His champion watched a swarm of insects pass, their buzzing creating background noise. Like a rolling cloud, the tiny warriors dipped and flew over the plain. Sometimes they moved with the wind and at other times against it. Barely aware of them, Laquatus measured out a cup of the tea.
Screams sounded from the perimeter, drawing everyone's attention. One of the soldiers was outside the wards, twisting on the ground. A mercenary ran outside to help him, then swatted at the air. Stinging insects boiled from the ground, settling on the would- be rescuer and pumping venom into his body. The first man down convulsed. The rest of the soldiers took a few steps to help but stopped, unwilling to risk death for one already doomed. The warrior still standing turned and came back to the camp in a drunken stagger. The mercenary's face swelled until he was blind. He called for help, his bulging throat choking off the cry in mid-word. Turg grabbed a spear and put out the butt end. As the dying man came closer he pushed him, the jack's muscles sending his victim reeling head over heels backward. Unable to stand, the man crawled. He set off away from the camp, having lost his bearing in the fall. After only a few yards he collapsed and was still.
"Stop!" commanded Laquatus as other mercenaries grabbed weapons, closing on the frog. He poured the tea down the knight's throat ignoring the sputters, sure his minions would hold until he finished the unpleasant chore. Swords whispered from scabbards, and he stood up, livid, seeing a few fools edging closer to the champion. Turg stood hunched over with arms spread wide. The ambassador could see the gloating on his face. The merman threw the filled teapot at the bravest fools, the hot metal burning a man, putting him down.
"I said, stop!" Laquatus bellowed. He stalked to the edge of the wards, slapping armed men out of the way. "Leaving the camp is death!" he shouted. "The moment those two men stepped outside they were dead!"
He stalked to the leader of the mercenaries and hissed into his face.
"If your incompetent minion had crossed back into the wards, they would have fallen. We would all be kicking our last!" he said, inches from the warrior's face. "Now tell these fools to sit down and wait until the insects pass."
Fear and loathing was in the other man's eyes, but he nodded curtly and stamped back to the fire, his hands holding an animal prod. Those still standing against the frog saw the hatred rising off the man and slunk away, not wishing to call attention to themselves.
Laquatus moved back to his tent and put away his poisons. Once his equipment was packed he called Turg to him with a mental command. The moment the amphibian let the tent flap close the ambassador bludgeoned him immobile with a mental assault.
"You have had quite enough fun for one trip," the merman whispered, looking into the frog's spirit. The flow between them had changed the jack. The amphibian's intelligence had soared, and mentally he bore little resemblance to the near animal he once was. Laquatus pondered the champion, wondering at the signs of familiarity the new creation showed.
"Why, it's me," the ambassador said. His murderous impulses and controlling nature had bonded with the frog's savagery. Like a baby taking its first steps, the amphibian was manipulating the people around it. Like a proud parent, the ambassador admired how far his offspring had come in luring the mercenaries to their death. But sadly, like a child, the frog had no grasp of the larger plot. With a faint sigh of regret, Laquatus channeled power along their connection. Turg screamed, his body thrashing as a flood of energy scoured his mind.
"Just stay out," the merman said to panicked questions from the mercenaries at the tent flap. "I am working with Turg on a question of discipline."
The mental constructions giving the amphibian its independence and reasoning power melted under the assault, dissolving like sandcastles before an incoming tide. Laquatus scarred the frog's mind, crippling its ability to grow mentally. Even as he attacked the mind he could feel the frog vainly trying to repair its shattered spirit.
"Strong, aren't you," the ambassador chuckled, bearing down a little harder. "We'll just have to make this a daily ritual then." He tore at the soul, pleased by the jack's agony.
It was a somber expedition that moved through the plains. The casualties kept the mercenaries close to the ambassador, scared to leave the safety of his wards. Turg was as he used to be, a sullen mountain of muscle. The frog could barely restrain himself from attacking anything that moved. The ambassador devoted more attention to managing the jack, amazed at how much more work it required, but the extra effort engaged his attention. The boredom that plagued him vanished under the workload. The soldier was in a coma, drugged to near-death in the hopes that they might find a healer. Laquatus regretted the delay Turg had created, but he must have absolute control.
The cries of battle sounded, and the ambassador stood in his stirrups. The forest was closer, but most of the land was open ground. The ground was dry, and the merman could see only the dust of the melee. He cursed the mercenaries' newfound timidity. If they were to be useful, his guards should be scouting ahead. The noise was dying down, and he feared the fight might end before he could join. The chance to finally receive accolades for rescuing the dying knight riding behind him was too great to resist.
"Attack," he ordered with a great cry, unleashing his champion as he spoke. There was movement from ahead. Mounted figures becoming visible as a breeze began to clear the scene of dust. The mercenaries broke into a charge and echoed a battle cry. Turg was obvious as he ran toward the fighting, and the guards knew that if the amphibian left the ambassador's side then the wards protecting them from observation were gone. Laquatus waved the laggards forward, his frown driving them to overtake their fellow. Fear could create as bold a fighter as courage, the ambassador said to himself.
It was an Order detachment, the ambassador realized with glee. The mounted knights maneuvered against reptilian beasts that gathered in a circle as the soldiers dressed their ranks. Laquatus's mercenaries drew near the formed ranks, but except for a few glances, the soldiers ignored the rough irregulars racing to join them. The merman kept back, wanting disposable minions between him and any dangers. Besides, he must tend his captive, who showed signs of life as he approached a detachment of his fellows. Laquatus's passport gave a feeble cheer before lapsing unconscious. Only the straps and webbing kept the man on his horse. The merman drove his horse and that of the sick man faster. All his hard work could not expire within sight of the finish line.
The Order finished dressing its lines, and boots thudded into mounts' sides. The knights moved forward, lances dropping to ram home. Their opponents were great lizards, their sides heaving in the sun. Dust settled over their scaly bodies, making it difficult to count them despite their size. The knights shifted their angle of attack, their lances tearing at weaving heads and opening up necks.
Laquatus's mercenaries arrived in a disordered mob, but their attack did more damage. Doubtless this was due to their experience in gathering animals for caravans, the ambassador said to himself as he slowed and tried to appear more solicitous of the wounded man.
Familiar with the species, the mercenaries dodged strikes and unleashed blows to the joints and fragile bones at the back of the head. Despite their size, thousand-pound creatures fell as easily as cattle in the slaughterhouse. The Order forces swept back to attack again, but this time they cheered the irregulars as the last reptile fell. The ambassador led his passport forward, interrupting the victory cries as he struggled to get the Order's attention before the knight could inconveniently die.
"I have a man in desperate need of healing!" he cried out, his face flushed in apparent fear for his prisoner's life. "He might die any minute!"