Yeah, this is the last one. Tomorrow I start working on another short story, set in this universe. I’m in a decent place where maybe I can turn the whole thing into a collection of short stories; it might make for a good stretch goal.
There were now crosses everywhere.
Liz’a found it a little uncomfortable, as she was escorted through the Legion camp. Crosses were on the Forbidden List, of course. And they were particularly forbidden, to the point where you had to be careful in what graffiti you scribbled on the walls. But now they were on poles, hung above tent flaps, there was one being erected on the flat bed of a wagon where a priest was now preaching; everywhere.
And that was another thing. Where did all the priests come from? They were all orcs, too. Some of them looked fairly battered. But they all sounded sincere, and so did their congregations. Well, many of them did. Some looked a little calculating, but apparently there were even more secret Christians in the legions than Liz’a had dared hope.
And there wasn’t going to be a battle today, it seemed. The orcs had put up truce flags immediately after the explosions; so immediately that it was brutally clear that the explosions were planned. A delegation had been sent from the legion lines, formally offering a truce and offer of peace “from the Emperor, Senate and People of the Imperium Orci.”
Oh, and a polite enquiry into whether “Our trusty and honorable Praefectus Liz’a Skullcrusher Lupator” had turned up. Under the circumstances, the Alliance general had decided to just let Liz’a go. He had suddenly more important things to deal with, like ensuring the sudden end of fighting in the entire southern theater of the Great War. What was one Centurion, weighed against that?
Liz’a was still thinking as herself as a Centurion. She had decided that she’d believe in ‘Praefectus’ when she actually got paid.