a crate and clapped his hands.
“Hello, Company 16. No, I’ve not yet devised a more compelling name. For now we are and remain the exhilarating, the exorbitant 16. There’s much to share, but you know how I abhor long-winded speeches, so I shall make this brief. Charnel Duke Plassus has joined with the Seamstress’ relief force. She sent Blood Barons Charoth and Aezryna back from the Emerald Reach along with some hundred Dread Blazes. Most importantly, they’ve gotten their hands on Jova Spike of LastRock fame - yes.”
The crowd broke into a murmur.
“We have a general plan, the particulars of which will be refined shortly. The crux of it lies in getting Jova into LastRock where the fiendish tribal elders are held, and restoring the old oaths of allegiance. That will strip the Blood Ox of the majority of his forces.”
“Brother.” The female twin to Taron’s alabaster looks raised a hand. Her blue eyes were emphasized by black mascara, and her white hair curled down just past jaw-length. “Question. Won’t this plan simply force the Blood Ox into action?” Her smile was wry. “To our possible detriment?”
“Thank you, Fyrona.” For the first time Taron sounded annoyed. “That is the point. The fiends are a smokescreen behind which the Blood Ox can hide. Without them, he’ll be forced to intervene directly, and that’s when the Seamstress will prove her worth by having Imperators primed to intervene. At which point we all can quit the field for a well-deserved drink and let our betters reach an understanding.”
Taron gazed out over the small crowd. “We’re going to wait until we receive word that the Imperators are incoming. At which point we initiate the plan so that we time Jova’s success with the Imperator’s arrival. The Blood Ox will be flushed out of hiding, only to discover that he no longer faces mere Charnel Dukes and Blood Barons on the field.
“In the meantime, we’re going to drill, incorporate our new arrivals into our team, and participate in some patrols so as to test ourselves against the fiends. Please give a warm Company 16 welcome to the Shadow Petal, Dread Blaze and Class of 870; Galvon, Dread Blaze and Class of 866; Ursan, Dread Blaze and Class of 869; Naomi, Flame Vault and Class of 871; and Scorio, Dread Blaze and Class of 873.”
The fifty or so Great Souls turned to stare at each new arrival as Taron pointed them out. The Shadow Petal elicited the greatest reaction, insofar as those closest to her abruptly drew away, right up till Taron pointed out Scorio.
“Let me clarify something before ridiculous rumors sweep our camp,” said Taron, voice carrying over the muted voices. “Yes, Scorio questioned our Charnel Duke to his face in a manner most intemperate. Yes, it’s true that the Charnel Duke took umbrage after being challenged by Scorio and demanded to a duel to the death -”
Damn it, thought Scorio as eyes around him widened in shock.
“- and yes, Scorio was able to convince the Charnel Duke to spare his life during the fight so that the duel officially ended in a draw. You’ll probably hear that the Charnel Duke re-evaluated his approach to the war shortly after that duel, and agreed to work with Vermina and the Seamstress. And while I would refute any speculation that he’s thus responsible for this new partnership, the timing is most curious, isn’t it?”
Taron’s smile didn’t reach his scintillating blue eyes. “Those are the facts. Do not bother Scorio for details. Ignore any ridiculous exaggerations that you may hear. Scorio is now but a humble member of Company 16, he’s one of us, and he’ll soon be spilling blood on the sands by our side. That’s what matters. Are we clear?”
Scorio stared straight ahead as everyone studied him.
“Excellent. We’ll begin integration drills at the start of the next dip cycle. Let’s see: Nyrix, why don’t you orient our new members on how the camp works. I have to report back to command, but will return before the end of this dip. If anybody has any pressing matters, they’re to present them to me now.”
A handful of Great Souls pressed forward to speak with Taron as he hopped off the crate. The rest broke into small groups, while a young man cut through the crowd to approach Scorio and Naomi.
He had a sensitive, gentle demeanor but the bridge of his broad nose was kinked from an old break and he held himself with quiet assurance. His hair was a mop of curly black hair, and his eyebrows were formidable over his expressive eyes. “Scorio? Naomi? I’m Nyrix.”