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“You know, at this point, I still can’t decide if that was your promise of good death or it was just you fed up with me and my self-esteem issue and decided to get rid of both for good?” Lann looked tired and battered. Everyone looked pretty much the same after Leper’s Smile, but the good news was that most of them were alive, not well, maybe with a few dead bugs here and there, but alive.
They set up the camp before the nightfall. The quartermaster Wilcer Garms, the true miracle worker in this army, somehow produced another round of small rations of booze. It kept cold at bay and lift up the moral a little, but not even Lann, who had got used to Neatholm’s signature mushroom wines over the years, could swallow that stuff without a grimace. Even with the nightfall, the camps were still busy – he heard clerics running around tending the wounded soldiers, and metallic clings and clangs made by blacksmiths’ hammers. He found Kurt Eklund in the field hospital tent, the later was giving instructions on brewing potions and mixing tonics. When he saw Lann coming in, the Oread brightened up a bit then fumbled something in the nearby chest.
“You should let healers patch you up first.” Kurt Eklund pressed a healing potion into Lann’s hand.
“Soldiers need them more.” Lann shrugged, but he took a swig, then made a face. Of course it tasted weird, and those healing potions made your wounds a bit itchy.
Kurt Eklund nodded to one of the healers, leaving the bubbling cauldron to her care. “Drink it up first. Then shall we talk somewhere else and make some space for others?”
Lann finished his potion and followed the Commander to the big campfire.
“And answer your previous question: it was a tough decision, yes, everyone wanted to prove themselves by doing it, but I know you can do it. I saw how you fought in caves. We needed someone who can both act as fast as they think.” Kurt Eklund said, “And I realized our earlier deal could be very misleading … but this is not what I have in mind for you, Lann. You are leagues above than that.”
“I would be lying if I say I wasn’t tempted.” Lann admitted. “But then it was not just about me, you entrusted your soldiers to my care as well. Although they had their doubt on a cave lizard, which was probably justifiable-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A drunk soldier suddenly stood between them.
“Hey, mongrel, does yer word about punching yer scaly snout still count, huh?”
“What’s this about?” Kurt Eklund tensed. He was about to question more, but Lann stopped him.
“I also made a promise when we were trying to get out from that bug mess, Commander, and I intend to keep it.” Lann turned to face the soldier. “Seems you are harder to kill than you looked, Smelly. So the short answer is yes!” Kurt Eklund noticed small crowd started to gather around them. Lann did not seem to care. “But just like every good stuff in your life, you have to fight for it! You there, and you! I know you were in my unit. If you want that punch, then go get in line!” He stood straight before the drunk soldier, ready to take that punch.
Kurt Eklund was about to stop this fiasco – the last thing this shabby army needed was another pointless brawl, but then he saw the drunk soldier grinning.
“Oh no no no, I got something even better!” The soldier produced a dark bottle. “Ye strong and slippery, mongrel, if those flesh eating bugs couldn’t get ye, we probably won’t either – I give ye that! But have ye tried the punching pretty? It will knock ye scaly snout out stone cold just one swig. Do ye dare?”
The punching pretty, Kurt Eklund remembered that it was originally supposed to be a distilled plum spirit. But then, as a mercenary himself, he knew well that soldiers improvised a lot on battlefields. And at this side of Worldwound, plums trees simply did not survive. So that thing probably contained as much plum as his boots, and was very likely brewed in one of those non-leaky ones. As for what was used in it, well, let’s put this way: you don’t have to eat all the rats you trapped in camps.
Strong was a very mild word to put it. You were supposed to really water it down before you brush your teeth or wipe your boots with it … no, definitely not drink it. Kurt frowned. Lann, a freshly minted crusader from underground, was painfully oblivious to this. Kurt also had no need for a poisoned archer tonight.
Before he could anything, Lann snatched the bottle and took a more than generous swig. A moment later, he was still standing. Then triumphantly, he held the bottle up. Silence. Then a cheering from the gathering crowd.
“Lads and lasses, I would like to take the challenges from you all tonight. But remember, we still have a city to take back – You can drink as much as you like when you take back Drezen. I will keep this punching pretty till then.” Seeing no drama ahead, the crowd started to disperse. Some disappointed faces, but at least, no more would get poisoned tonight. More importantly, Kurt thought, Lann just earned their respect. But at what cost? Lann seemed to be perfectly fine, though.
“Punching your face if they get out this alive … Did you really say that?” Until they were alone again, Kurt Eklund asked him.
“I thought they could use some encouragement. It worked, didn’t?”
“I see. That was very nice trick of using Ki.”
“Nothing escaped from you, huh? Just don’t tell anyone about it, okay? A few hours’ delay should do … or I am going to have a massive hangover tomorrow.” Lann’s face softened. ”Anyway, I was going to say thanks, for trusting me, Commander. And yes, vescavors were not exactly what I have in mind for my murderers… think of something better for me, will you, Commander?”
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