Sir David von James: Oathbound

Prologue

Februarie 12, 328 IA (Imperatoris Anno)

Castle Holtermont, Southwest Lancia

Sir James von Oren skimmed through the report in front of him, his eyes stinging. He sat on a bench in a half-collapsed and rubble-lined rampart. A cloth tarp stretched across the shattered ceiling to keep out the falling rain, just barely accomplishing its task. A lonely candle illuminated the room, flickering with a meagre light.

It was his third time re-reading the flaking papers, yet he still struggled to understand them. Try as he might, the paragraphs just seemed to bounce off of him.

Dropping the leather-bound bundle of pages beside him, Sir James turned his gaze to the figure leaning against the doorway of the ruined structure. Banele was playing the part of a dozing, lackadaisical soldier quite well, but Sir James knew that the cloaked man was carefully observing the aftermath of the battle below them. Even this high up, they could hear the cries of the wounded and the resounding thuds of driving stakes through the downpour. The 2nd Army fortifications were certainly underway.

"Banele, come check this out."

The man unfurled himself from his post with a yawn. He stretched like a cat as he stalked over, presumably still recovering from their last expedition. Sir James gestured to the report lying on the bench.

"Bastard's got three commendations and has been nominated for merits at least twice."

Banele picked up the report he'd stolen earlier that evening while the main force was preoccupied with assaulting the castle. Despite having retrieved it for Sir James, he'd never thought to leaf through it himself. After sitting down and flicking through the pages, Banele stopped on a line with a frown.

"...Recommended by the late Captain DeWolf for his gallant conduct while storming Sandeep Battlement..." Banele trailed off, looking back at Sir James. "Wasn't the company assaulting Sandeep slaughtered to a single banner?"

Sir James nodded. "Ja, all that's left of them are some odd infantry platoons."

"And this guy?"

"Is the reason those platoons still exist."

Banele scratched the unkempt stubble peppering his chin. "So he was the banneret in charge?"

Sir James stood and paced toward the doorway before answering. He remained there, watching the rain cascade onto the burning wreck of a castle outside. "No, actually. Poor lad's not even a knight bachelor - just some man-at-arms in one of the platoons."

"Seriously? With all the attempted decorations in this file, he should at least be bachelor by now, not some plebeian tsekking infantry."

"You would think - he's even got the nobility for it. I reckon someone high up is responsible for it; every single one of his merits and promotions got axed before reaching the Kommandant."

"You've got to be good at something to piss off someone with that kind of power." There was a twinkle in Banele's eye that seemed to hint at some past experience. It quickly vanished with another frown as he quickly sifted through the pages. "Hold on, you said nobility? How come the lordling isn't at the Academy, draped in finery?"

Sir James sighed. "Beats me, not much here about his prior qualifications."

"Figures. The only qualifications Imperial recruiters are looking for these days are two arms, two legs, and an eye."

"An eye?"

Shrugging, Banele explained. "Well, it helps to have at least one handy, but I'm sure they can waive it if you ask nicely."

Sir James chuckled as he held his position, appraising the 2nd Army's attempts at rounding up the citizens of Holtermont. Those protesting the Imperial takeover wouldn't be for long. "This saints-forsaken deluge is going to make battle-cleanup hell."

Looking up from the papers, Banele shrugged with resigned indifference. There weren't many other ways that a soldier could respond - orders were orders, and work was work. Both men had been a part of this crusade for most of their careers, and had developed the constitution required for its less savoury aspects. "At least it'll help flush away the stench."

"True, enough, though I reckon we'd need to leave on another tasking to truly be free of that."

Banele grunted as he stood and handed Sir James back the report. Crossing his arms, he shot Sir James a questioning look. "So, what're you thinking about the kid?"

Sir James shrugged on his own cloak over his chain-mail, pulling the hood down tight as he stepped out into the dreadful rain.

"I'm thinking, the Voortrekkers just found themselves a new recruit."