The Sour Taste of Defeat

Werten was the only one who could keep his cool facing the razor-sharp claws of monstrous wolves and the ruthless spears of savage orci. Personally confronting the enemy cavalry head-on was an idiotic move for a commander in itself, let alone fighting them in melee with a cohors of ranged infantry. The first orcus he encountered tried to use the momentum of the charge and ran him over with his spear, but Werten had nimbly used his shield and blocked the strike at a slanted angle, mitigated a large portion of the force his arm had to withstand. The spear was twisted out of the hand of the orcus, yet unfortunately, the spear tip drove deep into the wooden plank, and there it remained, making his shield now a lot more cumbersome. The orcus growled painfully while leering at him, and in that brief second, Werten could see all sorts of emotions bubbling over his bestial eyes, surprised that this human has yet to be nailed to the ground, eager to continue his duel with a worthy foe, yet at the same time, quite reluctant to do so for some reason. He had already gripped his rein, anxious to give it a light tug and turn his wolf around. In the end, it seems that his rationality still got the better of him as he turned his head back to the front, pulled out his sword, and started to massacre ranks of arbalests. The ensuing riders quickly spread out in three different columns, and together with their wolves, formed the perfect killing machines.

"The men have to hold their ground. I can't let them reach the rear of our vanguard." Werten was alarmed at the speed at which the arbalests were being slaughtered. Dread had a devastating effect on the bravest of men, and terror had without a doubt started to grip their hearts. Some foolishly broke formation and charged aimlessly towards the riders, swinging their swords hysterically, while others further back, with their hands trembled uncontrollably, could not even load a single bolt into their crossbow. None had yet to turn tail and fled, but when one such coward succumbed to this hellish purgatory, they would no doubt follow him en masse.

"Do not falter! Reinforcement shall arrive shortly! Fight as you are trained to!" Werten roared at the top of his lungs to rally some of the men, which to his dismay, had little effect. In a melee, even a veteran marksman would have no more experience than a newly recruited foot soldier. The legatus grunted in frustration and reached out to remove the spear from his shield and regrouped with what was left of the cohors, when he heard the sound of another spear, deviously aimed at his blind spot, tearing through the air. He turned around and clumsily raised his shield just in the nick of time as the stealthy projectile lodged itself firmly into his shield, making his arm went numb with the inhuman force behind it. Upon closer inspection, the missile was in fact a javelin, shorter, sleeker than an average spear, which only added to its lethality, and would have undoubtedly pierced his armor and punctured his rib had it connected. Its owner, an exceptionally well-equipped orcus, uttered a dissatisfied grumbled in failing to swiftly execute the human. He lightly tapped the saddle and carefully urged the wolf forward, his eyes scrutinizing the opponent, meticulously searching for even the slightest of openings. He did not have to wait long. Werten's horse, albeit with blinders on, having soldiered through waves and waves of wolves sprinted past her with thick murderous intent, the menacing growls of yet another wolf slowly but surely drawing near was the final straw. Overwhelmed by her primal instinct, the horse bucked wildly, throwing its rider flat on the ground before galloping back deep into the center of the army. The orcus captain smugly smirked, as if this seemingly unexpected windfall were a rather inevitable outcome. He reached for his saddlebag, grabbed a javelin, and mercilessly hurled it towards the defenseless enemy lying dazed on his back. The legatus, however, miraculously recovered faster than the orcus had anticipated and once again raised his shield to impede the deadly blow. An irritated frown was etched on the face of the orcus, but before he could launch another attack, Werten had managed to prop himself up, and after a few staggering steps backward, hunkered down with his shield raised high. He prayed to god, any one of The Twelve, that the remaining wolf riders were too occupied to circle around and plunge a spear in his back.

The extremely defensive stance that Werten took meant the duo's confrontation had entered a delicate stalemate. The orcus captain could not help but begrudgingly admired the human's tenacity, but above that, his tactical acumen. While it seemed that he had the upper hand during the entirety of the fight, the truth was he had been on a very pressing timer for this elaborate maneuver. The chief had explicitly briefed him about the objective of the wolf riders: to cause maximum damage to the enemy both casualty and morale-wise. If the enemy was swiftly routed, he would then proceed to push on and hit the rear of the human's vanguard, securing a crushing victory with minimal casualties. However, their reinforcement would most likely arrive in time to repel the ambush, at which point he would have to issue a full retreat to conserve their strength. His effort to eliminate what looked like a high-ranking officer from the human army had failed, and he could hear heavy footsteps, as well as hoof stomps, rushing towards this direction. Leering once again at the human cowering behind a shield, he lifted a horn carried beside his waist and sounded two long blasts.

