The Frontier Corps was sustained by the blood of brothers. Reinforcements were seldom offered by The Crown, supply caravans visited in infrequent intervals and our small regiment was often sent on blind expeditions into the yawning darkness of uncivilized lands. Each man knew his role within the tight knit battalion, both invaluable and adaptable to the unfortunate realities of Hinterland warfare; biting cold, savage beasts and the constant threat of starvation. Individuals earned their place in the wilds, and respect was won in blood and trust, yet for some incompressible reason, the pampered aristocracy of the Central Kingdom were incessant in appointing incompetent commanders. Newbloods eager to seek the reputation of 'Savage Commandant' or 'Tamer of the Penal Legion', titles given in praise at banquet halls and parades at the behest of the soldiers that would never attend them.
***
The pomp and parade of Lady Yirindel's escort had not yet left the threshold of our camp before she was barking orders like some pedigree pup. "'This' is the renowned Frontier Corps? This misfit group of thieves and outcasts?" The elements had long dulled our armor and we made no effort at polishing what pieces of unblemished steel remained. I saw none among us wear shined boots or fine belts or scabbards. These hardened men, my hardened men, were unburdened by our new commander's insults; they scanned my features for a reaction. I'd become their dark-iron champion, a hero of the Corps if such a thing existed.
"Yes, we are at your disposal, 'm'lady'." I chuckled, biting at a half-eaten apple.
"And you are?" The silver-clad diva asked me. She carried herself with her chin up, as though looking down upon people who didn't deserve her attention.
"Just a soldier, like the rest of my brothers in arms." I offered a salutation, closing the distance between Yirindel and myself, as not to embarrass her, "Not many commanders keep their tenure with us, forgive the men for speaking so freely in front of one such as yourself," I said softly.
Her eyes widened at the insinuation. She was likely expecting me to grovel at her feet and beg forgiveness; instead she received a chuckle from the dirty soldiers surrounding her. Her mouth gaped open while she fumbled for words. She tried to look away from each man, but it was obvious they were laughing at her—at her pretentious arrogance! To be stared at by them all as they mocked her authority only served to further stoke her fury.
"I see I must assert myself if I am to reign in you feral hounds; unruly dogs must be punished." In an unconscionable act, the newly appointed commander drew her polished blade from its immaculate scabbard, readying the untested weapon in a defensive stance. I almost laughed out loud watching the young woman twirl the slender sword around before leveling the edge of the blade toward me.
Yirindel may have been confident in her skills and in how she believed herself above most others, and yet this small slip revealed that she had little understanding of fighting technique, and no experience commanding troops of any sort. "You're making a mistake." I tossed aside the apple core, resting my hands at my hips; the men watched intently, wry smiles dissipating into expressionless masks. By no means was Yirindel a threat, but it appeared that this new commander would need a rigorous introduction to a code of the Frontier Corps. Of unspoken rank and respect.
Yiridel scoffed, her green eyes catching the light of the sun-touched snow bluffs, "Whipping you into shape will bring me great pleasure, mutt."
***
Seeing the knife-eared bitch claw at the snowy earth, breath shallow with labored pants, spurred me to fuck her even harder.