The War Tent
Inside the General's tent, the air was thick with tension and the low glow of a lantern. Lyra stood before a map laid out on a table, her gaze fixed on a point far from any known orc territory. The Lieutenant and the Captain were on opposite sides of the table, their faces grim. Elise, still wearing her dusty armor, stood a bit to the side, a silent witness.
"What the heck is an orc doing here!" the Captain exclaimed, his fist hitting the table. "They haven't been seen this close to the settlements in years. Not since the last war."
"This wasn't a random wanderer," Lyra said, her voice calm but firm. She gestured to a small piece of crude, spiked metal on the table, a shard from the orc's armor. "It was armored, and not with what they forge in the mountains. This was salvaged, re-purposed."
"Elise, what did you see?" the Lieutenant asked, turning to the soldier.
"Sir, the General's right. Its weapon was a club, but crude as it was, it was still a threat. Its armor was... a mess of different metals, but effective. It wasn't just wearing scraps."
"And it had a longsword from our village," Lyra added, her eyes now on the map. "It was either a scout for a larger force that's being driven out of its usual lands, or it's a weapon brought here by a third party. Either way, our mission just changed."
The Captain leaned forward, his hands flat on the map, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "General... Is there a chance this orc was brought in by the bandits?" he asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.
Lyra's eyes, fixed on the map, were as cold and sharp as steel. "It's not just a chance," she said, her voice low and grave. "An orc is a weapon, a blunt-force instrument of terror. To control a creature like this, you need power, either through magic or overwhelming numbers. If the bandits have either of those, they're not just looters from the nearby villages. They're a far more organized and dangerous force than we ever imagined."
A heavy sigh escaped Lyra's lips, the tension of the day settling on her shoulders. Her gaze moved from the map to the Captain. "Captain, what's the status of the search?"
"Last report, the scouts are following a fresh lead," he replied, his voice laced with urgency. "They found a new trail, one that's well-traveled and heading north."
"Good," Lyra said, her voice now sharp with renewed purpose. "Send a message to the scouts. They must be informed about the orc. If those bandits really are behind this and have more of them wherever they're hiding… things have just escalated. We need to be prepared for more than just a skirmish with petty thieves."
Lyra's gaze swept over the Captain and the Lieutenant, her face a mask of grim determination. The recent encounter with the orc had changed everything, and there was no time to waste.
"Captain," she said, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Request the king for additional forces and a full resupply of our weaponry. We need to be prepared for more than just bandits."
The Captain nodded, a new urgency in his eyes. "Yes, General. I'll send a rider immediately."
"Lieutenant, you are to focus all training on our troops. Drills, formations, and, most importantly, combat against larger foes. We cannot be caught off guard again."
"Understood, General."
Lyra's gaze softened slightly as she thought of the children. "And the children," she continued, her voice losing some of its military edge. "Let Elise handle their training. We must keep their minds occupied and give them something productive to do so they won't be tempted to pull another foolish idea like this again. We have to show them that we're dealing with it."
The next day, the training ground was quiet, a patch of dirt cleared for drills and maneuvers that now lay empty. Elise stood alone, her arms crossed, a knot of frustration tightening in her gut. General Lyra's orders were clear: keep the children busy. But when she had called them, only one had answered.
She looked toward the edge of the clearing where the other children were huddled together under the shade of a large oak tree. Their small bodies were slumped against each other, their faces pale and their eyes distant, lost in the memory of the orc. The terror had spread even to the children who had not been in the battle, their imaginations painting a picture more frightening than any reality. Their bows and slingshots, once emblems of their little army, lay in a forgotten pile, their spirits crushed and their brave facade shattered.
But there, a few yards away, was Rory. He wasn't with the others. He stood alone, his small hands turning the slingshot over and over, the worn leather a stark contrast to the memory that gripped him. He saw it again in his mind: the orc's spiked club, a dark shadow blotting out the moon, raised to crush him. He remembered the whizz of the projectile, the sickening thwack as the stone found its mark, and the orc's high-pitched shriek of agony. The club fell, and with it, the monster's grip on Finn loosened, freeing his friend in the very same instant that Rory's life was saved. The slingshot, a simple toy he had thrown away in a fit of pride, had been wielded with a precision his borrowed sword could never match. It was a lesson in humility, a hard-learned truth.
Rory walked away from the shade of the oak tree and approached Elise. He stopped a few feet away, his head still down, a small, defeated figure. "Ma'am," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Can I-I talk to the General?"
Elise looked at the boy, his head bowed, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. She saw the genuine pain in his apology, a stark contrast to the reckless bravado he had shown before. A soldier's duty was to follow orders, and the General was busy, but a part of Elise knew that this was more important. This boy needed to take responsibility, not just for the others, but for himself.
Her face, which had been a mask of professional stoicism, softened. She knelt down, bringing herself to his level. "Okay," she said quietly, her voice firm but gentle. "But you talk to her yourself. You have to be the one to say it."
Rory's head snapped up, his tear-filled eyes wide with surprise. Elise stood and gestured to the General's tent. "Let's go." Rory didn't move at first, but then, clutching his slingshot tightly, he followed her, each step a small, terrified act of courage.