Grancourt Family/The Latlan Liberation Legion
The Latlan Liberation Legion
(The Lord of Apokh had just changed its region allegiance to the Duchy of Tahgalez, causing a dramatic uprising in rebels in Latlan. Beatrice was already headed there from Ling to do some surveying, but instead she and her 5 men unit go to twork on capturing some insurgents...)
Beatrice had been patrolling the streets in Latlan with her newly recruited group of Infantry The 5 "men" she had accepted to be in her elite group of soldiers had instantly adopted her family crest. The Grancourt Infantry had been following her orders relentlessly and without falter and she was rather impressed - not to mention they had the finest quality blades and armour the realm could provide.
"Today GIs, Latlan needs a heavier fist. We will lay down some order amongst the unruly peasants who think they can become independent while Beatrice is a Bureau - shows what little they know!"
"Hear hear!" Her loyal unit chorused.
As Beatrice laid down the plans for a couple of raids, the men listened intently to her instructions. Today they would be taking on a couple of the buildings down by the market place. Beatrice had had a tip-off from the local grain merchant that there was a large group of bandits camped out in his competitors basement.
"Now men, once we reach the market place it'll be so crowded i'm sure somebody will give them the alarm. What we need to do is intercept the runner before he reaches the merchants basement."
The men nodded in agreement. She had been right on their raids so far and they weren't going to question her knowledge thus far. Infact, they were just as impressed with their new leader as she was with them.
"Remember, that the element of surprise is a big advantage for us. If we fail to stop the warning, they'll either flee from their hideout or rise up against us - and remember there are only 6 of us..."
In full armour, each soldier wearing the Grancourt Family crest emblazoned on their helmets the troop set off from Fror's council chambers towards the market place. Beatrice had left her full armour in her estate back in Kif, not having had need of it in the long time service to Heen as a bureaucrat. She marched ahead, sword hanging in her right hand leading her men into town.
The people in the mainstreet who saw them coming parted to let them through. Man of the men turned their heads towards Beatrice trying to recognise where they'd seen her before.
"That's never Bea?"
"Wooaaah? swit swoooooo!"
"She has her own sword? huh?!" came the calls from the side of the road as the troop marched on ignoring the comments.
Beatrice had donned her old outfit, surprised it still fitted. Her long grown hair was left to float behind her in the ripping wind as the tight red fabric of her tunic wrapped itself around her figure. Her pale skin was such a contrast to her soldiers - Beatrice never tanned. She wore on her finger a glowing golden wedding ring emblazoned with the Grancourt Insignia, entwined with the Berntsen family crest. Her spare sword grasped in her right hand not her usual choice, but since her other was in Kif, she had to make do.
As they reached the busy highstreet, Beatrice directed her men off to the side to make sure they understood the plan. They nodded and three of them hurried off through the shadows of the alleyways to wait on the other side of the market. Beatrice and the two remaining soldiers moved back out into plain view and began to stroll purposefully into the cetral stall area.
It was clear she was not here for pleasure. Her eyes were not on the wares of the various sellers, and none of them attempted to harass her to buy their items. Her head held high, her sword grasped tightly, her eyes scanning the crowd for the person going to give away the hiding place. Nobody wanted to disturb her. Infact, the plan was going better than ever as the crowd seemed to thin as she walked through them.
She caught a glimpse of her three soldiers hiding behind some barrels at the other end of the highstreet that ran across the front of the main stalls and halted her men.
In a booming voice, Beatrice shouted to the crowd: "Now hear this people of Latlan. I have worked hard for this realm. Indeed all the nobles continue to work hard to give you stalls to sell your produce, to buy your cloths so you can feed your families, to ask for your services as the best weaponsmiths in the desert, and this is how you repay us?"
Some people in the crowd muttered to themselves. They had never seen Beatrice like this - forceful and appearing strong, standing in the centre of the street in plain view of everyone.
"It has come to my attention that there is a group of people whom you all know - don't pretend you don't - who call themselves 'The Latlan Liberation Legion' or 'Triple L'."
More muttering from the crowd met her ears as she continued to scan them for any signs of movement.
"I have had reports that they have been causing havok amongst you. Demanding taxes to support their 'Quest' for the freedom of Latlan, harassing mothers with children to work faster to mend their clothes, and threatening the metal workers to make more and more weapons. Today, this stops."
Even before she had finished this sentence, she saw the movement she had been looking for, but was surprised for an instant. A young man who looked almost identical to her husband back in Atamara had slipped out of the back of the crowd and quickly ran towards a shop bearing the sign "Gallons of Grains"...
She stopped her speech and whistled loudly. Immediately the three men who had been hiding not too far away from the grain merchant’s shop ran to intercept the man. As Beatrice got there, two of her soldiers had the man pinned up against the wall while the other held his blade to the mans throat.
Faltering as she looked into the mans eyes and saw the same green colour as her husband’s she took a breath and regained her composure.
“Thankyou for giving away your friends. You realise you will be thrown in prison for this?” She informed the trembling man.
Leaving one man holding his sword to the mans throat, she took the other 4 and entered the dark shop. She could hear loud and rowdy voices coming from below her feet and knew this had to be the place. She looked to her men and saw the resolve in their faces. They knew what was required. She felt their courage and as she marched through to the warehouse to find the door to the cellars she felt her usual strength flow through her veins, and giving her muscles that familiar tingling feeling like they were ready for anything.
With her heart pumping she opened the large door and glanced down the steps. There were lights flickering, and many voices that sounded like they were gambling something coming from the bottom of the stairs. Quickly and silently she flowed down the steps and peered around the corner. There were 8 men sat around a table playing cards and drinking. It stank heavily of booze and sweat. Wrinkling her nose she help up 8 fingers to her soldiers and then counted to 3.
Swiftly marching over to the table she brought her sword down flat onto the wooden surface as hard as she could. 3 of the men stumbled backwards and fell over their chairs. Two tried to stand up and reach for their own swords but found a sword at their necks already.
Two of her men quickly dragged the 5 into a corner and stood guard. This left three men against Beatrice and two of her party. There was a quick pause until one of the gamblers swung his sword at one of the soldiers. Quickly parrying it the soldier kicked forward and sent the man flying into the wall, knocking him out cold. Beatrice smiled and watched as the other two lowered their swords to the ground and moved towards the rest of their bedraggled bunch.
As Beatrice ordered her men to tie up the rebels, there was a loud shout from the back: “Save the pot for me you yellow-bellies” shouted a gruff voice “Uh…guys? C’mon now. As your leader I demand a cut!” continued the voice.
Beatrice turn around and watched a large man with a grizzled beard walk around from the back. She saw his eyes quickly glance around the room and as he drew his sword she moved in. A little rusty, but not outclasses, she easily blocked the mans attack. Her feet shuffling in the dusty floor as soldier and insurgent alike watched the duel. The leader quickly changed his tact and drew her into her own attack. Suddenly he took a swipe with his left hand. Only just managing to duck, Beatrice rushed forwards with her shoulder and pinned the man against the wall knocking the breath out of his lungs. He dropped his sword and sank to the ground.
As Beatrice got her own breath back she felt alive. It had been a while since she had last wielded her sword in a proper fight. And despite her slightly weakened muscles she could feel the same old strength returning. What had she been doing writing on paper all these years?! True, she liked managing the people, and she listened to them, understood them even and they treated her with some kind of reverence…but where had the passion gone from her life?
After reading the pamphlet this morning from the Queen, she realised what had been missing from her life. She had tried to give up the bureau career a couple of times before, but now she knew what it was she wanted. A Sword in her hand, and a loyal group of men beside her, fighting for justice. She would fight.
