The Lost Ones 51.

Summer. The Sultanate Of Dreese.

The camp they've made is about halfway up the east coast of the island. On a clear bit of open ground between a beach, and some scrub, which quickly turns into a tropical forest, which covers a lot of the interior of the island on this side of the channel. As it does on the island on the otherside of the channel. Here near the equator at the very northern end of the chain of islands off the coast of the mainland of Dreese.
The victorious army of the Sultan of Dreese are still coming into camp well into the night. As the enemy forces on the island have been defeated, or so it seems.
At one end of the camp, the opposite end from where the airships have put down, stands the command tent.
Which in a camp that's just won a hard fought battle, is guarded. Which isn't something you'd expect. As it hasn't been guarded at any other time in the campaign, here in the island chain that makes up part of the Sultanate of Dreese.
Some of the soldiers, sailors, and personal guards to the Sultan at this end of the camp wonder why the command tent is guarded this night.
For they saw a prisoner brought in a little earlier, who was taken into the tent, considering what prisoners there are have been placed in rudimentary pens towards the other end of camp.
They don't know the prisoner. But word will soon spread throughout the camp, as the crew of the airship that brought the prisoner in. Will certainly tell who was bought into camp from a beach at the northeast tip of the island.
The Viceroy of Dreese as he sits upon a camp chair, briefly closes his eyes, then opens them and looks to his left and says "I know you don't i?".
"Yes highness i suppose you do" says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit who is sitting in the camp chair next to the Viceroy, here in the main part of the lamp lit command tent.
The back part of the tent is open to allow the breeze in this night as the sounds of the camp, and from the ships just out from the beach can be heard.
"I served in the airfleet of Dreese until a little while ago" adds the halfling from the mainland of Dreese, who gestures at the others in the main compartment of the tent as he continues with "Until i joined this lot".
"I thought you looked familiar" says the local nobleman who is a prisoner of a small group of foreign mercenaries, who include a halfling former air sailor from the mainland of the Sultanate.
"What ship did you serve on?" asks the younger brother of the Sultan of Dreese, who is relaxing after having something to eat and drink.
The hobbit, who is infact really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of the former air sailor.
Vaguely recalls the name of the airship he last served on, and tells the Viceroy of it.
"Destroyed in a battle, not that long ago actually" adds Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian the hordesman, who goes on to tell the local nobleman of the battle in question.
The Viceroy nods his head as he listens, then he quietly says "I'd always liked that ship" followed by "Sorry that my men shot it down".
The hobbit from the mainland of Dreese nods and says "It happens". Then he along with the Viceroy, and the others in the tent look up as lord Farque enters.
The group are all in the command tent now, with the exception of Helbe the elven thief, who has gone elsewhere after the prisoner was brought into camp.
The undead warlord who effectively is in command of the Sultan of Dreese's forces in the war against the Viceroy.
Sits down on the only bench in the tent, which is next to the table to the left of where Jarjin Littlefoot and the Viceroy of Dreese are sitting on a couple of the camp chairs.
While Tovis is sitting on another chair nearby, eating from a plate of food. As Beldane the cleric is sitting on the carpet, going through his equipment. And Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy is lying in a corner of the tent, where it's open along the back of it. Where there's no guards on that side of the command tent. As they're around the other three sides of it.
"Your brother is on the island" says lord Farque to the prisoner the Viceroy of Dreese.
"So I've been told" says the local nobleman with a nod to Jarjin Littlefoot sitting beside him.
"He's on his flagship as usual" says the undead warlord who continues with "On another beach about a mile and a half south of camp".
The younger brother of the Sultan of Dreese nods his head, then asks "Will you take me to him now?". As that was more or less the plan, for him to be taken to his older brother after he was taken prisoner, so to speak. Considering he was actually taken prisoner quite a few days ago.
"It can wait until first thing in the morning" says the heavily armoured deathlord, who then gestures around indicating the camp they're in, as he adds "By then the entire camp will know you've been taken prisoner and brought in".
The local nobleman, who happens to be a spellcaster, who at this moment is unable to touch his magic, nods his head to that, then quietly asks "Do you want that?".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who is also known by the name of Draugadrottin to the people of his nation, which is all the way on the otherside of the continent in the Southlands.
Nods his full helmed head and tells the younger brother of the supreme ruler of Dreese "I do".
The lord of the death realm continues with "The more who know, the better".
The local nobleman wonders why, but he figures it has something to do with their plans for him to kill his older brother the Sultan of Dreese.
The eyebrows of the Viceroy lift when the halfling on the chair next to him asks the foreign mercenary called the lord "How many of those he sent into battle were killed do you think?".
And the large figure in the dark blue, black heavy plate armour sitting at the table replies with "Well over half, more than two, thirds I'd say, nearly three quarters".
Seeing the reaction from the local nobleman, the deathlord of Farque says to him "Your brother's personal guards".
"He sent the entire battalion into battle?" asks the younger brother of the Sultan of Dreese.
"Almost" is the reply of the lord of the death realm, who has the elven name of Des'tier, which means, The Destroyer.
"Just his bodyguards on his flagship didn't go into battle" continues the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"He's not going to like that" quietly says the local nobleman who is part of the family that's ruled the Sultanate of Dreese for a number of generations.
"I know" says Draugadrottin, while next to the Viceroy, the halfling Jarjin Littlefoot grins. While Tovis the war engineer who has just finished eating, and has got himself a drink from the side table before sitting back down, smiles.
"I told him he was bound to have heavy losses in this battle" says the undead being from the Southlands, who then dryly adds "Well, i told that fucking herald of his that he would".
The Viceroy nods, as he's been told by his captors that the lord and some of the other foreign mercenaries aren't allowed within a hundred yards of the Sultan of Dreese. If they do, then one of their number, a mage who is under the direct control of the Sultan will be killed.
