[Story] Desertion

Righty'o. Here a lil' story I wrote about Raeran. He's a Human male archer serving in the Rindorian army and is to replace Dyria in the Out of the Dark campaign. This tale will explain why an average Rindorian man will band up with a group of easterners (and a northerner)
Jipperty-Storytales presents:

Desertion

No... He shouldn’t be here. This was dangerous, stupid – No, madness. He was here, risking his life, rank, everything, and he didn’t even have a good reason to. Raeran sighed. ‘You’ll regret this for the rest of your life, you fool. If you manage to stay alive, that is…’ he told himself. The night was growing old, but it was a dark one; a thick roof of clouds blocked the light from the moon and the stars. Silently, Raeran crept through the camp. ‘Madness’, he told himself again. Finally, he reached his destination; the commander’s pavilion, in the middle of the camp. One Night-Gremlin and two Human sentries guarded the entrance but they hadn’t seen him yet. Raeran was nearly invisible in the night’s darkness. He grinned, and advanced. The guards made an impressive gesture, but he knew that it would take little effort to enter the pavilion from behind. Soon, Raeran found himself behind the tent, where an Orc was waiting for him. They nodded silently at each other. Through the fabric of the tent, they could hear Commander Lucius snore. Raeran hated the man; he reminded him of the average aristocracy. Arrogant, selfish, deeming himself above the average man. Raeran had no idea how this man had ever attained the function of legionary-commander. They had been here in the north of Rindor for weeks now, fending off the increasing amount of Theshi-attacks. Since they were up here, they had several major encounters with large forces of Theshi and every time the commander had shown that if there was anything he was capable of doing besides being a spoiled maggot, it certainly was not leading an army. They had sustained huge amount of, mostly unnecessary, casualties due to his lack of understandings of tactic.
“Raer?” the Orc whispered.
“What?” Raeran snapped back at him.
“Ready? Me are!”
“Quiet, idiot. I am too.”
After mumbling something about not being an idiot, the Orc, whose name was Morak, cut right through the fabric of the tent with a plain dagger. Raeran was delighted, half of him had expected the tent would have been warded by magic. It wasn’t. So it appeared. The Orc stepped into the pavilion first, quickly followed by his Human companion. Raeran’s grudge against Commander Lucius became even graver, when he noticed the amount of wealth that the Commander took with him, While on a military mission. “Probably couldn’t miss his treasures, the poor sod.” Raeran mused. "Unbelievable." His glance fell over a couple of golden goblets, a table in the corner made of the finest wood and woodman’s skill, a silver statue, two golden candleholders tall as a man each and finally, a curled up noble under an Elven-made blanket. “Lucius,” Raeran said. His mouth twitched into a smirk. He unsheathed his dagger, approached the sleeping army-general, hovering over him… Heaving up his dagger. He hesitated for a second. You will regret this! A thought raced through his head.