All the orci jolted, awakened from their bloodthirsty stupors, and with their captain leading, began to race back across the ice bridge. Every single one of them sprinted as fast as they could, trampling on the injured humans writhing in agony. Startled by the enemy's sudden withdrawal, Werten froze for a brief moment, but being the sharp commander that he was, soon recognized the unexpected opportunity. If he could reorganize the arbalests in time and have them shoot at the back of these fleeing riders, they could for the first time deal any real damage to their cavalry. Before he could issue the order, his back was suddenly struck with a colossal force, hurling him into the air and plunging him headfirst into the riverbank some distance away. His consciousness soon faded amidst the faint growling of wolves, the hectic shouting of his men, and the echoing screams of Harkon…

***

"Fuck you Orga! You had one fucking job!" Harkon loudly cursed inside the makeshift headquarters. Even the officers three tents away were not spared from his hysterically screeching, yet at the time none harbored any thoughts of disapproval, part due to them being distracting by the shock of the ambush's death toll, which arguably directly led to the other part of why they were silently endorsing the tribunus' profanity: they indeed shared the same sentiment. The oversight of the scouts leading to a massive number of casualties was by no means easily forgiven.

"Save your vulgar words, boy. Now is not the time to sow discord amongst ourselves!" The middle-aged tribunus weakly reproached, though his words seemingly carried no weight at all to the other four presented in the tent. His calm demeanor somehow appeared to be even more dastardly than the fuming young tribunus erupting with a stream of cusses.

"Enough Harkon. Tribunus Orga, why don't you recount what you reported to me earlier." The princess sternly stared down Harkon, forcing him back into his seat. Orga, as if granted a raft in the stormy sea, unhesitatingly grasped at his saving grace: "Yes, yes. Ahem. Four contubernia was dispatched at the first hour of day. All four quarterly reports stated that nothing unusual was spotted. I have all of them right here." The man slowly rolled out all four small scrolls, each bore the unmistakable mark of the legio-issued stamp, and their contents were exactly as Orga had summarized.

"Do you really intend to shift the blame onto your subordinates? Their incompetence is no doubt your responsibility. They missed an army of 6000 orci for Singen's sake!" The primus pilus, Reht, saw through Orga's strategy of passing the buck immediately. As the leader of the centuriones who directly commanded the cohortes and the commander of the first cohors himself, there was no one quite more suitable to raise the issue.

"That was not my intention, Reht. The seventh and the eighth contubernium had yet to return. We can safely assume they were wiped out." Orga quickly changed the subject, unknowingly bringing to light to the most valuable piece of information there was. Reht and Harkon were briefly blind-sided by the abrupt revelation, but before being able to reaffirm with Orga, a commotion was heard outside the commander's tent.

"Please return to your tent and rest sir, the medicus[1] has yet to clear you!" One of the guards' nervous yet firm denial of passage could be heard.

"Now how could you possibly know that?" Werten slightly frowned, leering at the guard for the intrusive remark, ignoring the many throbbing scrapes and bruises on own his forehead.

The guard's distress was well-founded, as he was directly barring the path of the legatus himself, and when he seemed uncharacteristically irritated no less.

"It's alright Watari. Master Lahan had personally cleared him earlier. It must have slipped my mind." The princess' voice softly rang in the guard's ears, which for some reason sounded even more melodious to him than usual. He swiftly retracted his spear and resumed the attention stance. Werten rushed inside the tent without another word, his vexation all the more palpable.

Soon after the departure of the legatus, the soldier breathed a sigh of relief and whispered resentfully to his fellow guard:

"Thanks a lot for your help."

He, however, was met with utter silence, and a quick glance to his right revealed his comrade, whose collar was now drenched in sweat, still being scared stiff.

**

Stepping inside, Werten courteously greeted the princess, then promptly found his empty spot and sat down. She lightly nodded in response and caught Werten up to speed:

"Tribunus Orga here has just starting to present his subordinates' reports. I assumed you already caught the last bit of information?"

