The morning was gray, and oppressive. The Heroes awoke in hospital, recovering
from the injuries of the day before, and slowly made their way into the mess
to break their fast. They heard a muttered, "It could be worse. At least
it's not raining... " just before the clouds burst open above them. A
hasty truce was called while bodies were recovered and each force sent for
fresh powder.
Asgard assisted the medical staff with recovery and repair of the soldiers,
while the rest found themselves summoned before General Montoya. His spies
had brought word of some "secret weapon" being developed for the
war, and he needed trusted agents to infiltrate north to learn just what that
weapon might be. It needed to be observed, sabotaged if possible, stolen if
practical. The heroes took on the mission immediately, donned Montaigne uniforms,
looking for ones that fit and weren't too badly shot up, then rode north.
Fortunately the rain covered just how ill-accustomed most of them were to
riding at all.
The road north rapidly led them to a Montaigne checkpoint, were Henri removed his gloves to search for papers, and to allow himself to be recognized as an Aristo. As Jean-Pierre de la Praisse du Rachetisse, with his staff, Cecil du Paix, Josquin du Paix, and Katherine du Paix, the party passed their first checkpoint. Papers? Lost in the battle at the wall, and woe betide the mere peasant who kept M. de la Praisse from getting new ones. The party stopped at the Montaigne camp to eat and reconnoiter, Henri eating alone while the common soldiers took their meal. Gossip around the officers' table was that numerous animals were being taken to the general's headquarters, but no one knew why.
A number of the troops attempted to talk with Cecil, who spoke no Montaignais at all, but whose jaw was still swollen from the pounding of an Eisen Panzerhand a few days before. Henri stepped to Cecil, pulled his hat off, and examined Cecil's head once more, digging a thumbnail smartly into the scalp and bringing a pained groan from his comrade. "Poor devil," he muttered. "Took a gun butt to the head at the Wall, and hasn't been the same since. He's a good man," Henri told the sympathetic soldiers, "but if he ever speaks or understands a sentence of Montaignais again, it'll be a miracle!"
At the second checkpoint, the same lie took the Heroes north again. Passing as couriers, they knew they'd need messages, or at least names that the Montaigne general would recognize. They slipped into the woods, and prepared a rope across the road. Soon vanishing into the rain-soaked mud, it would be snapped up as the next rider passed. Perhaps an hour later, one came at a gallop. Every member of the party strained as the horse's momentum threatened to pull them off their feet and snap the sapling around which they'd wound their snare-- but the rope held. With a splash and a thud, horse and rider catapulted into the mud, and the Heroes raced to take down the lone Montaigne. Several hard jabs from Cecil's well-callused fists pummeled him into unconsciousness, and he was soon stripped, tied, and relieved of his papers and Captain's coat. The detailed troop allocations and reports of the following day's plans were carefully copied, as Francesca slipped the rolled copy up into the barrel of her musket.
The horse was carefully rounded up, whickering and favoring a broken leg. Henri winced, loaded his musket carefully, and soothed the beast as best he could before leveling the barrel. One shot was enough to finish the poor creature. The Heroes began to mount up, now with a new captain, who had his papers after all. Henri sent Quinn on ahead with the others, promising to catch up in a minute.
He watched them ride ahead, drew his sword and turned back toward the prisoner.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur d' Aure. Were this any other day, you would live.
But I have companions, and I must tell you that I value their lives and my
own far above yours, and I cannot let you report us. May Theus forgive me."
The Traitor of Casa Blanca rode north, and joined his comrades.
The woods thinned to reveal a grand Castillian estate. Guards manned the fences here, ringing a great house and its outbuildings. Captain Marc d'Aure's papers took him and his companions into the main house, then out to the bullring where the general was observing several miserable cats, cowering in the rain. Suddenly, the shriek of a Porte hole opened in the ring, as a sorcerer stepped through, hurriedly dropping a hissing, screaming ball of fur and claws that had once been a cat like the others. It raced toward them, shredding everything in its path. The other two attempted to put of displays of their own, and were dead before they knew what had happened.
"Brilliant!" crowed General du Toile. "Do you have something larger? More suitable for the battlefield?"
A nondescript functionary bowed, and purred, "That would be Phase Two, mon General." He signaled the men in the bullring, who released three dogs into the ring, just as a second sorcerer Walked through leading what had once been a mastiff, but was now more demonic fury than animal. The handler tore open a hole in space and fled for his life as the beast launched itself at anything that moved in the ring. A few moments later, musket fire put the creature down, and the Heroes fought to keep their gorge in check.
The disguised Henri presented his packet of messages, together with a locked steel box, which the general opened. He groused that there was no news from Casa Blanca, but was delighted with the selection of Morel mushrooms, which he ordered prepared for that evening's dinner. Henri bowed, withdrew and met up with his companions, who had grave news. New messengers had arrived, and the courier's body had been discovered. They had mere seconds to leave the estate alive.
The Heroes steeled their resolve and strode to the stables, demanding fresh horses for their trip back to the front. They mounted up, all but Henri, whose lack of skill could no longer be disguised. Fuming, he whirled and shouted, "Groom!" and let himself be helped up into the saddle. As he rode up to join his fellow Heroes, he mused to them, "It's odd, really. You have to treat them like dirt every single day, and if you do, you can continue to do so for the rest of your life. Let up on them for a moment, and they'll eat you alive. I'll never understand it." Behind them, shouts and the pounding of hooves signaled pursuit.
The Heroes had a good lead, but their mounts detected the lack of skill immediately. Dismounting, the four were rapidly surrounded by a dozen soldiers, drawing weapons and demanding surrender. As Henri frantically blocked thrusts and slashes, Cecil and Quinn made short work of their assailants, and Francesca helped finish the lot of them. Henri spotted a second Captain lying among their unsuccessful pursuers, and stripped the coat and papers to give to Quinn. The two officers and their staff then made their way south.
The checkpoint passed them, having remembered them from the previous trip. Henri knew the clothing had changed, and rehearsed the lie once more as they rode past. A halloo from the guards sent him wheeling his horse about.
"Hey! Your clothes! They're changed!"
"Imbecile! It's called a promotion! Do your job and you might get one someday!"
The Traitor of the Wall turned south again, and rode to catch up with his staff. The second checkpoint was less observant then the first, no doubt figuring that anyone headed for the front deserved to get there. The party rode toward the Montaigne camp before cutting sharply west to rejoin the forces of Castille. "Theus, let them remember who we are," they muttered silently, waiting for shots to ring out as they neared La Ultima Muralla.
Montoya was delighted with the news of troop movement and arrangement, aghast at the news of the Montaigne weapon, and grateful for the Heroes' success. Henri sought out a priest, to whom he could make confession, in the hope of not seeing Captain d'Aure when he closed his eyes that night. Two new uniforms joined the pile of clothes in Castille's camp, and the Heroes made ready for the next day's battle.
It was thankfully, short work. Quinn roused the troops with a stirring tribute to the glory of their land, the courage of the soldiers here assembled, and the nobility of their cause. Cheers rang out and the men manned the ramparts with spirits renewed. The Montaigne wave bore down upon the Wall, and broke against it. The company's banner found its way into Quinn's hand again, as if unhappy to be borne by any other. Henri prayed for the artillery to stop, and watched the charge of the enemy falter and dwindle.
"Well done, people!" Quinn grinned. "We've seen it through, as we promised. And tomorrow?"
Henri mused, "If we ride hard, we should just make our meeting with Joaquin at Falcon's Point."