Dark Armor 009: Back to the Camp

It was a near thing, in some ways. The arrow had pierced Ravaj's lung, and the healer-sorcerers struggled against his initiations to mold the flesh so that they could withdraw it cleanly. In the end he lay on a cot, deadly-pale and corpse-cold but breathing, until they brought one of his servants for him to drink from. Still, he rose back up as his old self, his flesh healthy and color in his cheeks. Pallian, who had stood watching over him, silent and still in his role as the Champion, had offered a single, simple nod of acknowledgement.

Ravaj stood and strode out of the tent, calling for his staff. Pallian simply followed. He doubted their father was watching anymore, but the Champion of Teregor was nothing if not obedient.

Two minutes later they were standing in a command tent at the center of the camp. "I want our adepts out checking the wards. Nothing gets in; nothing escapes if it tries." Pallian watched Ravaj turn to High Captain Borwith. "I need your clairvoiyants, and a half-dozen scouts skilled at concealment. I want to know what's happening in the enemy camp."

Pallian remained impassive at that, but internally he approved. Far-seeing was useful, but it could be fooled by magical or mundane means; adding the scouts would give them a much more reliable report.

"Our seers will begin at once," answered the captain, "and I will have scouts sent out. We should have news of how the Champion's attack affected their disposition shortly."

Pallian ignored the look the officer turned in his direction; part of his role as the Black Knight was to remain indifferent to mere human concerns such as politics. He did as the sorcerer-king ordered, killed whom his father willed. Nobody outside the privy council knew whether the Champion of Teregor was alive, undead, or a construct of his father's magics. And the latter isn't that far from the truth. Even so, maintaining the role was important: if the Champion behaved in human ways, it might be suborned in the ways an ordinary person could. But the Champion of Teregor never did.

And now I'm thinking about myself in the third person, Pallian thought. Thanks again, Dad. Though in truth, his thinking was off for other reasons. He was still shaken from his encounter with the archer, and the Shadow of Edrias before that. This has not been a good night. He was feeling emotions, damn it, and that was never good when he was wearing the armor. Hell, it wasn't ideal when he was out of it.

"Good. I want the Champion to make a sweep of the perimeter." Pallian remained still as Ravaj turned to look at him. "Take your sword and go on foot. Black needs time to recover, and I want you moving slowly enough to look for anything the wards and watchers might have missed."

Pallian nodded. He could speak in front of the command staff -- the helm disguised his voice every bit as well as it hid his face -- but it was better not to. Instead, he turned and left the tent, collecting his sword from the rack beside the door as he passed.

He was only four strides away from the tent when a soft, directionless voice said: Ah, the Champion of Teregor again.

The Shadow of Edrias was here in the camp.