Chapter 25 - Camp Followers and Princess Amara (3)

The night was still young when I had left Illia's tent, and I spent it away observing all of the soldiers around the camps. From the positioning and the split between the tents, I could tell that the Sendarid army was most likely divided into divisions, each containing about a hundred soldiers that were led by two captains of equal standing.

During this whole time, I saw that I was being followed by two soldiers who tried to blend in with the others, following me from a comfortable distance. Were it any other man, these two shadows of mine would not have been seen through, their presences blending into the background.

It was only their bad luck that they were following me, a professional stalker who made skillful observations not out of uncomfortable admiration, but out of curiosity. I suppose it took one to know one.

I could have also taught them a lesson or two, such as one should never blend in among an unfamiliar group, especially when that group were soldiers, most of who had keener eyes than the untrained commoners.

Whenever my two followers tried to blend in from a small, but comfortable distance near a group of soldiers still walking about in the night, I could sense the slight change in atmosphere and the slight movements people always make seeing the unfamiliarity. These reactions were just made more prominent among soldiers, especially before a battle.

And I had just the method to lose my two shadows. I walked toward near the edge of camp where the stretch of tents thinned out and proffered my back against a tree. Immediately closing my eyes, I pretended to sleep. Now, it would just be a waiting game that would be played between them and I.

I stayed in that position for a long while, time slowly passing by, almost akin to the pace of a crippled, old man. The night breeze felt cool and comfortable on my face, a pleasing sensation that reminded you of wild grasslands.

When I felt that enough time had passed for my two shadows to give up, I opened my eyes. Complete darkness met my sight, the only light coming from the few remnants of fire, which were quickly burning out. The pale light from the two moons were dim enough to be almost useless.

There was barely anyone left, all of the soldiers and camp followers already asleep inside their respective tents. Only the few stragglers who had gotten up for a quick piss or other “nightly things” were up.

There wasn't much to do, so I spent the rest of the night practicing some of my magic in silent secrecy and thinking upon the more than seventeen thousand lives I was going to eradicate, indirectly or directly.

When night had turned into the crack of dawn, I went back to my pretend sleep, trying to make sure that I was not the first one awake. I had formed a precarious plan to kill all the humans, but too many unknown factors still lingered. Careful balance would be needed for my success.

It was time. There was a spectacle I needed to attend and after that, meet with Princess Amara even though she had not explicitly stated a meeting; her eyes and her words had implied it.

-------

At the center of the war camp where the main pavilion was located at, I stood among the front row spectators. A few of Princess Amara's personal guards were mixed among the front row to maintain control in case discipline broke down.

Usually, a front row view to such a rare spectacle of the whipping of a noble, a baron even, would have undoubtedly been crowded. But I was given a wide berth by most soldiers, so I had a clear view and a comfortable personal space.

In front of me was a pillory with a fat man confined to it. The man was Baron Dorn and he was shackled two feet above to a wooden post, his hands and head inside the three holes at the top.

The baron's upper body was stripped entirely of all clothing, leaving only his meaty, naked back bared to the audience. His face was red with rage and incoherent screams along with threats were interspersed every now and then between his sentences.

A guard read out to the crowd of soldiers gawking at the rare scene.“Your punishment, Baron Dorn, is fifteen lashes for disrespect and disobedience toward your commanding superior even after a warning was given. To amend this break down in discipline and to serve as a future warning for all, Commander Amara, the Valkyrie of Gold, shall personally carry out this punishment.”

Behind the baron's back, the princess had a look of cold discipline set into stone on her face, not one bit of emotion showing outwardly. But inwardly, however, I felt that she was most likely rampant with joy at the chance to pay back the disrespect toward her mother and herself.

In her hands, she held a long whip whose tip was fragmented into five parts. It was most likely a whip specially designed for military punishments, as I had never seen a multiple-sectioned whip before.

The guard, who was most likely in charge of punishments, gave a nod to Princess Amara to proceed. “First lash,” he shouted.

There was a crackling sound as the whip shot forth from the princess's hand and hit the baron with a resounding smack. The five red marks of line the whip had left on his back elicited a high pitch scream from Baron Dorn.

“You bitch, I am going to kill you for this!”

Princess Amara ignored the threat and waited for the second count.

“Second lash!” the guard continued.

The whip flew forward again in a snaking arc and hit the baron, the skin on his blubbery back splitting open, and fresh blood flowing downward in trickles. Another scream and the baron's face become a mask of pure hatred and resentment. It was a look of vengeance that vowed an outcome of death and bloodshed.

The flagellation continued on and on the tenth count, the fat baron had been reduced to crying, begging for the punishment to stop. His attitude had now circled around and he uttered everything he could to make the punishment stop. His back was now red from the freshly flowing blood and the tips of the whip were soaked in blood.

Princess Amara, however, ignored the crying man tied to the stand. A mix of reactions were seen on the faces of spectators, some delighted at seeing the baron get what he deserved, themselves being victims of him, and others disgusted by the harsh punishments.

On the twelfth count, Baron Dorn's back was now an unrecognizable mass of wounds crisscrossing each other and his double chinned face had become livid and pale.

On the thirteenth lash, the baron fainted and delved into sweet unconscious where no pain would assault him.

All of her soldiers looked on in horror at the frightening mask of steel that was Princess Amara. The guard who shouted out each count looked afraid to continue, in fear of the baron dying from blood loss.

“Tch, get this fat bastard out of my face and detain him for the duration of the battle so that he will not entertain any bright ideas of vengeance.” Commander Amara said, her hands motioning toward her personal guards.

Her face turned to the crowd of onlooking soldiers. “All of you will now disperse and report back to your captains in preparation for the battle tomorrow.” Then her cold eyes singled me out from the crowd, which was relatively easy to do due to my strange appearance, and met my own green eyes. She had signaled me for a meeting. I was not feeling very hopeful for a nice and relaxed meeting.

-------