Rael still wasn't sure he was making the right choice.
He was torn between feeling he was abandoning his duty and honor, and the certainty that remaining here at the war camp meant it was only a matter of time before another assassination attempt came. He was no coward, to run from death. Yet at the same time, neither was he a fool. The unusual methods taken against him left him certain that he was dealing with no ordinary assassins, and that his chances of surviving another attempt were grim at best. It also left him with a strange blend of anger and curiosity, and he intended to satisfy both.
After his meeting with StoneFingers the young Knight Captain spent all night and the better part of the following day puzzling over what he would do. There was no question he must leave, but how could he leave the war camp without rousing too much suspicion? He felt sure his killers would end up pursuing him, but if he could arrange to leave without his absence raising an alarm in camp, it would probably delay pursuit. Better yet, if he could offer some reason, some story for why he was leaving, his assassins might not suspect he'd discovered their presence. That could be a vital edge, the difference between surviving their next attempt and being cut down. So, how was he to do it?
After wracking his brain to fabricate a plan, he at last saw a chance, a ruse that might hold up to scrutiny, at least long enough for him to be long gone before anyone, friend or foe, became suspicious. It was a risky plan with several key players who were outside his control. The first of which were the unpredictable and unreliable Haruke themselves.
Who, as luck or fate would have it, came through for him just two short days later. Four days after their last incursion, the Barbarians raided the camp again, giving him just the chance he needed. Though it was a small raiding party, even smaller than the last, Rael was right in the midst of the fighting. Though the skirmish was brief, the Haruke fought with as much ferocity as ever. Rael cut down several warriors, and received a wound to his leg in the process.
Word spread through the camp lightning quick. It was on every tongue, from the ranking Knights to the common foot soldiers to the serving folk that kept the camp running. Their Lord Captain had been injured, and what had seemed like a minor wound had become infected alarmingly fast, festering and worsening until it was feared he would lose the leg, if not die outright of blood poisoning. StoneFingers tended the Nobleman, spending days treating him and putting every shred of his medical talents to work keeping Rael alive. He would let none disturb the Captain while he struggled, and the Knight's supporting officers made do contending with running the war camp in the meantime.
Finally, StoneFingers reported that the Nobleman would live. The camp breathed a collective sigh of relief. Spirits lifted and tensions eased, for Rael was much loved by his men and they'd feared the worst.
He was not wholly safe yet, it turned out. Though StoneFingers saved the leg, the damage had left it weak and feeble. The infection that had taken it was a rare and strange one, and though Rael was alive, he was not in truth rid of it. The nature of the infection was such that the healing could relapse and the infection overtake him at any time. There was nothing further that StoneFingers could do for the Knight Captain. He did not have the medicines he needed to treat the infection, and he could not properly strengthen and rehabilitate the wasted leg here.
Rael was up from his bed, the once proud warrior hobbling here and there about the camp on a heavy oak walking stick. He bore himself as well as he could, his jaw set stubbornly, grimacing through the pain and humiliation. His men were at once proud of their Lord and afraid; afraid for him and for themselves. What were they to do without their powerful Captain to lead them?
In his report to the Lord Knight Commander, StoneFingers had asserted that Rael was stable enough for some light and cautious travel, done slowly, but unless he were able to find time to rest and recover and, more importantly, receive the medicine he needed to clear the lingering infection, the Nobleman's leg would never recover soundly enough for him to see battle again. It was the Doctors recommendation that the Captain be sent away from the stress and danger of the field to recover someplace where he could rest undisturbed, have plentiful nourishing food, and access to the medical supplies and doctors who could make his leg hale again.
"And this...this...thrice damned mess of gods blessed elk droppings is what you're calling a sodding plan?" Galin shouted at him, his whiskered jaw gawping open like a fool, showing the gap in his teeth.
"Will you be quiet you ass?" Rael hissed at the older knight, glaring at him darkly. "You sound like a fisher's wife sharing the newest gossip. Gods, it'll be a wonder the whole camp doesn't think something's going on now."
Galin was too busy swearing to be quiet. Rael reached up and grabbed a handful of the old Knight's scraggly beard and yanked his head down. Which, of course, made Galin curse again.
"I need you to be quiet now," Rael told him, his earlier emotion gone, replaced by a steady, serious calm that caught Galin's attention and actually shut him up.
"You can't be serious with all this," Galin grumbled, but quietly this time.
"What else was I to do? I saw no other way. And I can't stay here," Rael said, and released his hold on his friend's beard.
"Don't see as why not," Galin snorted. He crossed his arms over his sinewy, still strong chest, and glowered at his commanding officer. "So some half-assed assassin tries to put you in the dirt again. So what? You could put any man alive down your own self, not to mention the bloody army around you!"
"And we both know it won't play out like that," Rael said, keeping himself calm and steady. Galin was ever the sort who fed off someone arguing with him, even his leaders. Playing the level headed and cool Captain would annoy him, but he would come around to the calmness of his tone, too.
"If these assassins make for me again, and I know they will, it'll be from the shadows where none of us can get at them, and it'll be in a way none of us expects. Blind luck and a good lad in the wrong place at the right time was all that kept me alive last time. I won't have the same luck twice. And who's to tell who may end up getting caught in the way next time? No. I'll not risk it. I have to be away from here. And, I have to find out who is responsible for this. Arthas won't have died for nothing. His murderer, and whoever hired him, will pay."
Galin gave a wordless 'harrumph'. The old Knight didn't want to relent, but Rael knew the warrior understood vengeance and the need for honor well enough to stop arguing.
