The minotaur roared and slammed his greatsword into the nearest treetrunk. It didn’t do the trick; he was still angry. He roared again, throwing back his head and made to wrench the sword from the tree. Hearing the metal fracture, he looked down at the now-ruined weapon and howled a third time.
Cyrrienne watched her comrade’s broken sword whip past her as Khoroldar slung it away from him, his bestial anguish dying in his throat. She wanted to console him, to tell him it was a good plan, that even though it didn’t work out this time, everything would be all right in the end. She had known the minotaur a long time, though, and she knew this would only enrage him further. The news was bad. Some hirelings charged with securing some valuable resources for the Order had been killed before they could complete their task. It was no great inconvenience. Len always tried to assign the smallest number of subordinates he deemed capable of a job to each mission, but he was still finding his feet as Commander and occasionally made these misjudgements. They would just have to send more people next time.
Khoroldar stampeded off to find something to eat, kill, or fuck. Cyrrienne watched him go while keeping her face steady. Betray no weakness to a minotaur, even — no, especially — one who is your ally. When he was out of the wooded clearing, she set her back against a parked wagon and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. They couldn’t do without him. He was a capable warrior, sailor, and battle strategist. But she still became flustered when he entered these fits of rage. Maybe it was just prejudice talking. Len seemed to have no problem trusting him, after all. Calm now, she wrenched the minotaur’s broken sword free of the side of the wagon, where it had lodged when he hurled it, using both hands. Even half of it was heavy. With the other part buried in a tree, she would not be able to mend it. She held it out to Len who had been watching Khoroldar’s outburst with a neutral expression.
“He’s angry because we don’t have the resources we need, but in his fury he destroys what little we have. There’s not another blade like this in that wagon. We’re going to end up fighting with sticks and sewing needles at this rate.”
Len took the weapon from her, also unable to wield the shattered blade in just one hand. “This is just how he is. Collateral damage from these little tantrums will have to count as an ongoing expense. I’d rather have his rage on our side in the battlefield than have to do without it. I promise you he will be worth it.”
Cyrrienne had seen Khoroldar’s influence in skirmishes and conceded that a few broken swords were a worthwhile price to pay. She ran a finger through her dishevelled hair and attempted to smooth down her grubby robes. She had hoped to be able to sleep in a bed tonight. To be able to heat some water over a stove and bathe tonight. To eat more than raw roots and berries tonight. All the Order had to its name was a stack of unusable coppers and a series of dirty holes in the ground. Len had somehow enlisted four non-members to help clear out a small settlement nearby. He had assured her they’d be able to find the manpower themselves and then had sent them on their way. But something unforeseen had happened. Some meddling misfits with no stake in the place had shown up. Len had dispatched people to find out who they were and who had sent them. Perhaps getting to take his ire out on those responsible might sate the minotaur’s bloodlust for a while.