Chapter 317: A Healer’s Limits
As the moon climbed higher in the night sky, casting long shadows through the ancient forest outside the Vale of Mists, Commander Bassinger stood over the map in his command tent, glowering at it as if he could change the positions of soldiers or scraps of information through sheer force of will.
The tent itself bore little resemblance to the luxurious pavilions like the one used by Liam Dunn to coordinate his campaign. Bassinger’s tent had simple canvas walls, weathered and patched in places, that had been deliberately covered in places with mud, twigs, and loose leaves to help it blend into the surrounding forest. The tent’s peaked ceiling barely cleared the commander’s bearlike frame, keeping the profile low enough that even the sharpest-eyed human scout would struggle to spot it among the dense underbrush in the hills to the north of the Vale of Mists.
While Loman Lothian collapsed into exhausted slumber in the human camp miles away, the commander’s own forces had gathered to discuss what they had learned from the past several days spent harassing Liam Dunn’s forces with everything from ambushes to primitive traps.
Several other men and women crowded into the command tent. Most came either from the Clan of the Great Claw or the Horned Clan. Much like Lennart, they were captains in Nyrielle’s army and had served for well over a decade each, some of them twice that. Two figures stood out both for their lack of formal position and their membership in clans that had been long absent from the Vale of Mists.
"Well Milo," Bassinger’s deep voice rumbled after several minutes as he looked at the the Heartwood archer. "You and your men have done a very difficult job this past week. It must have been hard on you."
"The hardest part is holding back, Commander," Milo said with a polite bow that hid his pursed lips and tight jaw. Again and again, they’d been given orders to inflict injuries only but kill no one and again and again, he and the other refugees from his village with the skill to build traps or fight had followed their orders.
It hadn’t been easy, even when he realized that none of the men marching against them now had been in the raid on his village. It wasn’t personal, these men weren’t responsible for his brother’s death, but they represented the same insatiable human greed and bloodthirst nonetheless.
More than once, that slight difference, the fact that these weren’t the men who had killed his family and friends was the only thing that allowed him to aim for a leg when he could have sent an arrow through the human soldier’s eye.
It had been even harder when he had to round on his own people to hold them back from claiming some measure of vengeance against the humans. More than once, he had to physically grab a friend and pull him away to prevent violence from escalating to killing.