[Amanaduial the archer]

Koran woke in the sitting position he had been in all night, back against a tree where he had dozed off into his thoughts. The side of his neck ached from where it had been taught overnight as his head drooped to one side and as he stood, he winced, his hand coming to his neck. Rubbing it gingerly, he rolled his head from side to side and stifled a yawn, stretching his head and shoulders as he looked out across the expanse where the army were waking.

Realising he had been stupidly careless to simply doze off when his position with Herding was so unfavourable, his hand flew to his belt quickly...and he was relieved to find his dagger still there. He ran his fingers gently across the smooth, fine stone set as the pommel, his fingers still hypersensitive to the touch from the night's sleep, and smiled gently to himself. The weapon was probably the only thing Koran truly valued now - value was dangerous, he had found, tying people to possessions as worshippers to false idols: he had seen so many times both friend and foe falling needlessly as they sought to retain and defend their possessions. What thanks would a chair ever give you? Would you stake your life upon a stick of furniture? Weapons....they were different. And the dagger was special to Koran - in a place where he had little else, it was some security: in a swift, undercover fight, a dagger was so much more effective than a large blade.

With that dark thought in mind, he turned to look for Ehan...and found himself staring into a rather less favourable countenance. His face must have shown some disgust at the orc's appearance behind him, only a foot or so from him, but if the creature saw it, it made no comment except to sneer nastily - or maybe that was simple it's usual expression.

"Captain Herding wants t' see you. Now." The orc was not ceremonious and did not waste words before it turned away, but there was a certain smug satisfaction in it's voice that Koran did not like. He contented himself with glaring after it's retreating, leather-and-fur bound body, then cast another look across the bustling camp, orcs and easterlings scurrying around like bees over their hive.

"Time to bid the illustrious captain good morning..." he muttered dryly. Turning away, he started towards Herding's tent, running a hand through his dark, curly hair then across his stubbled chin. It wasn't like Herding would care - only one thing about Koran's appearance mattered currently: the dagger in his belt. If Herding was as alike to Ferach and Cortim as Koran suspected, he would stop at nothing. Steeling himself, he entered Herding's tent warily, his dark eyes flicking around to check for any hidden assassin before he settled on Herding.

Who was asleep.

Koran's lip curled upwards distastefully as he regarded the sleeping Southron captain for a few moments. From one hand, a bottle hung loosely. The very model of a fine Southron captain, Koran thought wryly. Hesitating, he coughed loudly and pointedly into the back of his hand, watching Herding. The sound had the desired effect: alert to any loud sharp noise even when sleeping, the older captain's eyes snapped open and he jerked upwards, the bottle slipping from his fingers and smashing on the floor. Herding jerked again at the loud noise and glared at the bottle's shattered remains, then turned to Koran. He alternated glaring at glass and Koran for a few seconds, then seemed to settle on the latter. Koran met his cold gaze with an equally icy one.

"Good morning, captain," Koran said in a falsely bright voice.

"Are you trying to kill me with shock?" came the snapped reply. No, that's your job, remember? Koran was tempted to reply. Instead he said nothing. Herding glared at him balefully, then rose, walking to the table at one side of the tent and tearing off a hunk of bread, taking a bite, apparently ignoring the young captain's prescence.

"You wished to see me, Captain," Koran prompted impassively, his voice neutral. Herding grunted taking another bite, swallowing, then finally turning around at his leisure and pointing an accusatory finger at Koran.

"Elves have been sighted not far from here, Cenbryt - heading for the forest, I should guess. You will intercept them."

"On my own, Captain?" Koran's voice was still utterly neutral, only a trace of humour entering it. Herding glared at him sharply but found nothing on the boy's face and grunted, unsatisfied, before pouring himself a glass of dark, thick liquid.

"Orcs. Take a few," he replied carelessly, not looking up at the captain.

'Take a few'? Koran was disgusted at the captain's carelessness, even more so as he knew the reason for it - once more, Herding wanted him to fail. He would place Koran deliberately in the way of danger, giving him too few warriors and only a few treacherous orcs, hoping to harm or even kill him, wishing to stand over his body and gloat...

"A few? How many elves are there?" Koran replied, his teeth almost gritted as he forced himself to remain neutral.

"One or two, I suspect."

You know exactly how many there are, don't you?! Koran resisted the temptation to voice his thoughts, grinding his teeth together and mentally placing the number of elves at five to ten from Herding's response. "And may I take some of my own men?"

"The southrons?" Herdin's piggy eyes flitted up to Koran, sending him a piteous look over the top of his wine glass. "Well, if you feel you need them," he replied patronisingly.

Koran sent him a barely veiled glare of disgust, then bowed stiffly and turned on his heel. As the flap of the tent fell behind him, he suddenly realised his fists had been clenched: so tightly, in fact, that his stubby nails had actually bitten into his palms, drawing a few thin lines of blood near the surface, a neat row of four curves on each palm. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Opening them abruptly, the Southron became a different man: business was everything. Striding towards the camp and through it, he snapped orders to his men and to a few of the orcs.

"Get yourself ready: I want forty to fifty orcs ready to come with me and take the elves. Catham, get fifteen of my Southrons and of the Falhik tribe together. Ehan, get my sword. We're going to see the elves..."