The only movement in the tent for those two hours was that of Alazir's eyes tracking the sun as it it filtered through the tent wall. His attention was finally drawn by the two silhouettes that detached from the others in the camp and approached his tent. He straightened up against the pole at his back and experimentally flexed his wrists, hands clenching in anticipation. Kotara parted the tent flaps and entered, followed by a warrior Alazir hadn't met before being confined. They paused, winging the entrance.
"It is time," Kotara nodded, crossing behind Alazir and slipping the blade of his spear expertly between skin and rope and cutting the man free. Alazir again massaged the feeling back into his wrists, waiting while Kotara also cut the rope around his waist that had pinned him in his seated position. Even then, he didn't immediately rise. Kotara stepped back in front of him and offered the butt of his spear. Taking hold, Alazir pulled himself to his feet, his free hand maintaining his balance against the tent pole. He glanced at the frayed ropes.
"What? Didn't think you would need them again?" He asked mildly.
Kotara shook his head, looking away, but it was the other warrior who replied.
"Cyrus doesn't expect there to be anyone to use them on after today."
"Well," Alazir intoned, a grimace on his face, "I guess we will see if Cyrus is as poor a prophet as he is a leader."
The other warrior took the bait, "I would kill you myself for such insubordination, but using you as a shield before the Thalmor dogs will be more satisfying."
"I'm surprised you would be bold enough to think you'd stand a chance against me with my hands unbound."
"That's enough, Alazir," Kotara exclaimed, ending the argument, "You too, Risscan. We have work to do."
"Lead on," Alazir gestured at the entrance. Kotara parted the tent flaps and Risscan stepped out, followed by Alazir, Kotara bringing up the rear. Alazir blinked as his eyes accustomed to the light. The camp was small, seven or eight tents sheltering thirty or so Redguard warriors, a loose, highly mobile formation equipped for ambushes and hit-and-run attacks. Most of the warriors had already gathered near the edge of the camp where they appeared to be receiving a speech from their commander. Kotara and Risscan led Alazir in the opposite direction, toward a slightly separated tent at the back of the camp.
Where a larger, more traditional war-camp would have had an armorer supported with a horsedrawn carriage, the Redguard maintained a simple, sparse tent, with weapons in leather rolls that could be distributed at a moment's notice. Most of the the warriors preferred to maintain their own equipment, but having the small armory gave them versatility. They could arm any party with bows, swords or spears at a word from the scouts about who they faced. Today it was a company of Dominion foot soldiers.
They had taken casualties, some inflicted by Alazir himself when he had discovered their scouting party and attacked in a blind fury with the scouts he himself was leading, rather than report. His comrades had died in the fight and one of the elves had escaped, covering her tracks too well even for Alazir to follow. Now she had led her detachment into the area to root out the Redguard presence. Relating these events to Cyrus had earned Alazir a label as a berzerker and a tent to himself. He still got what he wanted, though. The entrance to the armorer's tent was kept wide open, and the typically burly warrior that tended it was waiting for them.
"About time," he growled. Alazir sniffed, stepping up to a leather mat covered with neatly laid out assortment of equipment and kneeling before it. On the mat lay a combination of steel and leather armor and a gleaming pair of unadorned steel axes with handles wrapped in leather, leather straps trailing from the base of each. Getting the armor on was quick, solemn work, considered a sort of last rites done by the armorer himself.
When the steel plates and leather pads had all been strapped in placed and draped with a traditional cape and hood, Kotara and Risscan stepped forward and pressed the axes into his hands, strapping them to his wrists with the leather thongs. Kotara noted the look of calm that came over Alazir's face, the first time he had seen it since before the scouts had left. With their tasks finished, the armorer belted a dark steel sword to his own waist and the small group crossed the camp once more. They joined the other warriors, making their way to the front of the formation. They stopped before the ornately red-and-gold garbed, spear wielding leader of the war party, Cyrus. A tan skinned and lean muscled warrior, Cyrus turned to face them as they approached, crimson cloak flowing behind him.
"Ugatka," he began in a gravelly voice, spitting into the sand to punctuate the word, "I want to assure you that I would not have been any more merciful if Sterrick had not been my brother."
"Oh, you are a wise and generous leader, Cyrus," Alazir retorted, sarcasm dripping from every word. Cyrus stared at him for a few moments and then turned, chuckling, to address the camp again.
"Brothers and sisters, we will soon strike another blow at the invading Dominion," there was a rattling of weapons on armor in response, reflections dancing like midday stars in the sunlight. Cyrus gestured at Alazir with an open hand, "We will show that even a broken blade is enough to pierce them and bleed them dry. They will learn the price of their mistake as their troops disappear among the sands. Let us avenge our fallen!" The warriors roared their approval, while Alazir rolled his shoulders, the look of calm never leaving his face as he stepped away from the group even before the final pronouncement.
"Redguard, move out!"
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