No sign of remorse or pity could be seen on his face when Raeran stabbed the noble right through his heart. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Lucius cried in his sleep when he got stabbed. Blood stained the Elfin blanket.
Raeran shifted his gaze to a jeweled one-handed gladius lying next to the commander, and a heavy shield with the king’s emblem painted on front. Those would sell good.
Raer…” Morak mumbled.
“What?”, Raer asked while he bent down to pick up the sword and shield, dropping his dagger.
“Small problem ‘ere.”
Raeran’s face became pale. Curse the Gods! He had totally forgotten about the guards outside. Lucius’s cry had alerted them. Morak was sparring with the three guards. He was in huge disadvantage; the guards wore superior gear and were in the majority. They sliced at his arms, neck, legs, waist, chest. Several times he had been hit, but he ignored the pain and treated them as minor wounds. He was an Orc, and he would show them he was more destructive than a wrecking cannon ball! He threw back his head, roared a warcry in Orcish, and hurled himself at the guards with all his weight, retaliating with his axe. He was quicly aided by Raeran, who also jumped into the fray.
It was all to no avail; the sentries were strong, armoured and they began shouting for help. It seemed to Raeren as if the whole camp awoke at the bodyguards’ summoning call.
“Crap! Morak, we won’t make it. Come!”
Raeren bashed the shield he had shortly ago stolen from the now dead Commander against one of the guards, who tumbled back by its force. Morak performed a similar trick, but used his own weight instead of a shield to throw back another guard. Two lay down on the ground now, their heavy armour disabling them from rising quick. The Night Gremlin still stood standing, hacking and slashing at Morak’s legs. Morak’s right leg was cut, the sword searing his naked Orc flesh. With a grunt, Morak kicked the Gremlin right into the face and he too fell backwards, landing on his butt. Raeran and Morak took their chance and fled, through the entrance that they had cut through the back of the pavilion. They heard armoured boots of a night-patrol shaking the ground, they saw hastily-armed men coming out of their sleeping quarters, they saw archers up in watchtowers taking aim at them. The two amateur-assassins ran for their lives, through the growing mass of freshly woken men who didn’t quite comprehend the situation yet. Arrows hurled past, some boring themselves into the ranks of men. Raeran and Morak remained unharmed. Raeran’s temple throbbed.
“This is hopeless. The only exits are the gates, and those are heavily guarded.” Said Raeran. Morak grinned, “Me have trick up ma pants.”
“You mean sleeve.”
“Ya, ya-“ their conversation was cut off by a second patrol appearing right in front of them, cutting off their escape route. They took a sharp turn to the left, racing through the narrow spaces that remained between the lodging tents.
Then a huge wooden gate rose up in front of them, closed and locked by a thick, wooden bar, their way blocked by a peloton of soldiers and defended from above my more archers.
“Raeran!” One of the soldiers shouted. Raeren knew him. Only two days ago, he had saved this man from a theshi right on the battlefield. The shout sounded surprised.
“Time for ma trick!” Morak shouted and he pulled out a round object that was as black as coal. “T’is be going to say BOOM!” the Orc shouted frantically. He lightened the bomb and threw it at the gate. A “Boom” sounded through the entire camp. Pieces of limb and wood, that previously were parts of Human and gate, flew through the air. Raeren ducked for cover.
When the explosion subsided, Raeran and Morak quickly dashed through the now cleared area, as the explosion had taken care of the archers and most of the peloton were killed or had fled. Escape was a tick more likely now. Quickly, they left the military camp behind them.
They weren’t a quarter of a mile away yet when the sound of hoofs thundered the ground. Raeren quickly glanced behind him. “Cavalry incoming! Three of them!”
Morak snarled and turned around. “Me no turn back to foe! They will feel Orc strength!”
Raeran dropped the shield that he had been wearing with him all the time (The sword he had quickly attached to his belt after the murder of Lucius), and pulled his bow from his back. The horses were thirty yards in front of them. The ground shook violently. They were coming nearer; 15 yards; 10 yards…

Raeran loosed an arrow. And another, and another. Two of the three found their goal; one of the horsemen. One arrow penetrated his armour, but only dealt minor damage, the second hit the horseman right in the neck. The horseman fell off the horse. Only two remaining.
Morak charged at the nearest horseman with Orcish bravery, or perhaps, stupidity. The Orc’s charge broke the horseman’s charge; Morak cut down the horse in the middle of its run. Its rider jumped of his dying horse and faced the Morak with both feet on the ground.
In the meanwhile, Raeran faced the third rider; the Human was not as much of a meatshield as Morak was. Raeran dodged the horseman’s charge instead. The horseman quickly halted his horse, turned around facing Raeran and charged again.
Morak cut down his opponent as easily as he had cut down his opponent’s horse, his axe cracking his foe’s ribcage. He grunted in amusement when his opponent’s helmet fell off, and it turned out that the ‘horseman’ was a ‘horsewoman’, with short grey hair probably, who was probably in the age of fourty. Then he spurted around and came to Raeran’s aid.
Raeran managed to dodge the third and last rider a second time, at the price of a sword striking his shoulder. He groaned in pain. Morak intercepted the last rider just as he had done with the first one and soon the horseman was forced to fight dismounted; his horse now lying in a puddle of scarlet fluid.

Then something happened that Raeran had not expected. In a fluent move, the dismounted-cavalry soldier arced up his huge two-hander sword and decapitated Morak. Just like that.
Raeran felt his blood boil by rage at the loss of his slightly dumber, but good friend. With a scream, he lurched himself towards the horseman. They sparred for a while. He felt his shoulder burn. In the distance, Raeran saw reinforcements coming. Soon the entire legion would be descended upon him. Then, his newly acquired gladius sword found its way in the flesh of the third horserider and the man died with a low gurgle. Hastily, Raeran strapped his bow back on his back, picked up the Commander’s shield again, and ran to his rescue; the horse of the first horserider, the one that he had shot dead with arrows, was still around. Glad that fate had granted him survival, he mounted the horse, kicked the animal’s thigh and made it run. Away from the camp and the hordes that formed part of Rindor’s army that was chasing him. He was nobleman’s weapon and shield richer, and a horse, but a good friend, a home and a job poorer. He was a fugitive now. He killed a high-ranked commander, and several innocent soldiers. The most confusing thing was that he still didn’t understand why he did this all. Why he had killed Lucius. Sure, he had hated the man, but this action wasn’t going to make life any easier.
“I told that you were going to regret this.” Raeren grunted lowly to himself, clutching his horse tighter, speeding over the empty plains.