"I did indeed Your Grace. You know what this means right?" Werten met the gaze of Reht and Harkon, confirming their suspicion "Our method of reconnaissance has been compromised."

The princess slightly frowned yet remained calm, apparently having already deduced such an outcome. Reni, the apprentice sorceress beside her wore a look of disbelief for a moment, but upon seeing Harkon's and Reht's solemnly pessimistic looks, she awkwardly tried to hide her slow-wittedness. Orga, on the other hand, rejected the idea vehemently. "Impossible! The messages are encrypted and the keys were only memorized by the decanus[2]. Are you suggesting that one or both of them betrayed us? What sort of incentive can orci possibly have?"

"Could they have tortured one of the decani…" A meek voice, almost a mumble, was emitted from the direction of the princess' seat. Everyone simultaneously cast their surprised gaze at Reni, who always kept to herself, for this sudden inquiry. For a reserved lady such as herself, the mental toll this one simple question took was quite significant, as evident by the crimson shade on her cheeks. The only person seemingly indifferent to such a rare 'outburst' was Reht, while Orga, on the other hand, was visibly displeased. Werner was about to answer when he suddenly remembered something and directed a meaningful glance towards Harkon, for which the latter was extremely grateful before responding with the most painfully obvious of artificial smiles:

"Lady Reni, the man who brought back the message was a legionarius of the contubernium. If his decanus was captured he would have surely reported such an incident. If he hid the fact that his leader was captured that would lead back to the question of betrayal… Although," he abruptly paused, his forced smile slowly turned upside down as he doubtfully glimpsed at Orga, "what if the scale of this treachery was much grander? Could they have been imperial loyalists?"

This question struck everyone's nerves and the air of the room immediately became tense. This subject was a delicate, possibly even fatal one should they chose the wrong words which could somehow reach the wrong ears. Orga himself, unexpectedly, was the first to break the silence:

"Highly unlikely! My subordinates were all hand-picked by me for their particular knack of scouting from all walks of life. Most of them would be on the streets right now had it not been for me."

"Believing in honor among thieves eh?" Harkon lightly smirked. "Not to mention you yourself is not out of speculation just yet."

"How dare you, boy! You'd best be cautious throwing around such baseless accusations." Orga lividly exhaled, slamming the table as he sprung up from his chair.

"Harkon!" The princess sternly stared down the young tribunus "I know you have your differences but you cannot accuse a fellow officer of such a serious crime without an iota of evidence!"

"But Your Grace, the man commanding the orcus was clearly not one of them! His arms were not at all muscular and his build was slim. No self-respecting orcus clan would elect such a leader. He was clearly human!" Harkon pressed on despite the princess' warning, confident in the support from the other two men at this table. Werten should have realized this as soon as the enemy appeared, and Reht while not as sharp, should have also noticed while commanding at the frontline. Alas, while the other two had indeed taken note of the enigma, the only form of support they could offer him was tacit silence, which proved utterly useless in the face of the princess' domineering rebuke:

"Get out!"

"Your Grace…" Harkon weakly objected, vaguely understood that he had crossed her bottom line.

"I will not repeat myself again. Tribunus Harkon, you are excused from the war council." The princess' frigid tone meant there was definitely no room for negotiation.

Harkon helplessly looked at Werten for some badly needed backup, yet all he received was a light shake of the head. Frustrated, he stood up and grabbed his helmet, when a praeco was heard yelling in front of the tent:

"No, no, you don't understand! This news could not be delayed. Please inform Her Grace post-haste!"

"Let him in" The princess, swayed by the messenger's urgency, or perhaps guided by her own intuition, spoke up. Moments later, the praeco rushed into the room, but the startling number of high-ranking officers presented caught him off guard, not knowing if he should deliver the news the Her Grace personally or to the whole room.

"Speak your piece." The princess ordered, releasing the overwhelmed soldier from his predicament.

"Your Grace, a lone wolf rider had just arrived outside our camp." The messenger suddenly stopped and swallowed a tiny bit of saliva to ease his parched throat. At that moment, the council's collective speculation was pointed at one particular wolf-riding figure, which sure enough, was confirmed instantly afterward. "He claimed to be the general of the orci here to negotiate the terms of surrender."

[1]: Medic

[2]: Leader of a contubernium.