"So he'll be expecting heavy losses across his army, navy and airfleet" says the undead warlord, who momentarily pauses before he continues on with "Though he might not be expecting how many of his own battalion has been wiped out here".
"Such a pity" murmurs Jarjin Littlefoot with a snort, which causes the prisoner on the camp chair beside him to faintly smile.
"Tovis" says lord Farque, who nods his full helmed head in the direction of the flap at the front of the command tent.
The young engineer from the kingdom of Druvic gets up and makes his way to the tent flap, as he does, one of the soldiers outside guarding the tent, calls out to those inside "Sir, a messenger".
The war engineer who is a captain in the armies of Farque steps outside and speaks to the messenger, who turns out to be an officer in the Sultan's army.
After speaking to him, Tovis the war engineer reenters the command tent and quietly says "The Sultan's personal guards have started to execute some of the prisoners".
Lord Farque who heard the conversation between the young engineer and the officer outside, nods his full helmed head.
While the Viceroy of Dreese grimaces at hearing that some of his men who have been taken prisoner, are now being executed by his older brother's personal guards.
The local spellcaster mutters "They should of been all wiped out". Referring to the Sultan's personal guards who went into battle here near the equator, at the very northern end of the chain of islands that lie off the coast of the mainland of Dreese.
"That would make things a hell of a lot easier i guess" says Des'tier, who then slightly shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders, and adds "But not everything goes as you hope they will".
The Viceroy of Dreese slightly winces at that, as it reminds him what he's to do when he's brought before his older brother, the Sultan who is the supreme ruler of Dreese.
The local nobleman who has been trying not to think too much of what's expected of him when he finally faces his brother the Sultan.
Looks at his captors, who took him prisoner on a tiny island further to the southwest in the chain of them, that makes up part of the Sultanate of Dreese.
They all look to be relaxed this night, not caring too much of what's happened during the battle, and what's happening now in camp.
Even the youngest of them, the engineer. Is relaxed as he sits there in a camp chair, gazing out through the opening in the back of the tent. Which looks out to the north end of the beach, and the water as the shore curves inwards as it continues northwards.
Moonlight from two of the moons is reflecting off the surface of the water in the channel between the two islands here near the equator.
Looking at the prisoner beside him, Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit quietly asks "Nervous?".
"With the plans?" says the Viceroy, the halfling from the mainland of Dreese nods his head yes.
"A little bit to be honest" says the local spellcaster, who hopes like hell his magic will return to him early tomorrow morning when it's needed.
The younger brother of the Sultan looks at the hobbit sitting next to him, then at the tall, heavily armoured figure sitting on the bench at the table "Should we go over those plans again". As he's been told them in detail by the elven mercenary who isn't here at the moment.
"Do you know them?" asks lord Farque.
"I do" is the reply of the local nobleman.
"Then we don't have to go over them" says the undead warlord who is opening a chest beside the table, and taking something out of it.
The Viceroy of Dreese, well former Viceroy to me exact, as his older brother the Sultan has stripped him off that position. Faintly smiles as he sees that it's a Shāh board the heavily armoured foreign mercenary has taken from the chest and put out on the table. He then takes a wooden inlay box from the chest, in which are the Shāh pieces. Which he puts onto the corresponding squares on the board.
As he does, the deathlord of Farque looks at the local nobleman, then nods for him to join him at the table.
The Viceroy gets up, picks up his chair, and carries it to the table. Where he puts it down opposite the foreign mercenary called both the lord and the dead man by the Sultan's forces.
They play late into the night. Quite a few games. None of which the local spellcaster wins. Even though both Beldane the cleric and Jarjin Littlefoot offer the Viceroy advice. Which he takes, as they can't be any worse than him at Shāh.
Occasionally Tovis the war engineer chimes in with a suggestion for moves. Which prove to be the best help. For though the local nobleman still doesn't win. Whenever the young engineer from the kingdom of Druvic makes a suggestion of what piece to move where.
The Viceroy is more competitive, and doesn't lose as quickly as normal. Which he's appreciative of.
Eventually the younger brother to the Sultan of Dreese goes to sleep sometime after midnight.
He's followed by Tovis, Beldane and Jarjin. All of whom sleep on the carpet floor of the tent, that has a number of cushions on it.
Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy fell asleep earlier. Or so it seems, for in the middle of the night as he lies in a corner near the back of the tent where it's open.
He slightly moves, then returns one of his dangers to it's sheath, when he hears the familiar voice of Helbe the elven thief quietly say in the language of their race "It's only me".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, which is just off the coast of the Southlands, appears just outside, then steps into the command tent, that has a just single lamp lit in it at the moment.
The elven magic user walks across the main part of the tent, careful not to wake those who are asleep, who include the prisoner, the Viceroy of Dreese.
The elven masterthief gets to the part of the tent that's partitioned off from the rest of it, and hears lord Farque quietly in the royal elven language from within it, say "Enter".
In the section of the tent that's partitioned off from the rest of it, the undead warlord quietly says to the elven master assassin who is a member of his personal council "Well?".
"They'll do it" is the reply from the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
The elven master archer who is conversing in the language of the elven royalty, continues with "Though they didn't believe me at first, until i had to say, encourage them to do so".
Des'tier slightly nods his full helmed head as he sits upon the bench that he brought in from the main part of the command tent.
The elven princeling from the Southlands hikes a thumb back in the direction of the otherside of the partition, and he asks "How was he tonight?" followed by "Nervous?".
"A little" is the reply of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who pauses for a few moments, before he continues with "He should be fine first thing in the morning".
"Let us hope so" quietly says Helbe the elven thief with a slight nod of his hooded head as he knows their plans for the morning are sound. And have a fair chance of being successful if things go their way . . . . . .